SYNOPSIS You ask them the infamous question and how they react ⋆˚꩜｡
PAIRINGS Sieun | Suho | Hyun-Tak | Humin x reader
TAGS/ WARNINGS fluff, slight suggestive content
୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧ ୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧ ୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧ ୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧
Sieun
His eyes widen as he looks up from his work, his fingers tightening slightly around his pen.
“What?” He’s not sure if he heard right. Teasingly, you lean in closer to him.
“I said, wanna have ramyeon together back at my place? You need to take a break anyways, you’ve been studying for the whole day.” You complain, looking at him with sad puppy eyes. He’s trying so hard to not show his fluster, but the tip of his ears are turning pink and his pen is digging so hard into his textbook that it might poke a hole.
“I…I’m not…” You grab his hand and try to lead him out of the empty classroom, but he grips your hand hard and yanks you right back. You turn, staggering as you meet his wide eyes, and you can’t help but notice how his ears are turning an even deeper shade of red at record pace.
“Are you trying to start something?” His tone is quiet but dangerous.
“Start what?” You simply blink up at him, feigning innocence.
He makes a small disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?”
“I just want some ramyeon…” you say, tilting your head, tone deliberately casual. “What else could I possibly mean?”
Sieun’s eyes grow lidded as his grip on you tightens.
“Fine,” he finally says, tossing his textbook back into his bag. “Let’s do as you say. But I hope you like it hot, because I don’t do mild.”
୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧
Suho
Suho nearly falls out of his chair. To be fair, he was rocking it back and forth, so it’s totally his fault that he’s struggling to stabilize himself whilst he looks at you with the most scandalising expression.
“What are you trying to do?” he chokes out. Then he grabs his textbook and smacks it on your head. You let out a yelp of protest as he begins chasing you around with his textbook.
“Come here,” he demands. “Let me hit you one more time for what you just said.”
“I just wanna have ramyeon! What’s wrong with that?” You complain, as you dodge a whack. Suho tries to chase you around a desk, and you both go in circles, until he jumps over the desk and wraps his arms around you.
“Hey! Get off of me!” You’re shrieking and trying to stifle your giggles as he straddles you.
“You can’t just say this to any boy, you hear?” Suho wags a finger at you.
“Any boy?”
“Only me. Only say it to me.” He flashes you a grin. “Let’s go, we’ll make them my way.”
୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧
Humin (Baku)
You nudge him playfully as you both linger outside your door.
“Wanna have ramyeon back at my place?”
He freezes mid-step as he turns to look at you. “Wait, what? Are we talking noodles or…you know…‘ramyeon’?”
You raise an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
Pink slowly creeps into his cheeks as you continue to look him square in the eyes.
“YAH! Don’t say stuff like that so casually! Are you feeling unwell or something? Huh?” His hand reaches out to press against your forehead.
You grin in response as you gently brush his hand away. “So… is that a yes?”
He grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course it’s a yes…but only if there’s actual ramyeon too… unbelievable… I was just trying to walk you home.”
୨୧₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹୨୧
Hyun-Tak (Gotak)
Hyun-Tak just laughs, his gaze momentarily flicking to the side before they return to you.
“Depends…are we eating first or later?” He leans in closer, his gaze so steady and unrelenting that your composure begins to waver.
“Uhm…I…” What the hell did he just say? You’re supposed to be the slick, flirty one right now. So why is your face burning and your heart beating out of your chest right now?
Hyun-Tak grins. “You okay? You were talking a big game just a minute ago.”
You force a laugh as you try to collect yourself. “Well… I just wasn’t expecting you to actually flirt back.”
“Why not?” he says softly. “You think I’ve been coming all this way just for the small talk?”
“So,” he says, voice low and eyes teasing, “is it ramyeon, or something else?”
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꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 2,5k
cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff / kissing / needy bf / h!ckies / strawberry jam involved / a little messy / slightly suggest!ve / bites / cutesy
pairing: boyfriend! yeon sieun x female reader
⤷ sypnosis: you and sieun are dating. his thoughts have been unusually needy all day, unable to stop thinking about how your lips would feel against his. eventually, the temptation becomes too much, surrendering to his need. finally giving in, he makes you his dessert.
۶ৎ author message ﹕this is a request by @lillycore ♡ enjoy!
"Can I request Sieun suddenly succumbing to the urge to desperately kissing reader (established relationship), pinning her to the wall and not wanting to let go of her?"
reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻
੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡
masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ Adore You - Harry Styles (Literally just PERFECT)
ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Japanese Denim - Daniel Caesar
The grocery bags crinkle as you shove the door shut with your hip, almost dropping one of them. You shake your hair out of your face, some of it just sticks there anyway clinging to your eyes.
You quickly kick your shoes of at the door before heading into the kitchen to set the bags down on the counter. An easy smile on your face while you unpack.
“Sieun! Baby, I’m home!” you call out, your tone carrying through the apartment.
He usually came grocery shopping with you without you having to ask. Sieun didn’t like when you carried heavy bags alone. He especially hated when the plastic cut into your palms even if you promised him it was fine. Promptly urging him to pull the bags right out of your hands without allowing room for protest.
But today you insisted on going alone, pushing him back toward his desk and his unfinished work.
It doesn’t take long before you hear his footsteps.
The kitchen was open to the living room, one of those small yet cozy apartments, making you catch him in your peripheral vision. His cream quarter zip and sweats were still on from earlier. A slightly worn out look on his face coupled with faint tired shadows underneath his eyes.
Always from staring at documents and his laptop screen.
His hair was a slight mess, probably from running his hands through it far too much.
He pauses when he sees you. Just for a second.
“You carried everything okay?”
Placing the jar of strawberry jam down, you looked up at him and slightly rolled your eyes. Though there was a little smile on your face.
“Yes, I carried everything okay,” you reassure him, knowing how much he thinks of your comfort. “You worry too much.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Sieun shakes his head.
“I just don't want you getting hurt.”
Your smile softens.
“I know.”
More groceries slowly spread across the marble countertop between you.
He leans over the island, forearms pressing into the cool surface. His sleeves were slightly pushed up, revealing how the muscles in his arms looked strained after spending the whole day hunched over his desk, typing away.
“I got a cupcake mix,” you continue, rummaging through another bag. “And frosting. Oh, and those little decorating things.”
He hums quietly.
“So we can make them together later.”
Another hum.
“And I got that strawberry jam you like.”
“Mm.”
“And hot chocolate since it’s so cold out—“
You pause.
“Baby.”
He isn't looking at the groceries.
His eyes are panning over you instead. The flushed look of your cheeks from the cold outside. The way your fingers carefully unpack each item. The smile on your face whenever you get lost in your own words.
Putting your arms around your chest, you cross them.
“Are you listening?” you raise an eyebrow.
“I am.”
“No, you're staring.”
A pause.
“Can I not do both?”
You smile despite trying to seem ticked off.
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
His voice is quiet, tired from work, but there's warmth in it.
“I like listening to you.”
You shake your head slightly and resume your unpacking.
His gaze drops briefly to your hands. At the pretty diamond sitting on your finger, catching the soft hue of the kitchen light, the promise ring he'd given you on your second anniversary.
His eyes linger there for a moment. Quietly in awe of everything. Such a minor detail, but the way it was resting so perfectly on your hand, it was a quiet reminder of a vow he'd made long ago. And he never regretted it.
Even now, watching you ramble about cupcake frosting, while unloading groceries in his hoodie with pink cheeks, the thought comes as easily as breathing.
Yeah. Her.
The same love he felt for you still deep within him. Within every inch of his body like you already owned him far beyond words could describe. Stronger now than ever.
He was sure about you. More sure than he's ever been about anything.
He rounds his way around the counter, watching you go on and on about a new Pocky flavor you were intrigued to try together, a smile playing at his lips. The corner of them lifting a little.
You look so cute. So perfect. Everything he needed in his life.
And craving you all day, was not making it any easier.
His need only doubled the moment you had walked out that door. Even while sitting at his desk, finishing up his last bit of work, his thoughts only kept drifting back to you. Always circling back to his beautiful girlfriend.
The way you’d laid so blissfully next to him in the morning. Lazily draped over the mattress, leg flung over him as you hugged him close. Face digging into his neck, close enough for him to smell your shampoo, like his chest was the only place you ever really wanted to be.
Which, naturally, made him sit restlessly waiting for you.
“—Right? It’s not crazy to say.”
His eyes flutter for a second as he snaps back from his thoughts, your voice cutting through the daydreams of how badly he wanted to sit you over that counter, wrap your legs around his waist and scatter your body with kisses and marks.
A dramatic sigh slips through you.
“You’re not even listening, I knew it,” you turn, already putting food away.
He pauses a moment trying to get his thoughts in line, string something coherent together that didn’t sound like he was caught lost of focus. Halfway between your words and his own reverie.
And yet, what he ends up saying is quite… unexpected?
“…You look beautiful.”
He catches you slightly off guard for a moment before you snap back in quite a stiff tone.
“Mhm.”
