synopsis. miscommunication means you end your night at minho’s apartment and he ends his at yours; minho suggests a simple solution.
[ (stray kids) lee minho x female reader ] domestic fluff, established relationship | warning/s: reader is drunk and hungover
you scream silently as the electronic lock rings out throughout the apartment; its bleeping penetrating the silence with inappropriate glee. you grimace as you tiptoe in and gently place the door back in its frame. again, the lock announces itself, bleeping to signify that the door is secure. you grimace and freeze, listening for any sign that someone was disturbed by your entrance. nothing stirs, so you carefully take off your shoes, place them on the floor and pad, in just your socks, to the bedroom. you make it without crashing into anything, despite your stumbling, and you take a deep breath to try to wake your mind up a little before turning your attention to the second door in your way.
agonisingly slowly, you grip the handle and turn; every muscle in your body feels tense from trying to be quiet. you find that it has a surprisingly stabilising effect and you are able to stop swaying, even though the apartment continues to tilt and twist around you. you know minho’s expecting you but you still don’t want to disturb him. you know how hard he’s been working recently; it has been difficult to find time to spend together which is precisely why you’re creeping into his apartment after a night out. you might not be able to spend the night together but at least you can wake up with each other in the morning.
as you pop your head around the door, carefully releasing the handle as you do, confusion hits you. there’s no one in bed. in fact, the bed is made; no one has even slept in it.
‘where the hell is he?’ you think to yourself. there’s no light from under the door and no sound beyond it, but you check the bathroom anyway: empty. no longer concerned with being quiet, you ponder minho’s whereabouts as you traipse around the apartment, checking each room, just in case: all empty.
“minho?” you call into the empty apartment. “hey, lee minho?!”
no one answers. you’re pretty sure he said he would be here. why would you have gone there if he weren’t going to be? you’ve had too much to drink to be solving puzzles at three a.m..
you go back to where you dropped your bag on the floor by your shoes and fumble for your phone. you squint through one eye at your messages; he definitely said to come over to his place. you’re sure... you're pretty sure, but the letters in front of you won’t stop swimming. you tap out a message to him.
‘whete are yoh????//’
send.
of course, he sleeps like a stone, so he probably won’t get it until the morning anyway.
you flop onto the sofa and put your phone on the coffee table. you’ll just rest for a moment while you wait for him to reply. after all, he did say you could come over, so it’s fine for you to be there. it’s certainly not fine for him not to be, though; what is he playing at? it’s so cold outside and you were so looking forward to crawling into bed next to him and passing straight out in a drunken stupor.
despite the fact that hangovers are entirely self-inflicted, minho has such a warm and gentle soul that he always takes excellent care of you the morning after. his bashful tenderness melts you like ice in a hot drink and you wish he wouldn’t try to hide it away so much. you whine to yourself on the sofa, missing him, contemplating throwing a tantrum. you pick up your phone to message him again.
'come hime pelase!!!!! xxxxxxxxxxxxx'
lots of kisses, never enough kisses. you throw your phone back on the table and pass out, the waves you feel like you're rolling on rocking you to sleep.
in the morning, you’re brought back to the edges of your consciousness by the same bleeping that you had cursed some hours earlier. it’s not until you hear minho’s voice calling you that you crack open an eye.
“y/n,” he says, standing at the end of the sofa with an iced coffee in hand. “what are you doing here? why are you sleeping on the sofa?”
you groan and raise your head, looking around. you’ve felt better. you tip yourself into a sitting position and try to rub the sleep from your eyes, forgetting, too late, that you were still wearing your make-up. black mascara is smudged all over your hands and, you assume, all around your eyes. you squint up at minho in confusion.
“where were you?” you croak.
“what do you mean where was i? where were you? you didn’t come home.”
“what do you mean? i’m here! i’m in your home.” you are not sure you have the strength to deal with this right now.
“exactly. you’re not supposed to be in my home; we agreed to sleep at yours last night.”
this is not how you remembered it. you grab your phone from the coffee table, hoping for vindication. it’s dead. naturally.
“look.” minho sighs and sits down next to you on the sofa. he hands you his coffee as he opens his phone to your conversation. you take a sip and realize how thirsty you are. you continue drinking as he shows you your messages from the night before.
‘i will probably be working late again, but i can come over afterwards so we can wake up together!’ minho’s initial message reads.
‘no good,’ your reply. ‘i’m out with friends from work so i’ll probably get in even later than you do.’
‘that’s ok. i can come anyway and just sleep while i wait for you.’
your drunken messages follow; there were more of them than you remember and you cringe. oh dear, maybe, maybe you hadn’t quite understood the plan.
“i thought i was supposed to come here,” you tell him, weakly.
“clearly, but why are you sleeping on the sofa?” fortunately, he seems to be amused rather than annoyed.
“oh, i didn’t mean to fall asleep – i was just waiting for you to text back.”
“to text back from my sleep?”
“… shut up.”
you lean against him, trying to bury yourself in his hoodie, groaning.
“i was worried, you know, when i woke up and you still hadn’t come home. then i couldn’t get through to your phone. i thought something might have happened to you.” minho speaks softly, without reproach but you feel reproached nonetheless.
“i’m sorry,” you reply from underneath his jumper. “i’m just too stupid to date, i understand. you can break up with me; it’s fiiiine.”
you’re joking, of course, being dramatic as you love to be, but the guilt is real. next time, you think to yourself, you should learn to read. or learn not to have too much to drin- no, let’s be honest, that won’t happen.
he laughs.
“obviously, i’m not going to do that. but it has got me thinking. there is a way we could avoid this happening in the future.”
you emerge from minho’s hoodie and face him, pouting pathetically. if this is a riddle, the troll under the bridge is about to have you for dinner. and if this is minho about to suggest that you do something sensible like turn the location on on your phone or take a portable charger around with you, well, you think he should know you and your chaos a little better than that.
“you’re going to have to tell me what that is; i’m clearly not sufficiently capable of thought this morning.”
“we should move in together,” he states simply.
what?
“i’m sorry, what?”
you’re incredulous and you’ve just remembered what a state you look. there’s no way he said that. yeah, you’re in love and happy together and everything’s going brilliantly, but has he seen your hair this morning? does he really want to sign up to deal with that every day?
“we should move in together,” he repeats, smiling hopefully.
“no, sorry, one more time.”
he groans and takes you by the shoulders.
“we should move in together!”
you heard him the first time, but you feel like you need it repeating still; you have to be sure that’s really what he's asking. it's overwhelming, frankly. going to sleep and waking up with minho every single day? heavenly. cooking together, eating together, watching tv, playing with his cats- oh you have not the fortitude for this kind of happiness right now!
“i just knew you couldn’t get enough of this,” you tell him, gesturing to your whole body.
“you’re right; you’re absolutely irresistible right now, but also, have you thought about having a shower?”
“how very dare you?”
you stand and strike a pose, gesturing broadly to your whole body with a flourish, but you have to admit he has a point. you lean down and give him a parting kiss on the way to the bathroom.
“have you also thought about brushing your teeth?!” he calls after you.
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✩°。 ⋆⸜ ♡ ⸝⋆。°✩ He hides his feelings in unreleased songs. You hear yourself in every lyric before he ever says it out loud.
Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader (Idol! x Non-Idol) Genre: Best friends to lovers, light angst(if you squint), secret feelings, comfort, confession, happy ending Warnings: mutual pining, emotional repression, tension between friends, brief confrontation, SFW, no use of Y/N Word count: ~2.0k A/N: Let me know what you think and send requests ♡
𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐𖤐
୨୧ ——————————♡ —————-————-୨୧
Most of your nights ended the same way.
You would be in bed, lights off, scrolling without really paying attention, when your phone buzzed on your nightstand. Not a text. Not a call.
A voice memo.
It was never surprising. If anything, you expected it. Han worked best at night, and when he worked, he sent things to you. Unfinished verses. Half-formed choruses. Random melodies he thought would disappear by morning.
You had been his first listener for years.
Sometimes he would send a quick message first. “Don’t judge this one.” Or, “I hate the second line, ignore it.” Other times he would just send the audio with no warning, like he trusted you to understand without context.
You always did.
You would put your headphones in, close your eyes, and picture him in the studio. Hoodie on. Chair pushed too far back. One hand tapping against the desk while the other hovered over the recording button. The soft hum of equipment in the background. The quiet pauses between lines when he was deciding whether to keep going.
You never really thought about how intimate it was.
