pairing: wonbin x reader

genre: romance, fluff, hurt/comfort

words count: 1.8k

summary: one day, wonbin, the president of an entertainment company, coincidentally sees y/n on the subway. mesmerized by her mystical beauty, he begins riding the subway every day, just so he can see her. when they are unexpectedly reunited, love sparks between their hearts. until wonbin discovers a secret about her.

the first time wonbin saw her, the subway car was half-empty and smelled faintly of rain-soaked coats and instant coffee.

he was slouched against the pole near the door, earbuds in but music paused, scrolling mindlessly through schedules that blurred together, meetings, auditions, investor dinners, the endless rotation of his life as ceo of starlight entertainment. twenty-eight felt heavier than it should.

then the train jerked to a stop at itaewon station.

she stepped in.

long coat the color of midnight fog, hair falling in soft, unstyled waves that caught the fluorescent light like spun moonlight. she didn’t look around. she simply found a spot by the opposite door, slipped one hand into her pocket, and stared out the window even though it was too dark to see anything but reflections.

wonbin forgot how to blink.

there was something almost otherworldly about her. not the polished, camera-ready beauty he saw every day at work. this was quieter. softer. like she belonged to a different season, one that hadn’t arrived yet. her lashes were long and dark against pale skin, lips slightly parted as if she were whispering secrets to the glass.

the train lurched forward again.

she swayed gently with the motion, fingers tightening around the strap of her worn canvas bag. wonbin realized he was staring. he looked away. then back. then away again, heart doing an embarrassing little flip he hadn’t felt since high school.

when his stop came, gangnam, the glittering heart of everything he was supposed to care about he didn’t move.

he stayed.

the next morning he told himself it was just curiosity.

he took the same line. same car. same time.

she was there.

always near the same door. always looking out. sometimes she read a small paperback with a frayed cover. sometimes she sketched in a tiny notebook, pencil moving in quick, sure strokes. once she pressed her forehead to the window and closed her eyes, and wonbin felt something ache inside his chest.

he never approached her.

he just… watched. memorized the way she tucked hair behind her ear when she was thinking. the way her brows furrowed slightly when the train swayed too hard. the faint smile that appeared when she read something funny.

days became weeks.

he started leaving earlier just to catch this exact train. meetings were rescheduled. his secretary raised an eyebrow but said nothing. wonbin didn’t care. this quiet, stolen hour on the subway became the only part of his day that felt real.

then one rainy tuesday, everything changed.

the car was more crowded than usual. people pressed shoulder to shoulder. wonbin stood near the middle, gripping the overhead bar, when someone stumbled backward as the train braked hard.

her.

she collided softly against his chest, canvas bag slipping from her shoulder. instinct made him catch her elbow before she could fall completely.

“sorry, i’m so sorry,” she breathed, voice low and a little husky, like she wasn’t used to speaking loudly.

wonbin froze.

up close she smelled like rain and something sweet, jasmine? vanilla? her eyes were wide, deep brown with golden flecks near the pupil, framed by lashes still dotted with rain.

“it’s okay,” he managed. his voice came out softer than he meant. “you alright?”

she nodded quickly, cheeks flushing. “yeah. thank you.”

she tried to step back, but the crowd wouldn’t let her. they were pressed together now, her shoulder against his chest, his hand still lightly on her elbow like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

the train rattled on.

“i’m wonbin,” he said suddenly, because the silence felt louder than the wheels on the tracks.

her gaze flicked up. surprised. then a tiny smile curved her lips.

“y/n.”

his heart slammed against his ribs.

y/n.

they didn’t speak much after that. just small things. the weather. how crowded the train was today. how the coffee shop near exit 3 had the best red bean buns. but every word felt precious, like something stolen from time itself.

when her stop came, hongdae, she gave him a shy wave.

“see you tomorrow?” she asked, almost like a question.

wonbin nodded, throat tight. “yeah. tomorrow.”

she smiled again, small, real, and disappeared into the sea of umbrellas.

after that, they found each other every morning.

sometimes they talked the whole ride. sometimes they stood in comfortable silence, shoulders brushing. once she offered him one earbud and they listened to a lo-fi playlist together while rain streaked the windows. another time she showed him the sketch she’d been working on a delicate line drawing of the subway car at dusk, light spilling through the doors like honey.

“you’re really good,” he said quietly.

she ducked her head. “it’s just practice.”

but he could see how much it meant to her.

weeks turned into a month. then two.

wonbin started smiling more at work. humming in elevators. his best friend and vice president, seunghan, narrowed his eyes one day and said, “you’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

wonbin only smiled.

he hadn’t kissed her yet. hadn’t even held her hand.

but he was falling. hard. helplessly. every morning he woke up counting the minutes until he could see her again.

then came the day everything cracked open.

it was a chilly november morning. the train was quieter than usual. y/n sat beside him on the bench seat, something new, something that made his pulse race. their thighs touched. neither of them moved away.

she was quieter today. fingers twisting the hem of her scarf.