His eyes drift to the strawberry jam sitting on the counter. Without much thought, he twists it open and fishes a spoon out of the drawer, scooping up some and taking a bite straight from the jar.
The only person who could eat jam like that was Sieun. His hidden sweet tooth shamelessly came out around you.
And you had come to terms with that long ago.
He keeps picking at it inattentively, small bites here and there, his attention never leaving you. Eyes following you around the kitchen. The sway of your hair as you reach into the cabinets, the line of your back beneath his hoodie, the curve of your waist disappearing beneath soft fabric.
Putting the spoon aside, he swallows.
Something in him finally giving out. He couldn't keep his lips off of you any longer.
Sieun steps behind you as you reach into the fridge to slide a fresh carton of milk in, the cold air spilling out in between you. His hands find and settle at your waist, fingers tugging lightly at the hem of your hoodie before letting it fall back into place, like he’s toying with the idea for a second, teasing himself.
When he leans in, his breath brushes the back of your neck. Warm and soft, close enough that it changes the energy. Clashing with the cold waves coming from the fridge.
You feel it immediately, the way your skin reacts to his touch, small goosebumps rising along your arms as everything fades into something less important. Your thoughts tunneling in on the man behind you.
Pressed up against you.
“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, but you don’t move away.
He leans in and moves your hair to the side, pressing small kisses along the back of your neck, one after another, slow enough that it stops being accidental and starts being a choice he’s actively making.
His hands slide under your hoodie and stay there, fingers resting at your waist.
“Nothing,” he murmurs between kisses.
His crotch presses closer into you, making your breath catch as you felt his hard outline right against the curve of your ass.
“Doesn’t feel like nothing.”
He smiles against your neck, the corner of his mouth lifting from something only he knows, before his hands slide around you and turn you smoothly.
One arm slips around your waist as he crowds you against the wall, your back meeting the cool surface while his warmth closes in around you. His finger taps teasingly against the bottom of your chin, gently urging you to look up.
“Head up, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to make something flutter in your chest.
You take a second too long to process it.
A tiny smile tugs at his lips.
“C'mere.”
His fingers slip beneath your chin, tipping your face up for you before he closes the distance, kissing you slowly, sluggishly. It felt like the kiss itself was mirroring how he wanted to relish the way your mouth danced against his.
He'd spent the entire day thinking about this and was finally getting what he needed.
His head tilts slightly, deepening the kiss, his free hand settling at your hip, keeping you close against the wall.
And without missing a beat, you kiss him back instantly, just as desperate to have him close. With the same intensity. His lips felt soft against yours, wet, inviting.
“Sieun…” you echo his name softly.
“Mm,” he breathes, smiling against your mouth. “Baby…”
His mouth doesn't last long before it finds your neck. Peppering it with gentle kisses as he pulls your head back by your hair. Not aggressively, but more like he's softly reminding you he needed to claim every inch of you.
“You smell good,” he rasps against your skin, sucking mixes of blue, red and purple on your neck. Tongue licking right into the thumping, restless rhythm of your pulse.
Eventually biting just hard enough to make you gasp before sucking the spot gentle. He blows cool air over the wet, stinging skin, and a full body shiver ripples down your spine before he kisses it warm again.
There was clear tooth indents in your neck. A sheepish smile immediately finds his face, though it doesn't stop him from going right back to it. Kissing, nipping, and fussing over every patch of skin he could find, as though he couldn't decide where to give his attention first.
Lacing with his hair, your fingers twirl it, your other hand on his shoulder. Keeping yourself sturdy in the moment.
“You’re being a little… needy…” you murmur between soft breaths, the words brushing his ear.
Which, weirdly, only seems to make things... more demanding.
As though the second he loosened his hold, you'd somehow disappear back into that evil grocery store that had stolen you from him for two whole hours.
“I just missed you,” he confirms.
You let out a little breathy laugh, “I wasn’t even gone that long.”
“Long enough.”
His breath comes in warm, shallow puffs against your mouth, pupils blown wide as he holds your gaze, the soft curve of his lower lip still pink from kissing. The need in his stare is sharp, that familiar puppy look in his eyes. Edged with a quiet claim that makes your heart stutter.
“A little break?”
He manages a sound of protest, his mouth slots back over yours before the sound can fully leave you, one hand fisted tight in the back of your hoodie to keep you close. His chest heaves against yours, every ragged breath warm between your lips, and he doesn’t pull back even when his lungs burn for air.
“Baby, mmh—” you giggle, his thumb brushing slow over the curve of your jaw before pulling back.
An idea clear in his eyes.
He grabs the same spoon once again, scooping a tiny amount and holding it in front of your lips.
"What are you doing?"
"Open."
"Sieun."
"Baby."
"You were just kissing me till you could barely breathe and now you want me to do a taste test? I already know it tastes go—"
Before you could finish, he slips the spoon gently past your lips and you have no choice but to take it.
"Don't swa—"
Immediately, the jam is down your throat.
"Baby, let me finish," he lets out a little breathy sound, almost a laugh, and shakes his head. Giving you yet another spoonful.
"Keep it in your mouth," he puts the spoon back.
Attention turning to you again, that is if it had ever left, his lips finds yours once more.
Only then do you realize what he's doing. And you'd be lying if it didn't make some certain parts of you pulse in need.
His tongue slips past your parted lips. The taste of the strawberry jam against his mouth as it mixes with his saliva, and his hand slides down to curl tight around your waist underneath your clothes, pulling you flush against him.
"Mm," he whines a little into the kiss, urging every bit of jam out of your mouth and into his.
His hands sneak up your torso, one settling tightly against your bra, cupping your tit into his desperate grip. The pressure of his thumb circling your sensitive peak makes your back arch off the wall into his chest. The moan you gasp out is swallowed immediately by him, his grip tightening just a little when you press closer.
Chasing the shudder you sent down his spine.
With one last content little hum, he kisses every bit of jam out of your mouth, sucking gently on your tongue before he lets go. His own tongue darting out to lick a bit that smeared the corner of your mouth.
Your fingers still curl in the fabric of his sweater, heart hammering against your ribs.
"Messy," he simply says and leans back in for another kiss, hand kneading your boob beneath the hoodie. Again.
Incredibly greedy.
“You taste good,” he whispers into your mouth.
You smile into the kiss, lewd, needy sounds spilling from your lips directly into his mouth. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his clothes, your body leaning heavy into his, every nerve buzzing even as your knees go weak and you struggle to match the hungry rhythm he set.
“Better with the jam?” you tease.
He can’t help but smile, pulling back to study the expression settled on your face. The rosey tint spread across your cheeks, now definitely not from the cold but something entirely different, your messy hair, your pink bruised lips, and the glassy look in your eyes.
Especially the marks that adored your neck.
He stares a little too long. Thumb brushing against your cheek then your bottom lip. As if he was testing if you were real. Real and his.
“Mm.”
Another second passes.
“Don't make me compare you to food, weirdo.”
His mouth twitches.
You giggle.
“Seriously.”
The corners of his lips lift, something soft hidden beneath the teasing.
"Just you is enough."
A stupid smile washes over your face. Head over heels just as much as he was for you.
━━ classmate!sieun who throws himself into his studies. it’s all he knows. good grades mean attending a good college and getting a good job and earning the affection of an absent father and emotionally distant mother
━━ classmate!sieun who doesn’t notice you at first. your polite smiles and friendly waves go ignored in favor of his textbook. it’s only when your science teacher, much to sieun’s disappointment, announces a group project that you have your first meaningful interaction
━━ acquaintance!sieun who rarely talks - even when he knows the answer. your meetings are stilted at first, full of dead air and unspoken words. still, you get the project done with time to spare
━━ acquaintance!sieun who doesn’t say anything when you start appearing in his life more often. he doesn’t change seats in science, preferring your quiet company to suho’s snores or beomseok’s whispered questions. he returns your waves in the hallway, even if he never smiles back. and when new pencils and study guides begin to appear on your desk, you silently accept them
━━ friend!sieun who starts inviting you to his outings. suho and beomseok exchange a knowing glance behind his back, constantly slipping away to leave you alone. he never says it, but you notice how he lingers near your side, unable - or unwilling - to leave
━━ best friend!sieun who doesn’t know he has a crush on you. so what if it makes his heart beat faster when you accidentally touch his hand? who cares if his chest tightens and jaw clenches when you offhandedly mention being asked on a date? and when you fall asleep on his shoulder, he doesn’t pull away. friends do that too, right?