It was just your normal.
You weren’t a part of his idol life. You had your own schedule, your own job, your own life that had nothing to do with comeback dates or livestreams. When you sat in that studio or listened through your phone speaker, you weren’t listening to Han from Stray Kids.
You were listening to Jisung, your best friend.
The version who forgot to eat when he got stuck on lyrics. The one who stared at the ceiling when he was doubting himself. The one who would glance at you after playing a track and say, “Be honest,” like your opinion mattered more than anyone else’s.
And maybe it did.
That night, you were already under your blankets when your phone buzzed at 2:47 a.m.
You smiled without meaning to.
You reached for it, unlocked your screen, and saw the notification.
Han: |Voice memo — 3m 12s|
No caption.
You settled deeper into your pillow and pressed play.
At first, it was just slow music humming through your speakers. Soft. Slower than his usual tempo. A little choppy, like he had not decided what the song wanted to be yet.
You could hear the faint creak of his chair. The sound of him adjusting the mic.
Then his voice came in.
Low. Careful.
“If I say it out loud, will you disappear.
If I let you hear it, will it change what we are.”
Your eyes opened.
You stayed still, listening.
The melody was simple, almost fragile. There was something about the way he sang it that felt closer than usual, like he was not performing even for you. The lyrics were about waiting. About loving someone quietly because the risk of losing them felt worse than staying silent.
You told yourself not to overthink it.
He wrote about love all the time.
Still, your chest felt tight by the end of the memo.
You replayed it once more before setting your phone down.
You didn’t text him about it. You rarely did right away. Sometimes he fell asleep after sending them. Sometimes he stayed up and waited for your response.
You turned onto your side and stared at the wall.
It sounded like it could be about you. Hoped it was about you.
But that would be ridiculous.
You pushed that thought away.
It was just another late night demo.
It had to be.
୨୧ ——————————♡ —————-————-୨୧
Weeks passed like normal. He sent other snippets. Shorter ones. A rap verse he was excited about. A chorus he couldn’t decide on. Nothing like the 2:47 a.m. track, but you didn’t bring it up.
Then one afternoon your phone started blowing up.
Social media notifications. Clips being reposted everywhere.
Han had uploaded a new song to YouTube.
He did that sometimes. Songs that weren’t on music services. Tracks that felt more personal. Less polished. Things he just wanted to share directly.
You opened the video without thinking too much about it.
The title didn’t give anything away.
The thumbnail was simple. Just him in the studio, head slightly tilted down, headphones around his neck.
You pressed play.
That soft music played through your phone again.
Your stomach dropped.
It was cleaner now. Layered. Produced. But it was the same melody. The same one from that night.
Your hand tightened around your phone as the lyrics continued.
You pressed your lips together and kept listening.
“I said you would always be my home,
But I never asked if I could be yours.”
You remembered that. A conversation from a night a few months ago.
You had been sitting on the studio floor at almost one in the morning. You had teased him about living there permanently because he spent more time there than anywhere else. He had laughed and said, “You’re my real home.”
No one else knew that conversation happened.
The song ended softly. No big vocal run. No dramatic finish. Just the music fading out.
Your screen filled with comments almost instantly.
People calling it his most vulnerable work. People guessing who it was about. Some joking. Some serious. Threads already forming with theories.
You stared at the screen.
He had never told you he was posting it.
He had never said that demo was turning into something public.
Your phone buzzed again.
His name.
Han: Did you listen.
Not even a question mark.
You swallowed before replying.
You: Yeah.
A few seconds passed.
Han: And.
You: It’s good.
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Han: I almost didn’t upload it.
Your heart started beating harder.
You: Why did you?
A pause.
Han: Felt honest.
That was all he said.
You stared at the message, your thumb hovering over the keyboard.
You (typed): Was it about me?
The words sat there in the text box.
You deleted them.
Instead you sent,
You: I’m proud of you.
He reacted with a small heart.
୨୧ ——————————♡ —————-————-୨୧
After a few days, something shifted.
He was busy, of course. Schedules, practices, filming. That was normal. But the way he talked to you felt more cautious. Like he was stepping around something fragile, like one wrong word might crack everything open.
He stopped sending late night demos.
When you mentioned the song, he changed the subject.
You told yourself it was nothing.
But the space between you felt louder than usual.
It took almost three weeks before you saw him in person again.
The studio felt the same. The same dim lighting. The same faint smell of his cologne mixed with iced coffee. The same couch you had fallen asleep on too many times to count. The same low hum of equipment in the background.
He was already there when you walked in, headphones around his neck, fingers resting on the keyboard like he had been playing something but stopped when he heard the door.
He smiled when he saw you.
It was softer than usual. Almost careful.
You sat down in your usual spot. He adjusted his chair slightly without looking at you, making room like it was automatic. Like his body already knew where you belonged.
For a few minutes, you talked about normal things. Work. A funny comment someone left. A random story about one of the members messing up choreography.
You both laughed.
But the song hung in the air anyway.
You could feel it sitting between you.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
“Was it about me?”
Your voice came out quieter than you expected. Not accusing. Not angry. Just honest.
His hands stilled on the keyboard.
The room suddenly felt too small. Too quiet.
He didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the keys, then at his hands, then finally at you. His jaw tightened slightly like he was debating whether to lie.
“I didn’t think you would recognize it that fast,” he said softly.
Your stomach dropped.
“So it was.”
He nodded.
“I changed some lines,” he said. “I thought that would make it safer.”
“Safer for who.”
“For you.” He swallowed. “For us.”
The word us made your heart stutter.
You felt your chest tighten.
“I wrote it because I didn’t know how to say it to you,” he continued. His voice was quieter now, almost fragile. “I thought if I just kept it in songs, it wouldn’t ruin anything.”
“Ruin what.”
He looked up at you then, really looked at you.
“What we have.”
There it was.
He ran a hand through his hair, bouncing his leg up and down. A nervous habit he always had when he felt cornered by his own feelings.
You stood slowly and walked over to where he was sitting in his chair. Close enough that you could see the faint dark circles under his eyes. Close enough to feel the warmth of him.
“I’m in love with you,” he said. The words came out steady, but his hands were trembling slightly. “And I didn’t want to lose you by saying it out loud.”
The confession settled between you, heavy but not suffocating.
You felt strangely calm.
“You think I didn’t know?” you asked quietly.
He blinked, surprised.
“I was scared too,” you admitted. “You are not just my best friend. You are everything steady in my life. If this went wrong, I would lose that. I would lose you.”
His expression shifted. Something soft. Something relieved.
He stood slowly from his seat, hovering just barely over you now. Close enough that you could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
“I didn’t want to pressure you by releasing it,” he said quickly. “I didn’t think about how it would feel on your side. I just wanted to be honest somewhere. Even if it wasn’t directly to you.”
“You could have been honest with me.”
He gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “I’m better at writing things than saying them.”
You stepped even closer. There was barely any space left between you now. You could hear his breathing.
“Then say it now.”
He hesitated for half a second. Like he was letting himself fall.
Then he did.
“I love you.”
No music. No recording light blinking red. No hiding behind lyrics or layered instrumentals.
Just him.
Your heart felt like it might burst.
You didn’t hesitate.
“I love you too.”
For a second he just stared at you, like he needed to make sure you were real. Like he was waiting for you to take it back.
When you didn’t, the relief on his face was immediate. Almost overwhelming. His shoulders dropped. His eyes softened in a way you had never seen before.
He leaned his head down slowly until you could feel his breath against your lips.
“Can I kiss you.”
You nodded.
He cupped both hands around your face, thumbs resting gently near your jaw. Careful. Like you were something fragile.
The kiss was soft at first. Testing. A question.
Then it deepened just slightly, not rushed, not dramatic. Just warm and certain and real. Years of almosts and what ifs finally collapsing into something steady.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His hands didn’t move.
“It won’t be easy,” he said quietly. “It can’t be public. There will be rumors. And I’ll be busy. A lot.”
“I know,” you whispered. “I have been loving you in secret for years.”
His lips curved into that real smile. The soft one that never made it to interviews. The one only a few people ever saw.
He leaned in again, brushing his nose lightly against yours like he still couldn’t believe it.
And for the first time, nothing between you felt unspoken.
—
Later that night, your phone buzzed again.
2:47 a.m.
You laughed softly before opening it.
Han: |Voice memo — 3m 12s|
You pressed play.
That familiar tune flowed through your ears. Softer this time. More certain.