“everything okay?” wonbin asked softly.

she hesitated. then reached into her bag and pulled out a cream envelope. inside was a single sheet of paper.

she handed it to him without a word.

he read.

seoul national university hospital

department of oncology

patient: l/n y/n

diagnosis: acute lymphoblastic leukemia (relapse)

treatment plan: chemotherapy, possible bone marrow transplant

prognosis: guarded

the words blurred.

wonbin’s hands started shaking.

“y/n…”

“i was going to tell you,” she whispered. “i just… i didn’t want this to be the only thing you saw when you looked at me.”

he looked at her then, really looked.

the faint shadows under her eyes he’d always thought were just tiredness. the way she sometimes pressed a hand to her side when she thought he wasn’t watching. how she always carried that little canvas bag with snacks, medicine, a soft hat for the days she felt coldest.

“how long?” he asked, voice cracking.

“diagnosed at nineteen. went into remission for four years. it came back three months ago.”

three months.

right around the time he first saw her.

his throat burned.

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“because for the first time in years… i felt normal with you.” her voice trembled. “you looked at me like i was just… me. not a patient. not a statistic. just y/n.”

tears slipped down her cheeks.

wonbin set the paper aside carefully. then he reached for her hand, slowly, giving her time to pull away.

she didn’t.

he laced their fingers together. her hand was cold. fragile. perfect.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he said.

she let out a broken laugh. “wonbin, you don’t understand. the treatment is… it’s aggressive. there are days i can barely get out of bed. hair loss. nausea. infections. it might not even—”

“i don’t care.”

her eyes snapped to his.

“i mean it,” he continued, voice low and fierce. “i don’t care about any of that. i care about you. the girl who sketches subway lights. the girl who hums when she thinks no one’s listening. the girl who made me look forward to mornings again.”

tears streamed faster now.

“i’m scared,” she admitted in the smallest voice.

“me too,” he whispered. “but we’re doing this together. okay?”

she searched his face for a long moment.

then she nodded.

wonbin lifted her hand to his lips. pressed the softest kiss to her knuckles.

“from now on,” he murmured against her skin, “every hard day, every hospital visit, every morning you don’t feel like getting up… you call me. text me. scream at me if you need to. just don’t carry it alone.”

y/n let out a shaky breath.

then she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder.

he wrapped both arms around her carefully, like she was made of starlight and held her while she cried quietly into his coat.

the train kept moving.

but for the first time in months, wonbin didn’t feel like he was running out of time.

he felt like time had finally slowed down enough for him to love her properly.

over the next weeks, everything changed and nothing did.

they still took the subway every morning.

only now wonbin carried her bag when it felt too heavy. he slipped hand warmers into her pockets on cold days. he memorized her medication schedule and texted her dumb memes at 8:03 a.m. to make her laugh before treatment.

some days she was too weak to stand. those days he called his driver and they rode in the back of the black sedan instead her head on his shoulder, his fingers combing gently through what was left of her hair after the first round of chemo.

he never once looked at her like she was broken.

he looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

one evening, after a particularly rough session, she was curled on his couch in his apartment oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, beanie pulled low.

wonbin came back from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate.

“extra marshmallows,” he announced proudly.

she smiled weakly. “you’re spoiling me.”

“good.” he sat beside her, pulled a blanket over both their laps. “get used to it.”

she sipped slowly. then set the mug down.

“wonbin?”

“hm?”

“thank you.”

he tilted his head. “for what?”

“for seeing me.” her voice cracked. “even now. especially now.”

he set his own mug aside. cupped her face gently thumbs brushing the tops of her cheekbones.

“i’ve been seeing you since the first second you stepped on that train,” he whispered. “and i’m never going to stop.”

her eyes shimmered.

then she leaned in.

their first kiss was slow. careful. trembling.

her lips were soft. hesitant. tasting faintly of chocolate and salt.

wonbin kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

because she was.

when they pulled apart, foreheads touching, she whispered against his mouth,

“i love you.”

wonbin’s heart cracked open.

“i love you too,” he breathed. “so much it hurts.”

outside, seoul glittered.

inside, two people held each other like they’d invented time itself.

and maybe, just maybe, they still had enough of it left to fill with quiet mornings, subway rides, whispered promises, and a love that refused to let go.

sweet whispers in crowded cars.