━━ best friend!sieun who only realizes when suho lets out an exasperated sigh, reaching across the table to deliver a smack to the back of his head. “you have a crush,” suho sighs. “obviously”
━━ best friend!sieun who chronically overthinks everything - especially his confession. admittedly, he’s never done this before. suho’s lecture on how to “sweep you off your feet with unmistakable charm” was less than helpful
━━ best friend!sieun who stumbles through his confession. it’s awkward and stilted and perfectly him. not the corny dramas suho had dragged him into watching. not a big, fancy showcase. just sieun, standing before you, hands in his pockets and doe eyes meeting your own. “i like you”
━━ boyfriend!sieun who becomes more affectionate in small ways. your water bottle is magically refilled after your breaks. home-made meals find their way into your fridge, dated and complete with little notes. a light gray, oversized jacket is laid over your shoulders as soon as goosebumps arise against your skin
━━ boyfriend!sieun who invites you to study with him. you sit in silence, typing an essay or scribbling through math problems. and if you notice the way his gaze lingers on you when he thinks you don’t notice, you don’t say a word
━━ boyfriend!sieun who doesn’t know what to do with his hands. yours rest against his cheeks, tracing against his cheekbone and cradling his face between your fingers. his rest against your cheek. then your shoulders. then, finally, he rests them against your waist, holding you steady
━━ boyfriend!sieun who melts into your first kiss. his lips are chapped and his face is flushed. it takes some time, but soon there’s no hesitation before he begins to crave the feeling. and there’s no denying the way he smiles brightly when you finally pull away
━━ boyfriend!sieun who barrels into danger to save the people he loves. he’s reckless, quick to take the blow on your behalf, consequences be damned. and when he comes home, covered in cuts and bruises and downcast eyes, you let him in every time
━━ boyfriend!sieun who winces when you clean the cuts on his hands. you don’t say it, but he sees the way you blink your tears away while you wrap his bandages and he heard your cries when you scrubbed the blood out of his uniform
━━ boyfriend!sieun who calls you in tears. his hand trembles as he grips his phone. you can hear the bustle of the hospital in the background. he speaks the best he can through his sobs. “please come,” he hiccups. “i need you here”
━━ boyfriend!sieun who lets you hold him when he cries. his hands fist into the fabric of your shirt and his tears burn against your skin. it’s the first time he really falls apart with someone else, chasing the comfort of your touch even when he feels like a little kid. “it’s okay,” you whisper. “he’ll be okay”
━━ boyfriend!sieun who believes you, even when everything is falling apart
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! really love this format and i already have some ideas for the rest of the whc characters (and some others too), considering making a part two for season two, title from boynextdoor - serenade
if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, you can find more weak hero fics here <33
★ ﾟ๑ I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ୧ ⊹ ࣪
ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you visiting him
୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you
୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace
──⠀ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes
⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3
reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja
For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.
For someone, so bright — her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.
The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.
She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses – busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly – anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.
But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldn’t fill, a mouth that wouldn’t smile.
During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.
The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone else’s dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.
She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.
She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.
She heard the rumors.
Kids at her locker thinking she couldn’t hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didn’t understand, lips curling into cruel stories.
She was the shadow stretching long across the hallway’s bright walls – not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.
Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.
She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.
She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.
Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath she’d almost believe everything would be okay again.
But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.
It was easier this way – so people wouldn't come closer anymore.
As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.
Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone else’s story.
Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.
At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.
She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the halls—heads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.
Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that I’m here.
The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.
She was careful now.
Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.
She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.
Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.
She started learning how to ride Suho’s motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like she’d disappear.
It wasn’t easy. Her hands weren’t made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was still—
She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.
Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They don’t talk much—just share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.
She doesn’t bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now it’s just her, a quiet chair, and Suho’s breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machine’s been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.
She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when you’re tired.
She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didn’t do—what she should’ve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suho’s expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldn’t have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.
That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.
Oh, how wrong she was.
It was hard to juggle everything—school during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.
Then she let out a bitter chuckle.
Right. He didn’t study much.
He tried—she remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasn’t built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.
Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.
But the truth was, she wasn’t doing this because it was right.
She was doing it because she didn’t know how else to grieve.
She was doing it to remember that she still lived for him—the only one.
It wasn’t like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parents—they didn’t care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.
That was a lie.
What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.
She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.
At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieun’s old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engine’s hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.
She’d cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too high—as if standing close was its own kind of risk. She’d force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.
Other days, she’d pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: “Too loud,” he’d said, never bothering to turn around.
So she’d shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forward—deliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.
Most of all, she rode just like Suho used to—late into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.
She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.
She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.
It wasn’t a triumphant smile—more like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.
When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paper—too soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.
She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone else’s softness.
She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suho—that bitch.
Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"
She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.
And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.
It didn’t fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.
Even if it was just hair.
Even if it was just for a second.
Then, it started.
The bullying.
The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, cold—so cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.
Not at them.
No, not at them.
At herself.
She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thing—this thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She would’ve been the storm they couldn't handle. She would’ve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.
A year ago, she would have struck first—fists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.
But not now.
Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energy—it felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.
She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.
The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at them—low laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.
They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stung—whispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.
Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look like—if that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didn’t matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.
The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their words—it all burned her. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.
She paused, breath steadying, and Suho’s voice cut through the noise in her head. “If they corner you, don’t let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.” Not her teacher’s drills—Suho’s words, like a lifeline.
She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl who’d cornered her.
Her voice was low, rough from disuse—but clear.
" You done spouting bullshit? "
The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girl’s smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribs—not fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.
The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armor—though it barely clung to her.
“You just keep talking,” she spat. “Saying things you don’t even understand. You’ve got the ego of a man compensating for something small—so small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but you’re nothing more than a coward in a mask.”
Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fast—too fast—reaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.
There was a snap—sharp, sickening.
A breath caught in the girl’s throat.
She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.
And then—silence.
She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.
But she didn’t move.
Not yet, she isn't done.
They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.
The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lunged—fists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.
The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didn’t see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.
The last girl hesitated.
She could’ve run. Could’ve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.
“Don’t,” she warned, softly. Like mercy.
But pride struck first, than being humble.
She attacked—and in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.
She exhaled.
She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.
“Pick them up,” she said.
No one answered, nor moved.
She exhaled with a look of annoyance.
She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathing—tile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.
“PICKED THEM UP!” she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.
It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.
They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.
She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.
"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.
But the one who had confronted her—the first to strike, the first to fall—didn’t look away.
She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasn’t fear in her face—it was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.
Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.
She walked toward her—not rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.
“Still holding onto that pride?” she asked, almost gently.
She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.
“No more talking.” She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.
She watched her chew it—eyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.
She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.
Then she let go.
Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without fury—only finality—she slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.
At the door, she paused.
The air in the bathroom was thick—smoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.
She turned to face them one last time.
“Tell a teacher,” she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. “And it won’t just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.” Her eyes swept over them—each one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.
“I’ll make sure you can’t even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.”
A breath.
“I will kill you.”
No screams. No theatrics. Just that promise—quiet and unshakeable.
Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.
She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.
But she remained composed.
Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroom—those faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeat—was already fading into the periphery of her mind.
Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.
She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.
She didn’t need to look back.
She just have to keep moving forward.
Its been a year.
After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.
When she slept, she was impossible to wake—like the world could end outside her window and she’d sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.
Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.
She blinked.
Hospital
Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.
She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. “Hello. Is this Dokja-ssi’s phone?”
Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. “Yes—yes, this is her. I’m Dokja. Why? What’s going on?” she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.
“There’s been a complication,” the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.
For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.
She didn’t respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldn’t remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didn’t change clothes. She didn’t think. She just ran.
She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.
She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.
She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.
She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.
She called and called Suho’s grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.
When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaos—blurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.
A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.
Then everything came too fast— loud shouts, jarring footsteps.
Too real.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.
Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suho’s body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.
She saw the moment his heart flatlined.
The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.
"He's in cardiac arrest!"
Doctors shouted orders she couldn’t understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.
His chest lifted—once, twice—under compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t.
All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And now—Now he was fighting to stay lit.
Tears clung to her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.
She placed a hand against the glass.
“Suho,” she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldn’t.
She didn’t know how long she stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.
All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.
Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.
Clear.
His body jolted.
She flinched.
Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room door—desperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.
“Suho,” she choked out, once, then again—until his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.
Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, he’d hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.
She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.
Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, “Please… please don’t go.”
No one answered.
Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.
She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, “If you're here, save him.”
Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suho’s heart slowly found its rhythm again.
She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.
“Suho’s stable now,” the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “He’s in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.”
“His vitals are steady. We’ll monitor him, of course.” The nurse’s tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.
The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. “His heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,” he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. He’s strong. He’ll pull through. But it’s too early to say much more.”
She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldn’t quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.
She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. “Can I see him?”
The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. “Just for a moment. He’s sedated, but we’ll allow a brief visit.”
As they led her to Suho’s room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of him—his face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitors—was almost too much to bear.
But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.
There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.
She didn’t speak.
She didn’t need to.
All she could do was stay. And wait.
"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.
"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadn’t known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."
"You always make me worry, don’t you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.
The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to have—when everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.
"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."
But silence was the loud answer.
Soon, she would hear his voice.
Again.
Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.
She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.
She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher power—she couldn’t contain it any longer.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don’t take him too."
She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.
Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.
Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.
She couldn’t show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.
Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.
She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over.
“Sieun,” his mother’s voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.
Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.
She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.
As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of them—those familiar figures from long ago—remained.
She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."
But “stable” felt hollow—an empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.
Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.
In that moment, the corridor’s light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?
Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.
When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.
“What happened to Sieun?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didn’t sound as fragile as it felt.
Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?