Then his voice.
“This one is ours,” he said at the beginning.
And this time, he wasn’t afraid of you hearing it.
chan loves thinking about you at the gym. not necessarily in a sexual way, though, it happens when he's missing you and his mind wanders.
no, not now though. because now like often, chan sits on the bench under the bar of the rack, listening to the airpod in one ear and changbin's distant grunts in the other. but all he can think of is you, and he smiles up at his reflection in the ceiling's mirror like a dork. her dork, he thinks to himself as a dimple makes its presence known.
he worked himself until failure through his sets, fueled on thinking about going home and having dinner with you. you were pretty particular about being in the kitchen alone, and chan would always sneak his way around you and wrap his arms around your waist, nuzzling his nose into your neck and pressing popcorn kisses into your skin.
he admires his arms in the mirror above, and for once, he doesn't scrutinize himself. you love his arms and how strong they hold you, and for him in this moment, that's enough.
his shoulders ache, and he knows you'll make him lie down on his stomach and declare that the masseuse is ready for her favorite customer. he'll snort a laugh into the pillow on his head, heart filled to the brim. you'll smack his bum and tell him he's said far more corny things.
there's redness in his skin where the bar was pressed into him. just a testament to his growth.
he lays there, and the song changes in his ear, causing him to raise his phone. and like clockwork, he sees you messaged him about a minute ago. your heart's long for each other even in distance. you asked him when he's coming home so you can start cooking, sending him a picture of the spread of ingredients on the kitchen island.
chan closes his eyes for a moment, a stupid grin on his face. maybe it's late at night. maybe he's still running off his rapidly beating heart. but he swears, he's never been more smitten in his life.
so, in turn, he directs the phone camera to the ceiling mirror, snapping a picture for you in feigned nonchalance and sending it to you. he only has to wait for a moment before he's laughing at the GIF you send, a wolf howling to the moon. cheeky little thing. you send a slew of "my handsome guy" and "come home quick, big boy" and it makes him sigh softly in the blissful feeling that washes over him. bashful. you're spamming him with niceties and he can't wait to get home and tackle you in a fit of cuddles like a clingy koala.
you'll fake-complain that he's sweaty and gross, and he'll mock you in a high pitched voice as he tickles his hands up your shirt... his shirt, to be exact. gosh, he loves you.
"ya, changbin... are you almost done?"
the sound of a dumbbell dropping on the matted floor echoes, and changbin's head is raised from the corner of the desolate gym. he already knows that lovesick look in chan's eyes. it's impossible to not have it down by now. changbin just fights a smirk and nods, to chan's secret joy.
there you go again on the phone. disarming him. not distracting him, but fueling him. chan grunts as he sits upright, triple checking his message thread with you before sending a final message. there isn't much to say, he'll hold you and caress you as he whispers the finer lines at home.
'i'm coming home now sweetheart. get started on dinner before i kick you out of the kitchen'
GENRE: Fluff, domestic, comfort, late-night kitchen scene
SUMMARY: You catch Minho raiding your strawberry yogurts at 2:37 a.m. One thing leads to midnight ramen, soft teasing, and the kind of quiet I-love-you’s that only exist when the world is asleep.
The kitchen is dark except for the soft glow of the fridge. Minho is barefoot, wearing one of your t-shirts that’s just a bit too short on his arms, rummaging for something edible at 2:37 a.m.
You feel a stupid smile tug at your lips before you even speak.
“Stealing my strawberry yogurts again?”
He doesn’t even flinch. He just turns his head slightly to look at you with that expression that says, And what are you going to do about it?
“Yours taste better” he mumbles, spoon already in his mouth. “It’s called stealing with love.”
You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder. He smells like his mint shampoo and a little like dried dance practice sweat from a few hours ago.
“It’s not fair you look this cute when you’re robbing me” you murmur against his neck.
He lets out a low little laugh, the kind that barely makes a sound.
“Shut up and help me decide if I should open the last ramen or if we keep surviving on love.”
(Ramen wins. Ramen always wins.)
You pull back just enough for him to nudge the fridge door closed with his elbow, and the click of the light going off leaves you both in semi-darkness, only lit by the slice of moonlight slipping in through the half-open window. Minho turns around with the ramen packet in one hand and the spoon in the other, a little streak of yogurt still at the corner of his mouth. He looks at you like you’re the one intruding on his secret mission, but his eyes are warm in that way he saves for these dead hours of the night, when the world is off and it’s just the two of you.
“Okay, chef” you say, stealing the spoon from his hand so you can wipe it clean with your thumb, a gesture so casual you don’t even think about it. “But if you cook it, I demand extras: egg, green onion, and that spicy sauce that makes you cough like a dragon.”
He rolls his eyes, but another laugh slips out, this one rougher, as he sets the packet on the counter and flicks the stove on with a click. The water starts to warm slowly, and you hop up onto the kitchen island, legs dangling like you don’t have three days’ worth of sleep debt. Minho moves with that easy grace of his, precise and catlike, dropping the block of noodles into the water and stirring them with a random fork he’s fished from somewhere.
“You know what the worst part is?” he says suddenly, not looking at you, focused on not burning anything. “If it wasn’t you, I’d have kicked anyone else out of the kitchen for interrupting my sacred midnight ritual.”
“Liar” you shoot back, reaching over to steal a strand of hair that’s fallen over his forehead. “You let me stay because you don’t want to eat alone. Admit it: you’re a cat pretending to be independent, but you always end up looking for your human.”
Minho turns then, steam curling up between you like a soft fog, and pins you with that look of his, half teasing, half promise. He sets the fork down, steps closer and stops between your knees, hands braced on the counter on either side of your hips. He’s so close you can feel the heat of his body against yours, and the smell of ramen blends with that mint-and-dance scent that already has you hooked.
“Maybe” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for his nose to brush yours. “But only because my human knows exactly how to make me purr.”
You don’t answer with words. Instead, you kiss him, slow and lazy, like time has decided to stop in this messy kitchen. He sighs against your mouth, a low sound that vibrates in your chest, and for a second you forget the ramen, the stolen yogurt, and the clock ticking past 2:45. When you pull back, he’s the first one to smile, that crooked little grin that lights up the room more than any bulb.
“Now the ramen’s definitely going to burn” he says, but he doesn’t move, just steals another quick kiss before going back to the stove like nothing happened.
You end up eating sitting on the floor, backs against the cabinets, steaming bowls in your hands. He gives you the last piece of egg with his chopsticks, and you tell him that ridiculous thing that happened to you today, laughing at how absurd it sounds at this hour. Minho listens, nodding, head tilted so it can rest against your shoulder, and when you’re done, you stay there a little longer in comfortable silence, just the ticking of the clock and your breaths in sync.
“Come on” he whispers finally, getting to his feet and tugging you up by the hand. “Bed. I’ve got dance at 7, and you have to pretend you’re sleeping when I leave.”
You let yourself be pulled along, but not without first stealing one last yogurt from the fridge “for revenge.” He pretends to be offended, but by the time you’re in the hallway he’s already wrapping his arms around you from behind again, voice low:
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pairing: jeongin x f!reader
contains: fluff, light angst, suggestive comments – really, two people as hopeless at communicating as you and jeongin probably shouldn’t date anyway, for the sake of everyone else’s sanity. or: five times skz pushes you to tell jeongin how you feel, and the one time you give up. 5k words.
☆ note: finished an old wip!! everyone cheer!! <3
my masterlist
“I’m gonna get jealous if you keep drooling over edits of Hyunjin.”
Shitfuckshit.
You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Jeongin’s voice, entirely too close behind you to have just gotten there. Quickly, with shaking fingers, you close the godforsaken app and slam your phone face down on his mattress. Nailed it. Not suspicious at all.
In the following few seconds of pure silence, mortification festers and almost digs a hole straight through your stomach lining. Almost. There’s also a tiny glimmer of gratitude that he didn’t catch you watching one of his edits – or, worse yet, saving one to your Innie ❤️ collection.
It’s that glimmer of gratitude you resolve to cling to throughout his inevitable goading.
No wonder he came to check on you. It’s his room. You’ve been gone far too long to feasibly be “plugging your phone in.” In your defense, you did start charging your phone, but you also happened to get distracted.
He flops down on his stomach next to you with a force akin to a small earthquake. The mattress dips and jostles you closer until your arm is pressed against his, and you promptly disregard every thought you’ve ever had. Instead of scooting away, he drapes that arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I wasn’t drooling,” you mutter, then mentally kick yourself for it. You pray he can’t hear the blood rushing in your ears.