They met her gaze, each face shifting with something—pity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.
The first met her gaze for an instant—his head shaved close, eyes hard—before he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.
“Who are you?” the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.
Her throat constricted. “I—” She forced the words out. “I’m just asking if he’s okay.”
“Why do you care?” the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.
“I was his friend,” she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. “Please… just tell me.” They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.
“We weren’t there,” the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. “Someone brought him in. He… hasn’t woken up yet.” She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.
The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: “You close to him, then?” She blinked at him, She didn’t know how to answer him. Are you close to him? — the question wasn’t cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It would’ve been easy. Natural.
But they weren’t.
Not anymore.
So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting — the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. “I was,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.
The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.
The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasn’t like they could.
As she neared the hallway where Sieun’s mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved — like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.
She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.
By the time she reached the door — the same one his mother had disappeared through — her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.
She leaned in.
The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.
There he was.
Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.
Her breathe hitched.
Him too?
And she didn't even know.
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped — and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.
It hit her like a quiet betrayal.
She used to pride herself on noticing things—on knowing when people were hurting even if they didn’t say it out loud. But this?
She hadn’t known a damn thing.
She didn't know what happened.
There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.
Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.
She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.
Would it have changed anything?
Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?
She didn’t even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didn’t notice him slipping.
She didn’t notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. “What is it?” The woman’s tone was brisk—businesslike, wrapped in steel—but not cruel. Not yet.
And for a moment, she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.
What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadn’t seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didn’t know why she was here, only that her feet wouldn’t let her go anywhere else?
But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadn’t wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.
“…What happened to Sieun?” She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.
The woman paused.
Sieun’s mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.
“You...” Sieun’s mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. “You’re the girl who visited us... a year ago?”
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
“I was,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or understanding—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.
Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.
But at her first question, her jaw tensed — a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head — not dismissive, not angry — just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.
For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.
Then, finally, Sieun’s mother exhaled — low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.
“He’s in a bad state,” she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. “Unconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. They’re doing what they can.”
The ache hit without warning — a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didn’t know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.
She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.
“Do you... want to see him?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.
“Yes.” Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. “Please. I— I need to.” The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.
Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished she’d said.
But ahead… ahead was the hope of seeing him again — and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.
“Are... are you a friend of Sieun’s?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone else’s.
“I used to be his friend,” she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.
She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She can’t afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.
The reality of what’s happening hits her—she’s finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything at all.
But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if it’s just in silence.
The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.
It’s hard to look at him—he looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. She’s reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.
His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.
She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.
Silence erupted in the room—not hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.
She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.
She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. “The doctor says it wasn’t critical, but his nervous system was affected. He’s been having trouble...” Her voice falters a bit.
“...trouble sleeping.” Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. “Did Sieun tell you this?”
She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it’s drowned in the ache of regret. “No, I haven’t talked to him... not since he switched schools.” She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.
A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if she’s been waiting to say this. “The moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.”
She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished she’d done differently.
Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. “Sieun’s always been reserved... He’s never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. That’s how he is... always locking everything inside.” She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.
She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.
“I... I let my pride get in the way,” she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. “I didn’t talk to him when I had the chance... I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be fine—like he always is. I told myself he’d figure it out. But now—” her breath hitched, “now he’s in here, like this. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close.”
Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.
She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.
The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she could’ve closed, but didn’t. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.
If only she’d said something. If only she hadn’t let fear speak louder than her heart.
Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.
Her voice was calm—steady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, not accusing, not dismissive—just honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. “You can’t predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.”
She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.
“Sometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. That’s not on you. You can’t carry that alone.”
The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadn’t let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to this—but maybe... it wasn’t all hers to hold.
Then, softer now, almost like an offering:
“If you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasn’t changed. It’s not too late. He’s been through more than we know, but maybe—just maybe—seeing you now will remind him... that he’s not alone. That someone still cares.”
And in that moment, the she felt something shift—not the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didn’t fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.
She feels a sudden rush of uncertainty—an ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?
Her pride claws at her, whispering that it’s too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeper—something older and softer—fights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.
Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but it’s no longer paralyzing. It’s a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.
She glances at Sieun’s mother, who doesn’t speak—just waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet don’t move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now it’s tethered to something else—resolve.
She can’t go back. She can’t undo the past.
But maybe... she can be here now.
Maybe this is the moment that matters.
For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that she’s here, that she’s trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.
She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.
"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"
The next day felt like a blur.
She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.
She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her day—how the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.
“I saw his mom yesterday,” she continues, her voice softer now. “She said he’s not critical... but his nervous system’s been hit harder than I expected. He’s having trouble... sleeping. I didn’t know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.”
She doesn’t expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.
She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieun’s mother. “She said I wasn’t the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didn’t think it would be like this.”
The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.
Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suho’s side becoming the lullaby she never thought she’d need.
Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suho’s, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. It’s not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary relief—a brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.
And even if it’s just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.
She stirred awake slowly, but didn’t move. The heaviness in her limbs wasn’t from sleep—it was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suho’s.
The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.
The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didn’t open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to see—but she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.
Then, his voice.
“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”
Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waiting—for answers, for closure, for him.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.
And then, the second wound.
“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”
It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.
She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride could’ve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.
She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voice—tired but sharp—cut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.
“Took you a year to say that?”
The footsteps paused. Silence stretched—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears.
He froze.
The sound of her voice—raspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably raw—stopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didn’t look at him.
Not yet.
Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.
A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.
Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. It just held.
“I waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not for an apology. Just… something. Anything.”
Her hand brushed lightly against Suho’s, grounding her. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.
“But you disappeared,” she continued. “Like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. “You don’t get to walk in and say sorry like that’s enough.”
She wasn’t yelling.
She didn’t need to.
Her silence hurts the both of them.
She looked at him then, fully—and for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.
Still, her next words weren’t bitter. Just… tired.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Sieun.”
And beneath it all, she meant it.
Do you even know what you left behind?
He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didn’t belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight he’d ever taken.
Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.
Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.
He wanted to speak.
He wanted to explain.
What could he say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse?
So he just looked at her.
The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suho—as if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.
He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And when I finally did… I wasn’t sure I deserved to.”
She didn’t respond—not right away.
But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"
So he took a step closer.
“I didn’t stop caring,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”
"You think I didn’t notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angry—just tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.
She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.
"I just didn’t want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took it—so much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didn’t even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.
"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have you—you—just disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.
"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. I’d stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. I’d run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isn’t that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didn’t let it fall apart.
"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldn’t walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.
She didn’t cry.
She didn't want to anymore.
"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isn’t a time machine. Sorry doesn’t put things back where they were. Sorry doesn’t tell me why you thought I couldn’t handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.
"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Don’t come back now and act like you were the one hurting."
She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to him—arms still at her side, fists clenched.
She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.
“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”
Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.
“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”
Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.
She looked at him, hollow-eyed.
“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”
The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.
“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”
“I’m not—” he stated.
“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”
That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.
“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”
He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.
“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”
She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.
“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”
There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.
“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”
She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.
“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.
“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”
He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.
“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”
She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.
“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”
He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.
“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”
“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”
His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.
She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.
And it killed him—
That he was the reason her eyes were wet.
That her sadness wore his name.
She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”
He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.
“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”
The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.
Two steps. Three.
She crashed into him.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.
Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.
“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.
"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."
Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.
And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.
No more pride.
No more what ifs.
No more sleepless nights.
No more wondering.
No more pretending.
Just them.
The two of them.
And maybe Suho too.
Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.
The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."
She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.
That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.
There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.
Like it still hurt.
“You want to meet them?”
The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.
She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.
“Do you want me to?”
The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.
He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”
She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.
“Then let’s go,” she said.
So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.
They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.
Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.
Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.
Jun-tae noticed first.
“Sieun,” he said simply.
Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”
Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.
“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”
He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.
Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.
“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.
This guy, Baku.
He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.
His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.
“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”
Sieun blinked.
She blinked.
The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.
Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.
Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.
But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.
“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”
Sieun groaned under his breath.
“It’s not like that.”
She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.
“We’re just close.”
Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.
“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”
She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”
“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”
Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.
No one bothered correcting him again.
The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.
She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.
“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”
She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.
“I’ll walk you out.”
The three looked at them, and just let them be.
They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.
Then, from behind them—
“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.
Sieun didn’t miss a beat.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"
Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”
She laughed, quietly.
And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.
The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.
They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.
“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”
Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”
“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”
The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.
She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.
“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”
“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.
“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”
And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.
Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.
She didn’t look back. Not at first.
But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.
Then she turned.
Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.
From her pocket, she pulled something small.
Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.
A black punch ring.
Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”
And just like that, she turned.
No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.
Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.
Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.
And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.
Not joy. Not hope.
But the kind saying that he was ready.
Ready for her.
Reay to face it all.
After all, he is a hero. A weak one.
♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.
♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3
genre. fluff. mutual pining. whc1 w/o the angst au.
warnings. they're both whipped.
pairing. sieun x fem!reader.
wc. 2.6k. (wish it was longer damn)
request. no.
a/n. happy birthday @yeonjuns-redhair i love you so so so so much you'd better enjoy it 🔪
Sieun hadn’t taken much interest in girls during his life. Other than the fleeting first crush he had when he was fourteen, girls had been the last thing on his mind as he focused all his energy into his grades. But there was just something about you that Sieun couldn’t ignore. Without realising it, he was falling head over heels in love with you and he didn’t even have the courage to speak a single word to you.
You sat a seat up from Sieun one row over, a spot which allowed him to admire you silently whenever he wanted (which was increasingly becoming the only thing he wanted to do). Whenever the window was open on a warmer day, the breeze would always reach your hair and blow in just the way to take Sieun’s breath away. He had become an expert at pretending to be absorbed in his notes like he always was, but his gaze always found its way to you eventually.
The first person to realise was Sooho.
“You like Y/n or something?” Sooho teased, dropping into the seat in front of Sieun, making him look up from his notes which hadn’t been added to in the past 20 minutes despite the pencil in his hand.
“Is it obvious?” Sieun said in a panicked voice, eyes glancing over the mostly empty room just to make sure no one was listening.
“Given that she has the power to take your attention away from your studies, I’d say so.” Sooho pointed out, grinning.
“What do I do?” Sieun sighed, dropping his pencil, dropping his head into his hands.
Sooho leaned back in his seat, pretending to think, “Ask her out, obviously.”
Sieun’s eyes widened, “What?”
“What?” Sooho echoed.
“I… I can’t ask her out.”
“Why not?”
Sieun flushed, “...She’s too good for me.” He mumbled.
Sooho raised his eyebrow at this, “Oh, you’re more whipped than I thought.” He gave Sieun a lopsided grin, finding the younger boy adorable. “Let me guess, you’ve never had a girlfriend before?” Sieun shook his head. “Don’t worry,” Sooho nodded as he spoke, “I can help you.”
“How?”
“Private lessons.” Sooho concluded, standing up and patting Sieun’s shoulder before walking out of the classroom. Sieun stared at him as he left, feeling the anxiety rising and he tried to gulp it back down.
//
Sieun’s first “private lesson” took place the next day. As he worked his part time job at the restaurant, Sooho gave all the advice he had to Sieun. Most of it went right over the smaller boy’s head, but he tried his best to at least write it all down on a notepad. He would need all the help he could get in order to even approach you, so he studied diligently.
“Figure out what she likes first. If she likes strawberry smoothies, buy her a strawberry smoothie. If she likes stuffed animals, buy her one. But be nonchalant about it, like you just happened to know that it was her favourite. Girls don’t like it when boys are obsessed with them.” Sooho explained as he sorted cans of soda.
“Am I too obsessed with her?” Sieun said suddenly, halting the movements of his pen.
“No, no, don’t worry about that. She’ll love you, you’re very lovable once you open up.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“And what if she does? Stop overthinking it and write down what I say, okay?”
Sieun left that first lesson overwhelmed. He had never thought so hard about how much eye contact to make or what pick-up lines to use. He was starting to feel like maybe he couldn’t do this. You were way out of his league and didn’t even know he existed. He was stupid to even try.
When he arrived at school in the morning, his head felt as cloudy as the sky outside. It was encroaching on a darkness but still clung to the cusp of a light grey. The clouds swirled around and hid the sun, a harsh breeze shifting the leaves on the trees.
Sieun opened his backpack to get out his notebook, but his attention was immediately drawn to a small bottle of mango juice. Sooho must have stuck it in. He grabbed it and found a sticky note with unmistakably Sooho’s handwriting scrawled on it.
I heard from her friend that this is her fav— remember what I told you ;)
Sieun sighed and peeled the sticky note off of the bottle, recalling all the steps Sooho had meticulously given him the previous day. Act cool, don’t try too hard, don’t act interested at first, etc.
Sieun busied himself with studying for the next hour, waiting for when you arrived to class so he could give you the juice. You walked in with a boy beside you and Sieun’s heart sunk. His eyes flickered between you and the boy who was clearly clinging to your side. Sieun thought that maybe you looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t know for sure. He just forced himself to look down at his paper, missing the way you instinctively looked at him, a mixture of disappointment in your face.
Sooho offered Sieun a ride home after school, eager to know if he had successfully made a move on you. “Did she like the juice?” Sooho asked brightly, passing Sieun the motorcycle helmet.
The other boy was silent as he put it on, still processing his disappointed emotions. Why did it make him feel like he was about to explode seeing someone else so close to you?
With the long pause, Sooho was quick to pick up on what had happened, “Don’t tell me you didn’t give it to her?” Sieun nodded quietly, affirming Sooho’s suspicions before sitting down on the motorcycle without another word. Sooho sighed and joined him, turning on the engine with a loud rev and entering the lane on the road.
//
You had known Sooho since your 5th birthday. He was that one kid who no one really knew why they were invited to the party, but ended up being the star anyway. He had caked you in the face on your 7th birthday as a prank, and now it was a tradition at every birthday.
No one was really aware of how close you two were, since you didn’t spend much time talking at school. Sooho was always sleeping and you were always spending way too much time being distracted by the most beautiful eyes- studying. You were studying.
It had been months of your studying being rudely distracted by this… certain someone, and your grades were realistically suffering because of it. You needed to do something about it, and luckily for you, Sooho was friends with this boy. It was like the stars had aligned.
“Sooho!” You sat down loudly at the desk in front of the sleeping boy, earning a tired groan as the boy attempted to wake up from his slumber.
“What?” He rubbed his eye lazily, waiting for you to bring up what was so important as to interrupt his precious sleep.
“I need to confess or else my grades will crash and burn.” You said dramatically, much to the confusion of the boy in front of you.
“Who are you confessing to?” He asked groggily but a bit more alert than before, thoughts of Sieun’s failed confession running through his brain immediately. What if you liked someone completely different? Should Sooho still encourage Sieun to confess to you?
“Sieun…” You muttered weakly.
“What?” Sooho’s eyes brightened when you repeated Sieun’s name in clarification. “I have a plan.”
Sooho’s plan was the most absurd thing you had ever heard. How the heck was randomly showing up to Sieun’s apartment going to achieve anything? What did he expect you two to do? Eat dinner?
Sooho had dropped you off 30 seconds ago and sped off on his motorcycle before you could figure out exactly where you were and bombard him with questions. He didn’t give you any instructions, any pointers. All he said was that Sieun had something to drink. You were confused and a little annoyed and scared. You would probably embarrass yourself in front of Sieun and then that would be the end of it. You wouldn’t have the courage to even look at the boy ever again.
You hesitantly knocked on the door since Sooho had threatened you in case you chose to run away instead of doing anything. As the door opened, you were faced with the pair of eyes that you expected. You watched as shock flickered over them.
You could practically melt right then and there just from looking at him. You had never actually seen him in clothes other than his school uniform, and while he looked good in it, he looked infinitely better in this; a soft crew neck and sweatpants. You could only imagine how comfortable it would be to hug him or even cuddle-
Your thoughts were shut down when Sieun spoke, a little timidly, “Do you want to come in?” His voice was soft like it always was. He never really talked much. Even when answering questions in class, he spoke in as few words as possible. You couldn’t lie, you found it endearing.
You nodded and walked through the door, finding the apartment unsurprisingly clean. You took off your shoes, staying in just your socks. Sieun tried to look for a spare pair of slippers to give you, but the only pair was his dad’s which were comically too big for you.
You gave up the search and walked to the couch to sit down. You could feel this warm feeling in the air, like some simmering tension. It wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact, it gave you the slight sensation of butterflies in your stomach.
Sieun sat next to you on the couch but not too close and you were both silent. You weren’t sure what to say or where to start. You had asked Sooho for help with confessing, but it would seem too abrupt to start with that. You wanted to warm up to Sieun first, though you weren’t sure how long you could wait before the words fell out of your mouth.
“Do you want a drink?” Sieun asked and you smiled. So Sooho wasn’t lying with that part.
“What are the options?”
“Uh…” He dropped his head, thinking for a second before running to the small fridge and pulling out a bottle of mango juice, “You like this… right?”
You nodded, “Yeah, I do.”
Sieun’s lips turned up into the cutest smile you had ever seen in your entire life. You felt like you were floating on clouds from the elated feeling. You made him smile.
Once you had received a glass of mango juice, the conversation started flowing a bit easier. You talked about school and hobbies and your favourite foods. Though Sieun didn’t say much, you could tell he was always listening to what you were saying. That was a bit unusual to you. You were always used to being ignored or thought of as obnoxious when you talked, so you rarely felt comfortable saying what you wanted to. With Sieun, however, you felt like you could say anything and he would listen.
It was late in the night and Sieun was preparing a small dinner for you both. He had been overwhelmingly kind and considerate that you felt your will to not confess being slowly withered away. You were about to crack, you could feel it. As soon as he did one more thing to make your heart flutter, you would have to spill it otherwise you were sure you would explode.
Your resolve was finally broken while you were eating. You were sitting across from Sieun on the floor, food spread out as best as Sieun could make it. You had a small bit of sauce on the corner of your lip, and before you could notice yourself, Sieun had leaned across the table and wiped it off gently with his thumb.