To anyone else, anyone who didn’t know the extent of your unrequited love, you two must look like a couple. Cuddled against each other, easy familiarity, so close it hurts in every way possible.
He’s mere inches away. If he wanted, he could lean in and easily close the gap between you.
Instead, he just laughs in your face, like the terrible friend he is. Trying to ignore your heart skipping a beat at the sound, you burrow closer into his embrace, reveling in as much of him as he’ll let you have.
His chest vibrates when he speaks again. “I had a good time last night.” He pairs his kind words with a rude poke to your side.
A good time is underestimating it, at least for you. Innie claimed that the rest of the guys were always hogging up your free time, and he missed his best friend. He booked a reservation at an Italian restaurant notoriously hard to get into – but he’s an idol, of course he has connections like that.
If this were a romance movie, one of you would have confessed. Preferably him, to spare you the embarrassment. But it’s not, and at the end of the night, he dropped you off at home with a beaming smile and the memory.
If this were a romance movie, now would also be a pretty good time for a confession.
You look up at him. He’s looking back at you.
The entire world shrinks to only him, and his eyes, staring into yours. “Yeah?” you ask, breathless.
He grins. “Yeah,” his voice is low. His eyes drop down to your lips, and suddenly his hand is cupping your chin, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.
Then, he clears his throat, the sound piercing. He shakes his head, as if to snap himself out of a thought, then whispers, “You had something.” He doesn’t remove his thumb.
As if on cue, Seungmin walks past his open doorway headed towards the kitchen. He peeks inside, and immediately freezes in his tracks while his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the scene before him.
Cuddled against each other. Easy familiarity. So close it hurts.
Before he says anything too incriminating – and thus ensuring his death by your hands – he’s interrupted by a wild-eyed Changbin barreling past him and into Jeongin’s room, yelling “Chan’s buying us food! Get up! Hurryhurryhurry!”
An outraged, “The fuck I am!” sounds from the living room.
At the restaurant, Jeongin steals a dumpling off Changbin’s plate rather unsuccessfully. The plop as it lands on the table alerts Changbin to the attempted thievery, and naturally, Jeongin winds up in a headlock as punishment. They go back and forth exclaiming, “Say you’re sorry!” and “I didn’t even do anything!” until Chan looks like he’s about to start sprouting grey hairs.
“He’s such an idiot,” Seungmin says beside you.
“I know,” you sigh. “I want his balls in my mouth.”
Seungmin freezes with a steamed bun inches away from his lips. “Please,” he deadpans. “Never speak to me again.”
Hyunjin proves himself nearly useless. However, he’s a lot better than your complete uselessness, so you find yourself taking his advice a few days later.
“What does painting my feelings even mean?” you ask. Hyunjin sits across from you, concentrating on his own canvas like he’s the one about to confess via acrylic paint. Maybe he is; he and Changbin have been acting particularly married lately. A variety of paint tubes sits on the table between you two. “What color are my feelings?”
Hyunjin snorts. “I don’t know, what color do you think pabo is?”
“Green?”
With a small grin, Hyunjin slides a pigment labelled Permanent Green closer to you, then subsequently dodges it when you hurl it back at him. Shame. He exclaims something about Changbin killing him if any more paint spills in their dorm, but you’re not listening, instead choosing to stare down at your canvas as if it will unveil its secrets if you simply look at it long enough.
Hyunjin had sworn on his life that painting your love and gifting it to Jeongin would work, and the boy would swoon in your arms upon receiving it. He claimed there was no possible way he could miss the hint of his obviously-in-love best friend creating art for him. It is romantic, if nothing else. The only problem is you have no idea where to start. Or end. Or anything in between. Both of you, apparently, drastically overestimated your love’s ability to be painted.
You stare longer, but the canvas unabashedly remains blank.
“What comes to mind when you first think about him? Any special memories between you, anything you like to do together?” he asks. “If you say something nasty I’m kicking you out.”
Jeongin brought you to a flower field a few weeks beforehand. He plucked a daisy, tucked it behind your ear, and smiled brighter than the sun. You want to keep being the reason he smiles like that. Back at home, you pressed the daisy as a keepsake.
It might not be the idyllic, romantic embodiment Hyunjin probably hoped for, but it’s a lovely memory regardless. A flower field is fairly easy to paint, right?
Hyunjin gives his stamp of approval to your idea, as well as a five-minute-straight monologue about how cute you and Jeongin are together, your nerves about your gift heightening with each “you’re made for each other!”
What if he doesn’t even like it? What if he doesn’t know the meaning behind it? What if he does know the meaning behind it?
As much as Hyunjin woes about his own love life, you feel justified wallowing in his presence a bit longer.
“Can we please not talk about this? I don’t really want to think about how he’ll probably reject it.”
Hyunjin drops it for all of two minutes – just enough time for you to barely dip your paintbrush into Radiant Blue and cover most of the canvas in broad, sweeping strokes.
“I think he loves you,” he says, without looking up from his own canvas.
The paintbrush slips out of your fingers. Blue paint splatters across your jeans, and stains the floor where the brush lands. Hyunjin sees it, purses his lips, but thankfully doesn’t say anything else about his own impending doom.
“He does not,” you assure him once you stop air from going down the wrong pipe.
Hyunjin rolls his eyes, somehow loudly. “Do you want a list of reasons why I know he is? For one, he wouldn’t shut up about those flowers you picked for him.” The same flowers you chose to paint. He tacks on, “It was gross.”
Your heart sinks at the implication you wish was true. “That was as friends,” you mutter, like a child who got told no. Hoping Hyunjin would take the hint, you pick up your paintbrush from the floor and continue swiping it across the canvas, trying to fix the parts that are streaky from the fall.
He either did not get the hint or is flat out ignoring it. “I don’t take just friends to pick flowers,” you bite back the urge to point out Jeongin only knew about it because Changbin took Hyunjin, “and spend the next three hours talking about how pretty she looked.”
“He did that?” Heat rises to your cheeks.
He nods. “He only stopped because Minho threatened to tape his mouth closed.”
The next hours are spent in relative silence as you two paint. As grateful as you are to avoid speaking about Jeongin, you’re unable to stop thinking about him – about if Hyunjin was exaggerating, about Jeongin’s reaction, about either possibility of him accepting or rejecting it.
A flower field is not fairly easy to paint, as evidenced by Hyunjin’s snorting laughter when you finally show him your canvas. It’s not winning any awards anytime soon, but you thought it was alright, at least.
“A child could have done a better job!” he exclaims. “An actual child!” He dodges yet another paint tube – when did he get so good at that? Through laughter, he says again, “It’s proof he loves you if he actually displays it anywhere.”
Unfortunately, Hyunjin made sure to be there while you gift it to Jeongin.
“I love it!” Jeongin looks like you awarded him the moon and stars, rather than – you’ll admit it now – a pretty terrible painting. “Thank you!”
And he walks away, admiring it.
Hyunjin will not let this go for a long time.
You’re staring at Jeongin making downright sinful noises doing pushups and debating when exactly in your life you lost your mind. You must have at some point, as only an insane person would agree to Chan asking you to accompany them to the gym.
Jeongin does another pushup, grunting, and all rational thoughts leave your brain.
Down. Up. Grunt.
Would he make the same sounds if–
“You know, they say those work better if you actually lift them,” Chan takes the bench next to you, carrying his own dumbbells orders of magnitude heavier than the ones laying abandoned by your feet.
“Hm?”
Jeongin finishes his set, and as if in slow motion, strips off his shirt. Sweat glistens on his chest, even in their gym’s terrible lighting. Good god. It would’ve been kinder if Chan punched you in the sternum and called it a day.
Chan’s laugh breaks through the Jeongin-brain fog clouding your mind. You wrench your eyes away from the, quite frankly, ludicrous display going on to glare at him.
“You’ve got a bit of drool on your chin there.” He seems more amused than he should.
“Why does everyone keep saying I drool? It’s gross and I don’t do it.”
“Yeah, it is gross, isn’t it?” Chan pauses to take in your expression, and lets out a deep sigh. “Look, you should just tell him, rip off the band-aid, you know? Have you tried anything like that?”
“I’ve tried, but I don’t know, something in me freezes up every time I try and I end up gaping at him like a fish.”
Even before this week, you’ve tried so often, but the words always die in your throat. It’s harder than it seems, confessing your undying love to your best friend.