Your cheeks flushed pink at the touch. You were lucky you didn’t have any food in your mouth otherwise you would’ve probably choked. You were stunned, staring at the boy in front of you. And then he smiled as if he was shy but happy to help. You could see his ears had turned pink at the tips, and then finally your mouth was spitting out words before your brain could catch up.
“I like you, Sieun.”
//
“I’m nervous I’ll do it wrong.” Sieun whispered, head dropped to look at the floor. You could see his cheeks a bright red and you were sure that your boyfriend was the cutest thing this world had ever created.
“You won’t be able to mess up cuddling, I promise.” You reassured him.
“But I’ve never done it before… What if-”
“You’ve hugged me before.” You cut him off. He nodded. He had hugged you, many many times. He wanted to hug you right now. “It’ll just be like a prolonged hug… except more relaxed.” You understood how the thought of cuddling could feel daunting for him. He had been touch-starved his entire life. “I’ll show you how it works, but… you need to come here first.” You giggled and patted the spot next to you on the bed.
Sieun’s face flushed more and he joined you carefully, scooting next to you. You grabbed his wrist and tugged him even closer to you, “It’s hard to cuddle when there's a gap between us.” You explained with a smile.
You decided it would be best to make the first move, so you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your cheek on his chest. He was even more comfortable than you could’ve imagined, and you wondered why you hadn’t done this before. He smelled clean and calming, your nerves instantly becoming soothed by being so close to him.
He had tensed up at first, not sure how to respond and hyper aware of how fast his heart was beating. You were so pretty and the fact that you were hugging him so closely? Sieun would probably never recover. He figured that wrapping his arm around your shoulder would be natural, and he soon discovered that the position was 10 times more comfortable that way as you snuggled even closer to him.
“Your heart is beating so fast… Nervous?” You mumbled, peering up at him with a small teasing smile.
“Yeah…”
“Me too.” You whispered, a smile growing as you could feel both your hearts beating at the same fast rate.
Sieun was an excellent cuddler, he just didn’t realise it. He naturally started rubbing your arm in a soothing way until his hand travelled up to your hair and started playing with it. You were sure you would become addicted to cuddling him after this. Maybe you would ask him to cuddle with you everyday…
“Can I kiss you?” You asked suddenly. Sieun’s hand stopped playing with your hair.
“I… I’ve never-”
“I know. Me neither.” You said shyly, “It just… seemed like the right moment, but if you don’t-”
“I do. I really really do.” He said firmly and smiled a little. Your heart was already melted from the cuddles, but it was as good as evaporated at the sight of his smile.
“Okay.” You cupped his cheek cautiously before leaning in, not quite touching his lips, waiting for him to lean in as well. He pressed his lips to yours softly, timidly moving them in case you were uncomfortable or he was doing it wrong.
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You wake up thanks to your phone ringtone, blasting the default bell jingle in your right ear, with a humid pool in your notebook and a huge pain in your back. Certainly falling asleep at your desk wasn’t a good sleep position for your spine, and not a comfortable one either, but literature was so powerful, it knocked you out in less than thirty minutes. That said, behind that loud ringtone, you were already sensing an upcoming pain in the ass.
Your phone was almost demanding to be answered, it was as if the notes were screaming in your face. You take a deep breath and pick your phone up to see the person who was calling: “Puppy”. Now, you would’ve never saved anyone with such a name on your contacts but you were forced into it, by the same person that was calling you now, your girlfriend.
Once you slid the green button across the screen, her filtered voice came blasting at full volume.
“Good morning sleepyhead! I bet you had the most profound, warm, dream-inducing, fairy-like sleep ever, right? Must have been so heavenly!” You could already tell it wasn’t a “good” morning for her and it wasn’t supposed to be one for you either. Her voice was already cracking your speaker, she must have been fuming mad.
“Good morning, Sieun…” you said softly, testing the ground.
“Wh—first of all, Sieun? We’ve already discussed this before, baby, say it.”
“Honey.”
“Well done. Second, good morning? Babe, it’s 2 pm!”
“Well, you said it first and I—”
“It was sarcasm, you idiot. Can’t you even tell?” she complained. The large sigh behind the speaker gives you a moment to rest then Sieun starts again. “Gosh, I don’t know how I’m the girlfriend of such an airhead… Anyways, listen here mister.”
You lean back into the chair and look to the ceiling, calling the help of the gods, the angels, the deities above but you know nobody could rescue you now. She said the phrase, Sieun’s mom mode was activated and you could not escape.
“Not only I didn’t receive a good night text, which we have agreed on, not only I didn’t receive a good morning text, but you didn’t say anything to me all day! Wh-what am I? I’m your girlfriend, not a random friend you talk to only when you feel like it.”
“Sieun—honey, I…”
“Go ahead, give me your excuses. Like you always do,” Sieun scoffs. You don’t even dare to sigh, if she heard it, she’d go on another rant about you not caring enough or whatever she had in mind—you didn’t know. Next time you should ask your friend to code you a bot to send her texts or remind you to do it, because at this rate, it was only a matter of time until she’d kill you.
“Nothing, honey, I’m sorry.”
“Well, you’re unforgiven. You better make up for it, alright?”
“Okay, tomorrow I’ll—”
“Not tomorrow! Right now. We’re going on a date. We’ve been a couple for two months and you’ve only taken me on one date when you confessed. I’m tired of waiting, you’re taking me on one right now. Think of a place while you come to my dorm.” When she was done talking, Sieun closed the call without giving you time to say anything else.
You go back to your normal sitting posture to think. Sure, you had to prepare for your test but that was in a week and even if it was a lot of material, it was a threat in the future while Sieun was a very close threat. Putting things on a scale of importance, your girlfriend seemed to be a bit further up. Fine, the date was already decided, you might as well go.
Being Sieun’s boyfriend was, in a lack of words, demanding. You’ve known her for a long time before getting together with her: you were her personal tutor. In the past, her character was definitely rougher and you had to take a long time before she trusted you, but after that you got to see her sweet side. In a mix of hormones and surprise, you eventually asked her out and in a even more surprising twist, she liked you too.
Unfortunately, it was right at the start of your midterm so you couldn’t spend much time with her. Frustruation must have gotten to her too and she was more irritated than usual.
Anyways, you don’t ask yourself anymore questions as you drive the car away from your dorm and drive to your Sieun. While on the road, you looked around thinking of where to take her. She was a very energetic girl and bringing her to watch a movie or to a café would have been very stupid of you. Something like a bowling or an arcade was more fitting. Yeah, you should go to the arcade.
You arrive at her dorm in probably 10 minutes. You knock on the door of her room and another girl opens the door for you. You know her, she’s Sumin, Sieun’s roommate. She comes out of the room like the priest of the Oracle of Delphi, ready to give you one of her prophecies and it wasn’t going to be a good one.
She looks at you with a mixture of fear and worry but politely gives you a smile. “You got Sieun real upset, she’s been complaining all morning,” she says.
“Sorry about that,” you reply apologetically, rubbing the back of your head and bowing.
“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” she chuckles. “Anyways, she’s in her room, she’s still changing so you can wait in the living room. I’m gonna go buy some groceries.”
“Thank you, Sumin.”
“Good luck,” she says and runs down the stairs. Now it’s only you and Sieun.
“Honey, I’m here!” you yell at a random direction and Sieun yells back, “You can come in, I’m pretty much done!” You come into her room like a soldier on a battle field. There is stuff everywhere on the floor: clothes, make up, bags, magazines, and if you ever dared to step on one of them, it would be over for you.
Sieun was sitting in front of a mirror, touching up her lips. She raises an eyebrow, looking at you through the window, then continues to put on her red in a comfortable silence. You limit yourself to looking at her and thinking about what you’ll do later.
She was done. Sieun got up after clicking the lipstick and grabbed her bag.
She wore a beautiful white dress, simple in appearance but full of little decors up close, it narrows just a little under the chest, not to show too much of her curves but let completely uncovered her shoulders and collarbones, where your eyes went the most. Her pink wavy hair adorned her face perfectly, making her face look smaller and sharper.
The moment she got up, the air inside the room was pushed out, and a sudden void was left in your lungs as you couldn’t master up any coherent word. You stutter a bit, and turn around to shield yourself from a too strong beauty.
“Uhm… so, I was thinking of going—” you can barely start when Sieun interrupts you.
“Really? Is that what you’re going to say?” she scoffs. You turn around and see her rolling her eyes, folding her arms, and leaning back on one leg.
“Wh-what?”
“You’re really useless, aren’t you?” she starts. “You’re lucky I’m an understanding person, the other girls would have left you already, but you have a lot to learn.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Well, I made myself this pretty and you’re just going to ignore it?!” Her voice suddenly increases in pitch and in volume. “A good boyfriend has to give a lot of compliments, you know that? I have to teach you everything apparently.”
“It’s just that… I do think you’re very pretty but I didn’t know what to say. You were so beautiful, you made me speechless. You don’t know how much I want to kiss you right now,” you say honestly.
Sieun is flustered, her cheeks become as pink as hair and she starts to look for a place to hide, without finding one, she covers her face with her hair and storms out of the room. “You said you got a place already, right? Let’s go,” she declares with a mighty voice and then with another almost inaudible voice, she whispers to herself, “What an idiot. He could’ve kept it to himself…”
You can hear her from the other side of the room and sigh at her hypocrisy but whatever, she was cute.
After you told her what you planned and made sure she approved of everything, you went down the dorm and started walking, it was just ten minutes from the building. You start talking about college and the upcoming tests but most of all, you let her rant because she always a lot on her mind.
Things were too smoothly to be true and after five minutes Sieun stops walking. You took a couple of steps before realizing and turn around.
“So are you not gonna do it?” she scoffs.
“What? What should I do?” you ask with confusion.
Sieun stands there with her fist rolled and her lips curled in an annoyed frown. She doesn’t look so much of a princess anymore. “Gosh, you’re so dense, what do I do with you…? Hold hand! You have to hold my hand!”
“But—”
“Look around, dear,” she says and sways her arms to show you, “All the couples are holding hands because that’s what couples do.” Sieun then stretches her arm out, holding her palm open to you. She flicks her chin, without watching you in the eyes, “So?”
You sigh and take her hand. “There.”
You start to walk again and this time Sieun's steps are wider, with more bounce in her shoulders. You chuckle to yourself, if she really wanted to hold hands, she could have just asked nicely. But that wasn’t really in character with her.
“You know,” you start and she turns to look at you. “Your hand is really soft. Your skin is so nice.”
“Is that so?” she almost whispers and turns the other way. “Well, your hand is all rough and shitty.”
“You really got a way with words, honey.”
“Walk faster.”
On your way to the arcade, a small sandwich house catches your eye. It was one of those small shops that students usually buy their lunches from, and you know it was good from how worn the tables were. Sieun sees it too and mentions how she always wanted to try it. Come to think of it, you always bought her food as a prize for studying when you were her own tutor.
The arcade is just two from there, you’re already thinking of what games to play: maybe the racing games or the street fighter, it’s been a while since you last tried it.
Sieun stops again.
You almost slap your face but you can’t let her see too much of your annoyance because that was another trigger for her.
“Is anything bothering you, honey?” you ask carefully. This time you chose your words more wisely.
“Do you know what girls like?” Sieun asks you back. “Everyone should know it by now.”
“Bags? Make-up? Kai?”
“Other than that.” She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t know… Money? Everyone likes money.”
“It’s food, you dumbass! Girls like food. If you want a girl to like you, you must offer her food.”
“What does that have to do with— ah… you want me to buy you a sandwich?”
“I don’t want you to buy it. I’m expecting you to do it. Like, I have never seen a boyfriend not offer his girlfriend food. I shouldn’t even have to remind you, you should already know it…”
“Okay, let’s get you something good to eat,” you say and enter the shop while your girlfriend happily hops behind you. The shop was just like how you thought, warm, comfy, and traditional. The person working there was an old woman, with a beautiful smile, that Sieun immediately greeted with excitement even if she never saw her.
You order the food and your bad mood is completely gone while you watch Sieun gulp down the sandwich with her cheeks full.
“This is shoooo good!” she barely says. Even if she was a rich kid, nobody has ever taught her manners. No, actually, they did teach her manners but she just chose not to follow them.
“Do you want a bite?” she then asks you. Leaning on one of her hands she watches you sideways, brushing you with her gaze, “You’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“So do you wanna try?” You nod. Sieun smiles and offers it to you with both her hands over the table. You lean over and take a bite. It was delicious, the eggs and the mayonnaise worked perfectly together and the bread wasn’t too mushy either. But most of all, you two must have looked like one of those couples from the korean dramas Sieun always watches.
She giggles while you clean yourself.
“Damn this is great.”
“I know right! It's so good!” she replies. “Okay, now let me try a bite of yours.”
You give her the sandwich. Yours was way too messy to be fed to her like she did. You take some extra napkins and you swear you hear a “nom” coming from her.
“Whoa! Yours is even better! Why didn't I choose that one?”
“Wanna switch?”
“No, it’s fine.”
When you were done eating, you finally reached the arcade, while holding her hand of course. The flashing lights and no windows really contrasted with the sunny outside. The AC was turned on, because there was no other ventilation, and it was more chilly than outside. Sieun had goosebumps all over her arms and was stroking her skin to warm up.
You give her your flannel shirt. She looks at you with surprise at first then happily puts it on.
“Oh… looks like you’re finally learning,” she smugly says. Sieun is like a little kid in a candy shop. She runs around the machines being easily impressed by every little image she sees on the screens. All that with your big shirts around her, it makes you so proud and happy. It was the dream of every boy come true.
The first game you chose to play together was Street Fighter. You got a couple of tokens, inserted the first one, and chose your characters. You take Ryu because you just liked him more while Sieun takes Chun Li.
Sieun only knows to spam the buttons and slam the machine out of anger whenever she gets hit.
“Sieun, you’re supposed to get out of the way when I punch you, not stay still.”
“Well, I don’t know how to do that!”
“Just move your joystick.”
“It’s easy for you to say it,” she yells and starts pressing random buttons again. After a long beating, it only takes you one final hadouken to beat her, for the fourth time. Sieun stomps her feet like a little kid, she’s fuming.
“Don’t you know you’re supposed to let your girlfriend win?” she yells at you.
“Who says that?”
“Everyone knows that!” she says and leaves you alone to find another game, all while throwing you every insult she knew.
You let her cool down for a couple of minutes then went to search her. It took you a while but then you found her in front of the claw machine, the one with the stuffed animals, as she didn’t have any interest in football balls. She looks at you. You look at her.
“Let me guess, you’re going to say boyfriend always get stuffed animals?”
“Tell me, I’m wrong, I dare you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Damn you— you already know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll get it for you, okay?” you say. You put in a token.
Flash forward, you already wasted 5 tokens and you still haven’t got it. Some machines are design to have weak-ass claws so you can’t ever get the thing up, some others have adjustable weights to keep a win-to-profit ratio but the thing that infuriated you the most was how close you were getting—it was just a couple of centimeters from the hole.
“Ooh! You almost got it that time!”
It took you another ten minutes of wasted tokens and swearing to finally get the giant plushie bear. Sieun celebrated so loudly she attracted the eyes of everyone in that room, but you didn’t care, you were too tired.
“Thank you, baby!” she says. “It’s so soft and it’s as big as me.”
“It looks like you.”
“You mean I’m fat?” Her eyes pierce through your heart and you suddenly felt a bullet into your chest.
“No! No no no no no. I mean it’s cute as you.”
“Be careful, mister,” Sieun comments and starts walking on her own. She stumbles upon an air hockey table and challenges you.
You sigh and go along with her. She just wants to have fun, air hockey is too easy anyways.
She destroyed you.
11 - 1. How did she even do that? She was way too fast, you couldn’t even see the pluck and she already scored. She didn’t even celebrate, she already knew she won from the first few seconds. You never saw anyone play as good as her, with impenetrable defense and flashy attack.
“Whatever,” you say, defeated.
“Not so cocky anymore huh?”
“It has gotten late, let’s go.” But Sieun doesn’t let you go. She holds your wrist.
“Are you not gonna say I did good? Boyfriends always—”
“Aish, shut up,” you shut her up and placed your hand on her head. Despite your disappointment, you handled her hair with a lot of gentleness. Feeling her grouchiness come back to her after her momentary confusion ceased, she opened her mouth to grumpily tell you to stop touching, but suddenly felt a very pleasant spark on the top of her head. Her words died a little in her mouth.
Sure enough, you were head patting Sieun, giving her little scratches behind her ears on her scalp. From the way you were doing it, Sieun wouldn’t be surprised if you owned a lot of cats.
She had never gotten petted before, but the feeling was so pleasant it felt like her head was being clouded up with warmth, barely able to focus on any thoughts under the overwhelmingly nice sensation. She felt herself lean into the touch, his grumpiness completely forgotten.
You looked at her amusement and chuckled, “You kinda look like a cute cat.”
Sieun’s face burned red when she realized she was totally enjoying it as if she was touch-deprived and desperate.
“You were really good, really good,” you say at the end and let her go.
“...Mh… thank you,” she whispers.
“So did I do good too?”
“Maybe.” Sieun storms out of the building, like always.
You laugh before running to reach her. Looks like the date was successful, maybe she’ll start treating you nicer next time. For now, she looked so cute, you didn’t care at all.