Chan’s staring at you like you grew a second mouth, one that said something stupid.
“What?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing, just remembering similar conversations.” He glances across the room, where Jeongin’s in position to start doing pushups again. God save everyone. “I think you should tell him though. Now.”
“Are you cra–”
“Now. Re-rack your weights first.” He lifts his dumbbells off the floor and turns his attention towards the wall-to-wall mirror, shutting you out of the conversation and leaving no room for debate.
Your heartbeat thunders in rhythm with your footsteps.
Jeongin drops down with a dramatic sigh — seriously, an all-out punch would’ve been kinder, Chan — once he sees you approach. Then, he rolls on his back on the probably grimy, definitely sweaty floor and exclaims “There you are!” with a huge smile.
“Help me up?” he holds his hands out in the air for you to take.
Of course you do.
Of course he doesn’t let go once he’s standing.
Once again, his intense gaze burns straight through you. You’re all but positive your confession is written on your forehead, with how intently he’s looking at you, as if nobody else exists.
You can’t tell him. Not here. Not in a gym. Not with Chan watching.
“Are you finally going to join me? I could use the motivation,” Jeongin winks, still holding your hands in his. Your heart drops to your stomach and your stomach jumps up to your throat.
He could get you to agree to anything, internal organs all out of balance as they are.
“Y-yeah. Sure.” Hopefully you could claim the sweat forming is from exercise.
His resulting smile could blind the dead. “Awesome! I’ll get set up!”
With that, he drops your hands and turns his back to stride towards a machine. Finally, you can breathe normally again. You trail after him, glancing back at Chan on the way. He looks like he expected absolutely nothing less out of that whole situation.
“I think that’s a biohazard,” Seungmin informs, taking a seat next to where your head so elegantly landed when you flopped face-down on their couch. “I mean, I’ve seen Felix stay in that exact spot for, like, two days straight. And he’s gross, so just imagine what’s still in the cushions.”
“Can’t move,” your reply is muffled. You’re not even lying this time – your bones are pudding only hours after working through Jeongin’s push day routine with him.
“Your funeral, I guess.”
The couch is unfairly comfortable, honestly, and you have half a mind to succumb to the sleep threatening to pull you under. But, you can tell Seungmin is enjoying the silence, which just won’t do. Not on your watch.
“You ever see Innie working out?” you ask, not bothering to move your face away from the couch in any way to help him understand you.
“All the time. Hey, can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead.”
“It’s on the coffee table.” Truly, if you could move your arms at all, you would hand it over. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? He’s like a statue.”
Seungmin releases a sound like he’s dying around the sound of him typing. “Did you come here just so I could suffer with you?”
“And he has abs!”
Seungmin leans forward, then he gently sets your phone back down. “I will smother you until you stop talking,” he deadpans.
“I’ll cook dinner for you if I can keep going.”
“You were saying something about his abs?”
Fifteen minutes and twenty instances of Seungmin asking what you’re making later, you have enough feeling in your arms to begin dinner preparation.
Your phone pings with a new text once the chicken is almost finished cooking on the stovetop.
Innie: I would hope so :)
Opening your messaging app reveals the answer. The horrible, terrible, no-good answer.
You: I like you.
Innie: I would hope so :)
Seungmin. You’re going to kill him. The fanbase will understand. He’s had it coming for a while, anyway.
Seungmin’s food burns while you’re contemplating revenge.
He eats it without complaint.
On screen, Princess Peach cuts in front of Wario inches away from the finish line, and Minho damn near throws his controller at you. Before you can start the typical I’m-the-Best-Bow-at-My-Feet speech, Han steps outside of his room with a guilty expression rarely seen outside courtrooms.
“I talked to Innie,” he admits.
Ice forms in your stomach.
“That’s my cue,” Minho says, gets up, and retreats into his own room. Bastard.
Han sits beside you, hanging his head so he does not have to look you in the eye.
“Why,” you croak.
“I thought I was being helpful! I asked if he was interested in anyone, you know, to get the ball rolling!” At that, he looks up at you, eyes almost comically wide. “But he acted like I was dumb for even asking.”
“Why.”
Han steamrolls on with his explanation. “I mean, no offense or anything, but you are pretty obvious about it! I thought he knew already, honestly.”
The ice transforms into a category 5 winter storm. You had been trying not to think about that, but he’s right. Anyone with eyes can clearly see how you act around Jeongin. He must know. He’s being nice by not outright rejecting you.
Han only coos “I’m so sorry,” tone as gentle as the hand he places on your knee, in response to your considerations.
Together, you and Han formulate A Plan. It goes like this: Forget about Your Feelings for Innie. Not that you want to, but even you have limits on how far your delusions go.
It’s a great plan. It will work flawlessly.
The plan goes to shit the next day.
Felix invites everyone over for a movie night at Chan and Jeongin’s dorm – artfully avoiding Changbin’s question of whether or not he actually had permission to do so. Han assures you Jeongin already has plans, so you won’t have to worry about seeing him or speaking to him or being around him at all, really.
For some reason, Jeongin had hung up your painting in their living room, and it practically stares you down as you settle into your blankets across from it. Heaviness weighs on your body, but a night with your friends might be the distraction you need to forget about it for a while.
Unless those friends make you talk about it.
Halfway through the first movie, Minho, never one to beat around the bush, pauses it and says, “You look sad.” He’s met with noises of agreement from nearly everyone else.
“I just - I don’t know what to do about Innie,” you say, unwilling to look at anyone’s face for fear of seeing your own patheticness validated. You pick a spot on the carpet and focus all your attention into picking at the fraying fibers. “I think I have to give up on him.”
Admitting it is a weight off your shoulders and a boulder on your chest. You’ve already had this conversation with Han, but here, speaking it into a room of your closest friends, makes the words real. Too real to take back, to brush off as anything else.
Nobody’s said anything. Usually, at this point, Hyunjin would be offering unrealistic advice, or Seungmin would be telling you nobody wants to hear it. Something’s wrong. You look up. Half the room is staring at you.
Half the room is staring behind you.
“Ouch,” sounds from the doorway into Jeongin’s room. “Don’t give up on me yet.” His tone is lighthearted on the surface, but everyone in the room knows him well enough to hear the strain underneath it.
Every muscle in your body freezes. Unable to move, you and Felix are now locked in a horrible staring contest. He looks as scared as you feel.
No.
There’s no possible way to get out of this.
No.
It’s far too late to try to play it off as anything other than a confession. He would see straight through you. He always does when you’re lying.
Nononono.
How do you even explain that you’ve been unashamedly pining to the point everyone else is sick of hearing it, all to no avail? That you know he knows and now you’ve broken the silent “don’t talk about it to let her down easy” strategy he had going on.
You cannot be here.
You cannot turn around to face the consequences of your careless speaking.
You cannot stay in this room, on this street, on this planet with Jeongin.
Mechanically, on legs you pray aren’t actually shaking even though your cells are vibrating, you get to your feet. Something akin to, “Ihavetogobye,” spills out of your mouth, before you rush out the door without turning around. Without once looking back at Jeongin, or his insisting that you stay.
Jeongin studies his members, all sitting (or – in Changbin’s case – laying across Hyunjin’s lap), all staring back at him with nearly identical pitiful expressions. After running a hand down his face, as if he could wipe away the memory of what you said, he asks the room, “Does anyone want to tell me what that was about?”
Instead of actually answering his question, Chan just responds, “Dude.” Like dominoes, most everyone echoes the sentiment, dread growing in Jeongin’s stomach after every one. Rarely is nobody willing to outright tell him what he did wrong. Usually they jump at the chance to embarrass him.
Jeongin flops to the floor, right where you were sitting. “Dude what?,” he groans and tries to ignore the pain sprouting in his butt from his theatrics. “What did I do? Why is my girlfriend giving up on me?”
Han’s jaw audibly pops as it falls open.
A silence unlike anything Jeongin has ever known descends upon the dorm.
Even Hyunjin has stopped poking Changbin in the side to get a rise out of him. Jeongin is fairly certain it’s not this quiet even when nobody’s home. Once, when Chan was fed up with them, he had snapped that the next person to make a single sound would be doing everyone’s dishes for a month. This is quieter.
Seven twenty-something men collectively deciding to embody statues cannot mean anything good. They could hear a pin drop outside.
Until Seungmin starts giggling into his palm. To his credit, he does attempt to stifle it, but his laugh practically echoes in the silence.
Changbin begins laughing too. He rolls over to muffle the sound by hiding his face in Hyunjin’s stomach. His attempts are useless. Less than useless, because Hyunjin is ticklish and smacks him with a shriek that might be, “Stop it!” Changbin rolls back over, now nothing blocking his increase in volume. His shoulders shake the louder he gets. The whole thing only eggs Seungmin on, and soon enough, Seungmin, Changbin, Han, and Minho are in various stages of laughing at Jeongin.
Jeongin, baffled, asks, “What is happening?”
“Girlfriend?” Felix clarifies.
“Yes?” Jeongin feels like he’s missing a crucial piece of information.
Seungmin’s face is lit up with pure joy. He would give kids on Christmas morning a serious run for their money. “How long,” he pauses to wipe an honest-to-God tear from his cheek. “How long has that been going on?”
“I don’t know, a week? Maybe two?”
“Two?” Chan chokes on the word. “Dude.”
Jeongin has to be on the world’s worst prank show. A camera crew must be incredibly well hidden. “What is happening?” he asks again.
Hyunjin finds his words first. “Did you ever… tell her you’re dating?”
“Of course,” comes Jeongin’s easy reply. He bites back, What kind of question is that?
Hyunjin’s cocked eyebrow causes him to reconsider. The dates, the gifts, the… everything. He can’t recall outright saying, “We are in an exclusive romantic relationship,” but you have to know. He asked you out! Didn’t he? Yes. He did. Weeks ago. You said yes.
Wait.
You said yes to him asking, “Do you want to be with me?” over pasta and, admittedly, maybe one too many glasses of wine. There’s room for misinterpretation there. Clearly.
“Oh.” Jeongin blinks slowly. “A lot of things are starting to make sense.”
Seungmin guffaws again. Minho mutters, “Yeah, I bet they are.” Chan looks like he’s regretting choosing Jeongin for the group.
It’s ironic, in a way, that you end up at a familiar walking trail you and Jeongin visit often when either one of you needs fresh air. You didn’t even mean to come here, but you shut their front door behind you, and next thing you knew you’re wiping away tears and settling against a tree a short distance from the path. Wind blows through the trees, its accompanying chill biting at the wetness near your eyes.
You can’t dodge Jeongin’s calls forever. His contact photo constantly lighting up your screen is making it incredibly hard to forget he – and by extension, your feelings currently lodging themselves squarely in your throat – exists.
You have no right to be upset, not when you were too much of a coward to actually confess anything to him at all. Not when you willingly let every opportunity to tell him pass you up. Not when you just left. Who gives someone a painting and expects them to read four layers deep into it? Who goes to Han for rational advice?
Hell, Seungmin was the most direct with him. That’s a new low.
Behind you, footsteps you could pick out of a lineup crunch over leaves.
“Hey,” his voice is soft, almost lost in the breeze. Your refusal to meet his eyes doesn’t deter him, instead he just sits on the dirt across from you, the tongue of his shoe nearly touching yours. “Look at me, please.”
He looks like he always does, and it’s a twist of the knife. Something should be different, there should be some sign advertising the loss he’s about to hand you. His oversized hoodie, his hair overdue for a trim, same softness in his eyes. So much like your Jeongin, the one you cannot reconcile with the Jeongin who knows and doesn’t love you how you want.
But he is still your Jeongin, sweet and caring for the hard moments, so his face drops when he sees your red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. He takes one of your hands in his, and you let him, because this might be the last time he does.
“I have been reliably informed that I misread what our relationship is,” he says.
A single choked laugh escapes your throat. “I know, it’s okay. You don’t have to sugarcoat, I can handle anything you tell me.”
“That’s not what I meant. I…” he starts, then stops again. His cheeks grow pinker by the second. He looks to the sky, then back at you. “I thought you were already my girlfriend.”
Well.
Almost anything.
What? “You – what?”
What?
If he seemed embarrassed ten seconds ago, he does doubly so now. He’s about to start shrinking in on himself. “Please don’t make me say it again,” he groans.
“Say it again.” You need to make sure you aren’t hearing things before getting your hopes up too much and shattering your emotions twice in a row.
“Remember that night we went out to dinner at that Italian place?”
Through your haze, you nod back at him.
“I asked you to be my girlfriend that night. At least, I thought I did. Now, I don’t think that actually happened.”
Blood roars in your ears. Your thoughts transform into TV static. “You want to date me even after everything that happened this week?” you ask through a tongue that suddenly feels too big for your mouth.
“Especially after everything that happened this week.” His answer is immediate.
Jeongin grins tentatively and takes a risk. He scoots closer towards you, and seeing you not make to move away from him, fully commits to sit next to you, wrap his arm around you, and pull you into his side. It’s a position you’ve been in so many times before, familiar and new, but now he’s yours and you’re his, like flowers blooming intertwined.
Warmth blossoms and spreads throughout you. The cold winds don’t seem so bad anymore. You’d stay out here forever, as long as your Innie keeps holding you. As long as he keeps knowing you and loving you because of your flaws, not despite them.
“Innie?”
He presses a kiss into the top of your head, and you have to fight not to derail your train of thought. “We’ve been dating for a while and you never tried to kiss me?”
He groans and lets his head drop onto the top of yours. “I thought you wanted to take it slow, I don’t know. I was trying to respect that.”
You’ve waited long enough.
“Will you kiss me now?”
The weight on your head disappears. You look up at him. He’s looking back at you.
This time he doesn’t pull away or snap himself out of it.
When he leans in and closes the gap between you, it’s absolutely nothing like you’ve dreamed about. No dream, no fantasy could compare to him, real and yours and kissing you like he won’t ever get another chance. Like he also cannot believe you’re letting him. He moves slowly, savoring your first kiss as long as possible.
Eventually, he has to pull away, keeping his eyes closed for several seconds after. He doesn’t go far, keeps his head inches away, enough to breathe without putting space between you. “D’you want to go back to the dorm?” he sighs against your lips.
“No,” you whisper back.
“Me neither.”
With a relieved grin, he brings you into him again.
everyone else stays up waiting for you two to stumble giggling back into the dorm, met with thunderous (ha) and noisy (ha ha) applause and several wolf whistles. seungmin leads them in a "jeongin! jeongin!" chant.
ily if you made it this far this was abandoned for a reason
dividers by @lariesographic & @uzmacchiato
taglist: @emilyywhyy @velvetmoonlght @opiumfidgetspinner @bahngarang @pixie-felix @certainstarfishmiracle @luvvvivi @strhwa @ayedomino008 @breakmeoff @foppishitudinality @ilovedallywinston @cookiewookie9t @astrayapple @teffyx @geni-627 @kpopgirliez @imnotsupposedtobedoingthis
lmk if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist
There were some days when the last thing Y/N wanted to do was to leave the house. Her internal battery was beyond depleted, and the only thing she wanted was to curl up in the safety of her home with the steady anchor of her husband keeping her grounded and allowing her to gently recharge. It was also on those days in particular that it seemed she had no choice on the matter and had to leave anyway; there weren't many days in her flexible schedule where it was mandatory for her to venture into the world beyond her favourite four walls, which only made the task that much harder.
Stepping through the front door of her home earlier, the first thing Y/N had done was slip her throbbing feet out of her shoes. It had been one of those days - and now, the drained battery she had carried with her throughout the day seemed to be beyond repair. To say she was shattered was an understatement; she was teetering on the edge of emotional numbness, though the sight of her husband curled up on their large sofa as she walked down the hallway and into their open living space had been enough to pull her back into the cusp of sanity. A shuddering sigh had escaped her lips as she took in the outline of him, and her heart thumped against the walls of her chest when Chris tore his gaze away from his phone, the richness of it fixing on her instead. His eyes crinkled as the entirety of his face lit up, and it took every ounce of willpower left in Y/N's sore body to move away from his welcoming arms and to turn towards the stairs instead. She needed to get out of her restrictive clothes before she went completely mad; she knew if she had allowed Chris to touch her upon arrival, she would have immediately crashed into him and stayed there until the next day.
But she had changed, and now she shuffled back into the room, the prospect of warmth and comfort propelling her towards the sofa. The hem of her husband's soft t-shirt kissed her bare thighs as her socked feet slid across the floorboards in her haste, the plush fibres of the large rug in the middle of the floor soon appearing underfoot as she approached her husband again. This time, noticing the flicker of vulnerability in his wife's eyes, Chris instantly set his phone down beside him, and with the familiar upturn of the side of his mouth, the man held out his arms to her. He waited a few seconds before Y/N barreled into him, her body hitting the hard planes of his with a soft thud that made him smile.