우주 속 romantic, 설명 못 할 magic / without you, my heart is in the clouds
(gn reader / fluff / 878 words) sieun takes care of you after you catch a cold
the door to your apartment is covered in chipped paint and a small, golden placard reading the unit number. a broken doorbell has been installed on the right side. it had stopped working a few months after you moved in and you never bothered to replace it. YEON SIEUN stares at it for a second. then, he raises his hand.
knock knock knock.
a few seconds of silence pass. there’s some rustling followed by the sound of footsteps as you wander throughout the space. then, the door opens with a quiet click.
you blink once. then again. then, with a soft smile and all too much snark, you say, “look who it is.” sieun remains silent. you can feel him watching you, almost studying you. his eyes linger on your features just a little longer than necessary: the eyebags hanging below your eyes; the redness on the tip of your nose; the blanket still haphazardly draped across your shoulders.
sieun frowns. silently, he raises a hand, resting it against your forehead. his skin feels cool against your own. he lingers for just a few seconds before pulling away. you fight the urge to complain, instead leaning your unsteady body against the door frame. “you’re sick.”
he takes a step closer, his silent way of asking to come in. you welcome him with little thought, silently stepping to the side.
sieun sets his backpack down in the corner before kicking his shoes off, replacing them with a pair of house shoes instead. “come here,” he says. he tentatively takes your hand into his own, leading you towards the couch. you follow silently, allowing him to coax you to sit down. “how are you feeling?”
“my head hurts.” your voice cracks when you say the words. the ache in your throat is undeniable. the scratchy feeling refuses to disappear, no matter how much water you desperately down in between naps. “my throat, too.”
sieun hums. he stands up, taking your blanket and wrapping it around your body. “stay here. i’ll make you some samgyetang.”
you scramble to sit up, reaching out to grab sieun’s wrist before he can leave. “you don’t have to-”
“y/n,” he says. sieun pauses momentarily. then, quietly, he says, “let me take care of you. please.”
“okay.” you lay down on your couch, curling into yourself when another wave of nausea washes over you. nearby, sieun stands over your stove, watching the soup as it comes to a boil. he dances around your kitchen silently. effortlessly. like he belongs in your apartment just as much as you do.
it doesn’t take long for the smell of chicken stock to fill your apartment. the salty aroma becomes stronger as the soup comes to a boil. you fade in and out of consciousness in short bursts, drifting in and out of a restless sleep.
you startle at the quiet noise of sieun setting a ceramic bowl against a nearby coffee table. “sorry,” he mumbles. “i didn’t mean to wake you.” you shake you head, pushing yourself to sit up. silently, he passes you the bowl. it feels warm to the touch as you balance it in your lap, carefully lifting a spoonful to your chapped lips. “i let it cool while you were asleep. you should be able to drink it now.”
sieun is quick to help you. he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ears. “thank you,” you say between sips. “for making this.”
sieun simply shakes his head. he moves to sit beside you - so close that his shoulder brushes against your own. it’s a small gesture, but it sends butterflies throughout your stomach and makes your heart beat faster in your chest. a packet of papers sits on the table, complete with half-finished homework answers. the sight makes you smile softly.
“how long has it been?” he asks.
“only a few days,” you murmur. he turns at that, staring at you with an unreadable gaze. in the afternoon sunlight, they shine the color of caramel. in the momentary silence, you find yourself getting lost in his gaze.
“i was worried when you didn’t come today,” sieun says. “i’ll help you with the homework later.”
his words make you smile softly. the corners of your lips curl upwards. you set the now-empty bowl aside on your coffee table. “thank you.”
you shift, moving to lean your head against sieun’s shoulder. you can feel the way his body instinctively tenses for a few moments before he lets out a soft sigh, relaxing into your touch. he reaches up, resting the back of his hand against your forehead once again. you allow your eyes to flutter shut in response. “you should get some rest,” sieun says quietly.
you push yourself to sit up slightly, turning to face him. your headache has slowly begun to fade, though the ache in your throat has persisted despite the soup. “will you stay?”
sieun doesn’t respond. at least, not verbally. not yet. instead, he leans in, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead. his lips are feather-light when they brush against your skin. heat rises to his face at the clumsy action. your lips curl into a soft smile. “okay,” he whispers.
notes: quick sickfic since i had motivation but no ideas, not proofread!! forgive any mistakes, title from enhypen - helium, weak hero reqs are greatly appreciated!!
if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or reblogging !! and if you want to support me, you can find more weak hero fics here <33
(gn reader / angst, comfort, and fluff / 993 words) (kdrama season two) boyfriend!sieun headcanons :) part one!!
━━ bf!sieun who grows distant. slowly, but surely, he pulls away. ducks your calls. leaves your texts on read. it takes a week before you break - seven gruelling days of balancing on a tightrope stuck between offering help and giving him space. and when you show up to his father’s apartment knocking furiously and blinking back tears, sieun can’t find it in himself to meet your gaze
━━ bf!sieun who punches a hole through a window in his high school - broken arm be damned. the glass cuts through his hand deep enough to leave a scar. you find out an hour later, only able to meet sieun in the nurse’s office after she’s already patched him up. the principal gives you a disapproving look the next time you see her. you pretend not to see her sharp glare
━━ bf!sieun whose father acknowledges you with an awkward nod. sieun clutches your gym bag closer to his side, having packed his few sentimental items. you sit on the curb, watching as he prepares for the hour-long drive to his mother’s apartment. he pulls you into a hug before he goes, letting out a deep sigh. “i’ll call you,” he murmurs. his lips brush against your temple. “i promise”
━━ bf!sieun who keeps his head down. eunjang feels more like a jungle than a high school. the walls are coated in graffiti and the students spend more time smoking cigarettes in the bathrooms than attending class. sieun sleeps all day and stays up all night, too lost in his own head to bother paying attention
━━ bf!sieun who visits you during weekends. he wakes up as soon as the subway starts running and arrives by mid-morning. he offers an awkward wave to your neighbors when he arrives. you welcome him inside with a soft smile and a stifled yawn. “stay as long as you need,” you say. “you’re always welcome”
━━ bf!sieun who calls you in the middle of the night. you’re half-asleep when you answer, still trying to blink yourself awake. you stay up all night, talking about anything that comes to mind until he feels comfortable enough to speak. “i had a nightmare,” sieun whispers into the darkness. “i miss you”
━━ bf!sieun who sends you a picture one day. he’s sitting on a bench next to three boys you don’t recognize, wearing a costume that makes you laugh. one boy slings his arm over sieun’s shoulders while he stares forwards with doe eyes and a straight face. “juntae told me to send this to you,” he writes. “he said you would like it”
━━ bf!sieun who blushes when you call him immediately afterwards, demanding to know about his new friends and how exactly he had found himself sitting in the middle of a children’s museum, dressed as an ancient farmer
━━ bf!sieun who introduces you to his friends over a weekend. he brings you to eunjang’s basketball court, sitting beside you in the stands. juntae sits on the step below you, turning around to ask you questions. a few hours later and at a quaint chicken restaurant only a few blocks away, baku and gotak follow suit
━━ bf!sieun who starts to relax again. you make a habit of alternating weekend visits, ignoring baku’s whines about how sieun is “so much more smiley when you’re around!” you waste the days away curled up on your couch, basking in the afternoon light. sieun finds himself ignoring the drama’s story, too busy staring at you
━━ bf!sieun who hesitates to tell you about the union. it’s late at night. you’re curled up against his chest, legs tangled beneath the blankets. you think he can’t see the frown that tugs at the corners of your lips. “i trust you, sieun,” you say, resting your hand over his heart. “but please don’t get hurt again”
━━ bf!sieun who tries his best. he avoids the bowling alley as much as possible, takes the long way home so he won’t run into seongje, makes baku promise he won’t be involved with anything that has to do with na baekjin. but things have a way of coming back to haunt you
━━ bf!sieun who leaves an apology in your voicemail. rain cascades from the sky, soaking through his school uniform. he walks with confidence through the sea of boys, some beaten, others bruised, until he reaches the front. baekjin greets him with a scoff. this is it. his last fight. “i need to do this,” he says. “i’m sorry. i love you”
━━ bf!sieun who lets you scold him. his split lip and bruised knuckles are nothing compared to the pain when he meets your gaze, eyes brimming with tears and full of fury. he doesn’t argue back, letting you vent your frustrations until your voice becomes raw. “you should have told me. i would’ve helped you”
━━ bf!sieun who lets you cry into his chest. he rubs his hand against your back, letting you collapse against him. your hands dig into his blazer, ruining the otherwise perfectly ironed fabric. apologies fall from his lips in waves, hoping each one eases the heartbreak a little more. “i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m so, so sorry”
━━ bf!sieun who calls you frantically. he runs without thinking, pushing past bystanders on the street and only half-paying attention to his surroundings as he dials your number over and over again. you panic when you see the flurry of missed calls, rushing to call him back. “y/n,” sieun says, still catching his breath. “suho’s awake”
━━ bf!sieun who finally feels at home again. you laugh as suho complains about bland hospital food and take turns sharing about the last year, sharing everything from sieun’s forced community service to your newfound rivalry with your math teacher. sieun simply watches with a fond smile, not even noticing when you ask him a question. “hey!” suho points at him, laughing loudly. “he’s not even paying attention!”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! back by popular demand, season two hcs :), thank you all for the love on part one, i appreciate it more than you know, currently planning on making these for other weak hero boys, reminder that reqs are open!! title from zb1 - star eyes
if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, you can find more weak hero fics here <33