“There we go … “ Chris hummed as Y/N burrowed her face into the hollow of his throat, her fingers fisting into the heavy material of his hoodie. He unfolded the blanket he had turned back for her, and he draped it over the woman's body, cocooning her into his little bubble as his arms came down around her. She was holding onto him so hard that her body was shaking, and Chris squeezed her tight, his smile spreading when he saw her legs curl up close to her chest until she resembled a tiny ball tucked up in his arms.
For a moment, they stayed like that. Chris's hand rubbed soothing circles into Y/N's back, his face bowed as he pressed a constant stream of lingering kisses to the crown of her head. Each kiss seeped a tingling heat deep into the marrow of Y/N's bones, and soon her breathing had slowed, her fingers unfurling their hold on his hoodie just a touch. She raised her head then, face peeking out from Chris's neck as her eyes sought him out, and Chris looked down at her, mouth softening.
“You okay, pretty girl?” Chris hummed, lips grazing her brow as he spoke.
Y/N wrinkled her nose in response. She snuggled her cheek back against his warm chest, just as Chris tightened his hold on her.
“Tired?” He whispered.
She nodded.
Chris smiled. “Don't feel like talking?”
She shook her head.
“That's okay,” Chris breathed, tucking her up deeper in his lap, cradling her like a little cub. “You don't have to talk. Just stay here with me … “
Eyes watering at his molten words, Y/N nuzzled her nose against the fabric of his hoodie as she turned to bury the whole of her face into his body, and her heart fluttered when Chris's lips found the top of her head again, accompanied by exaggerated kiss sounds that made her smile.
“Mm-mwah,” he kissed her head. “Mm-mwah,” he kissed her temple. “Mm-mwah,” he kissed her nose. “Mmm … mwah, mwah … mwah mwah mwah!”
A shower of the softest kisses Y/N had ever felt rained down upon her blushing face, causing her to curl in on him even more. Chris was rubbing her back in a constant soothing motion, and his plush lips were curved up into a smile so tender that she suddenly felt like bursting into tears.
“My baby,” Chris cooed, his voice softening into the voice he reserved specifically for her, for when she was feeling like this. The same voice that made every taut cell in her body relax, and for her mind to empty itself until she was fuzzy. In that moment, all she was aware of was the man cradling her like she was something precious, from the way he smelled to the way his muscles pulled and warped against her, molding to the frame of her body.
“Hungry?” Chris asked as his fingers made their way into her hair. He gently rolled off the hair tie that was holding it back, and he slid it onto his wrist before sinking his fingertips into the strands, the pads of them beginning to massage her scalp.
Y/N shook her head, eyes fluttering from the sensation of his fingers working their magic into her pounding skull.
“Mmm … want some coffee?” Chris suggested.
She shook her head again.
“No? Hmm … wanna watch a movie?”
Shake.
“Wanna run around the house like headless chickens?”
A giggle, and then, shake.
“You just wanna cuddle with me?” Chris smiled warmly, nuzzling his nose against her forehead.
Y/N nodded.
“C'mere then … come closer to me,” he groaned as he tried to pull her further into him, only to realise she was already as close as she could possibly be. He tucked the blanket tighter around her instead, one of his hands slipping beneath her t-shirt to caress the bare skin of her back.
“Wanna watch me play Genshin?” Chris chuckled, nodding towards his phone.
Yawning against his shoulder, Y/N nodded.
“Really?”
She nodded again.
Laughing under his breath, Chris adjusted his hold on his wife; he made sure his arm was tucked around her like a barricade while he reached for the phone he had set aside. Resting his face a mere inch away from Y/N's, Chris held his phone in the tiny nook between Y/N's chest and knees. He continued to press doting kisses all over her face as he waited for the game to load, and when it finally did, he wriggled a little in his seat with excitement, jostling Y/N along with him.
With her heart feeling like it was turning into sickly sweet syrup dripping all over her ribcage, Y/N tilted her head to study his face.
His warm brown eyes turned to look at her, and he smiled slowly, his ears reddening as he nudged her nose with his.
“Hi,” Chris whispered.
Y/N's cheeks flushed. “Hi.”
“She speaks,” he beamed. “Got a bit of energy back?”
“Mhm.”
“Missed me?” Chris asked, landing a gentle kiss to her brow bone.
Y/N nodded. “So much.”
“I missed you more. I was counting down the seconds until you were home.”
“You were?”
“Always. Missed my cuddle buddy. My clingy lil’ baby … “
Erupting into muffled giggles when Chris's lips attacked her steaming face all over again, Y/N tucked her cheek into the crook of his arm and curled her fingers back into the soft drapes of his hoodie, anchoring herself to the steady current of comfort rolling out from her husband's presence.
She tilted her head back again a second later, wanting to look at his face once more. She barely glanced at him before her eyes filled with tears, and Chris's own eyes widened in surprise.
“Baby? What's wrong?” Chris searched her face with his dark eyes. “Why're you crying, hmm?”
Sniffling, Y/N spluttered with an embarrassed puff of quiet laughter. “I … don't know?”
“You don't know?” Chris started to chuckle. “You're not sad?”
She shook her head.
“Well, that's okay,” Chris grinned, settling back against the cushions and pulling her closer out of habit. “You can cry if you want. I know my gaming skills are really good at making people emotional.”
With a giggle, Y/N rubbed at her eyes before dropping her head onto him again, melting under another kiss that found its way to her forehead. Yawning, Y/N settled her cheek against his chest, the pronounced shape of his pectoral muscles beneath his thick hoodie like soft pillows accommodating to the shape of her. She watched as her husband methodically went through his daily tasks in the game, opening mail and collecting rewards in a never-ending stream. Each one was accompanied by a tiny jangling sound from the game, and a multitude of soft sound effects from her husband's face, making Y/N smile.
A short moment later, Chris let out a loud sneeze; his thumb skidded across his screen as he did so, and when he pulled his screen back, it was in time for both Y/N and Chris to witness his current favourite character falling off of a cliff and plummeting to her death.
Y/N couldn't help it; she burst into laughter at the sheer horror on Chris's face when he realised what he had done, and her giggles increased when the character that had automatically replaced the first one slipped and fell down the second part of the cliff.
“Oh my God,” Chris sucked in a breath as the screen flashed white and started to load again. “Died from a sneeze. Twice. What a way to go.”
Choking suddenly from how hard she had been laughing, Y/N sat up and thumped on her chest, coughing as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“You good?” Chris's face broke into a large smile when he saw the evident mirth on his wife's face. His hand landed on the middle of her back, and he rubbed slow circles as she spluttered all over again a second later. “Maybe I should fall off a couple more times if it makes you laugh this much.”
“I can't help it,” Y/N squeaked, inhaling a shaky breath before she could erupt into another fit of contagious laughter. “You just said your gaming skills are really good and then … bam. Dead. Gone.”
“I'll have you know, I still have two characters standing “ Chris pointed to his phone where the third character teetered precariously over the edge of a grassy hill. He hastily backed up a few steps before setting his phone down on the seat beside him and curling his fingers around his wife's arms. “Get back here … cheeky bugger.”
Giggling at that, Y/N settled back down into the curve of Chris's arms. She draped an arm over his torso, squeezing him tight all of a sudden; somehow a surge of energy had refilled her internal battery, and the heaviness she had been sporting earlier on had disappeared before she had the chance to even realise what was happening.
Her throat closed up, and she clenched her eyes shut for a moment, tightening her arms around her husband. Caressing the small sliver of skin at his side where the hem of his hoodie had ridden up, she leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss to his chest.
“What was that for?” Chris hummed, peering down at her in surprise.
“I love you,” Y/N said simply.
She turned her head and planted another flurry of kisses over his chest and his neck for good measure, before settling her cheek back down against his shoulder. She could feel the heat radiating off of her husband had increased exponentially, and she didn't have to look up at him to see that he was blushing from his nose to the tips of his ears.
Without another word, Chris locked his phone and slid it onto the coffee table in front of him. Instead he grabbed another blanket from the back of the sofa and tucked that over the both of them too, his hands slipping back under the safety of his wife's t-shirt.
Y/N looked up at him in surprise. “What happened to the game?”
“Don't wanna play anymore,” Chris hummed against her head. “Just wanna stay like this.”
Her heart fluttered. A smirk crossed her face. “Dying twice was enough for you to give up?”
“Shush,” Chris stuck her tongue out at her. He sank a little further into the sofa, bringing her with him until they were both half laying on top of each other on the large sofa. “Lemme cuddle you.”
“I am,” Y/N giggled. “I haven't moved.”
“Smarty pants,” Chris yawned and snuggled deeper into her. “Lemme cuddle you more, then.”
“Don't you mean ‘let me hold you like a teddy so I can fall asleep?’” Y/N asked, watching as his nostrils flared in an attempt to stifle another yawn.
Chuckling into her neck, Chris hooked his legs around hers and brought her down with him as he laid down on the sofa. His head landed on a soft cushion and he sighed happily, tucking the blankets deeper beneath both their chins.
“Well … now that you mention it … “
“Don't wanna go to bed?”
“We have a very comfy sofa.”
Feeling Chris's chin landing on top of her head as he pulled her back, her back cushioned against his front, Y/N smiled. She curled her hand around his forearm that rested over her stomach.
“Is this a nap, or are we done for the night?” Y/N asked him. She shivered in his hold - the heat that was seeping into her back was extremely addictive.
“Dunno … “ Chris yawned again. “Maybe a … long nap? You know … we can wake up really early and I'll make you pancakes.”
“Again?” Y/N grinned.
“Again,” Chris nodded, nuzzling her hair with his nose. “Mmm … you smell good.”
“Better than pancakes?”
“Always better than pancakes.”
Giggling under her breath, Y/N squeezed Chris's hand with hers, her eyes drooping as his deep breaths rumbled against her body. She was so warm and so comfortable tucked up with him on the large sofa seats, that for a moment, she wondered if she was floating on a fuzzy cloud. She couldn't be sure, though. She had fallen asleep before she had the chance to figure it out.
A/n: This was actually super cute to write even if it did have a little sad bit.
It starts with a photo he almost doesn’t post.
Chan’s sitting on the studio floor, back against the couch, phone balanced on his knee. The room smells like instant coffee and the lemon cleaner the staff uses at night. It’s late. Too late. His shoulders ache, and his head’s been full of noise for hours.
You’re across from him, cross-legged, scrolling through your phone. You’re wearing his hoodie again. The gray one that’s technically still in his closet, even though it keeps ending up on you.
“You done?” you ask, not looking up.
“Almost,” he says. He angles his phone, frames the empty studio, the half-finished track on the screen. Safe. Normal. Nothing that says too much.
Then you lean over, resting your chin on his shoulder without thinking about it. Your weight is light, familiar. He still freezes every time, like his body hasn’t caught up with how natural this feels.
“Post it,” you say. “You’ve been staring at it for ten minutes.”
He laughs quietly. “I’m thinking.”
You hum, the sound soft, and pull back. “About?”
He doesn’t answer. He posts the photo.
The comments come in fast. Fans praising his work ethic. Jokes about him living in the studio. Someone asking who took the picture. He watches them scroll, chest tight for no real reason.
You see it on his face. You always do.
“You don’t have to,” you say gently.
“I know.” He locks his phone and sets it aside. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”
You’re quiet for a moment. Then you reach out and lace your fingers with his, careful even though there’s no one else in the room.
“We’re not a mess,” you say. “We’re just… not loud.”
That’s one way to put it.
Being with you has been a series of small things. Shared meals at odd hours. Your name saved under a nickname no one else knows. Him walking half a step behind you in public, not because he wants distance, but because he’s learned where the cameras usually are.
Sometimes it hurts more than he expects.
Like today, when he posted a picture of his lunch. Just a bowl of pasta. Fans noticed the extra plate in the corner of the frame. They always notice.
You’d joked about it, but later, when he caught you staring at your phone a little too long, your smile had slipped.
“Hey,” he’d said, tilting your face up. “Talk to me.”
You hesitated. “I just… I don’t want to feel like a secret forever.”
The word had stuck with him.
Now, back in the studio, he stands and holds his hand out to you. “Come here.”
You raise an eyebrow but take it. He pulls you up, wraps his arms around you, presses his forehead to yours. No rush. No cameras.
“I can’t give you everything,” he says quietly. “Not yet. But I don’t want to hide you. Not from my life.”
Your eyes soften. “Chan, I don’t need a headline.”
He smiles a little. “Good. Because I was thinking something smaller.”
He picks up his phone again, opens his story. This time, he doesn’t overthink it. He snaps a photo of your hands intertwined, resting on his knee. No faces. No context. Just warmth.
He shows you before he posts it.
You let out a breathy laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah.” He watches your face, searching. “Is that okay?”
You nod, eyes a little shiny. “Yeah. It’s more than okay.”
He posts it.
The reaction is slower this time. Curious. Gentle. Some fans guess. Some pretend not to see it. The world doesn’t end. Nothing breaks.
You squeeze his hand. “Soft launch,” you say, teasing.
Chan laughs, relief washing through him. He pulls you back into his chest, chin resting on your hair.
“Soft,” he agrees. “But real.”
And for the first time in a while, that feels like more than enough.
If it wasn't for the sudden thump against his chest as his dog jumped up at him in excitement, Chris was sure he would have kept sleeping. He had already been sleeping in, the crisp bed sheets and achingly familiar scents of home wafting around him, calming his inner world and kicking away most of the heaviness that often lodged its way into the pit of his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so … soundly. It was almost a shame he had been woken; but seeing the wide eyed gaze of his most favourite animal in the whole entire world, and hearing the energetic chirping of magpies and rainbow lorikeets and cockatoos beyond the window like he had been dreaming of a mere couple of weeks previously, Chris felt perhaps being awake was just a touch better than his peaceful sleep.
“Good morning to you too, pretty girl,” Chris cooed, sleepily sticking an arm out on the duvet and scratching the whitening area beneath Berry's chin. His other arm pulled Y/N closer to his side beneath the sheets, her cheek warm nose still tucked into the hollow of his throat, her breaths soft and slow and grounding. “Miss me?”
Berry licked a warm stripe down the side of Chris's face in response. Chris groaned at the wet feeling, his voice low and husky from sleep, and he couldn't help but burst into a fit of squeaky chuckles as she turned her head and gave Y/N the same treatment. Whining as slumber shed itself from her, Y/N's face crumpled, her eyes squeezing open.
“Oh … Berry … “ Y/N half-laughed, half-sobbed st the sensory disruption. She tilted her face up to see Chris's carefree smile shining down at her, his eyes crinkling as his mouth widened into a full on grin at the sight of her mildly ruffled state. She started to giggle, her lips pressing a greeting kiss to Chris's bare shoulder before she slowly sat up, the duvet pooling around her waist.
“Mmm … don't go … “ Chris yawned, face immediately dropping to the small gap between her lower back and the creased pillow. His long arms slid around her waist, and he wriggled under the duvet, tangling his legs around hers as he buried his face into her skin. “So warm … “
“I'm not going anywhere,” Y/N hummed, hand smoothing down his shoulder blades. “Wanted to tell this one off for soaking my face.”
Giggles muffled against her body, Chris squeezed her tighter, and Y/N smiled, her gaze landing on the small dog who flopped across her lap, her tail swishing against Chris's bicep. Berry's eyes were round as they fixed onto Y/N's warm face, and she suddenly nuzzled her nose into the crook of the woman's arm.
“Oh … well how am I supposed to tell you off if you're going to be this cute?” Y/N huffed, heart melting at the sight of the dog. “You, madam, must be the most loved dog in the whole entire world. You know that? Do you know how loved you are?”
Berry's still wagged side to side, her face still tucked into the inner curve of Y/N's elbow. Y/N laughed softly and brushed her fingers across her head, gently scratching across her scrungly ears.
She looked over her shoulder to watch as Chris buried his head under the hem of her light t-shirt. “Look at you … you're glued to my back, and Berry's glued to my front. How am I supposed to move?”
“You're not,” Chris smiled against her spine. “You can't move until I say so.”
“You don't wanna get out of bed?”
“Nope.”
“Don't you wanna eat?”
“Nope. Cuddles.”
“Really? Even though your rents have probably made your favourite food?”
Chris's lips twitched.
“Your mum's gonna be really upset if you stay in here all day,” Y/N teased, tugging on his frizzy morning curls.
Huffing, Chris rubbed his face into her back. “You can't use that card on me … ‘s not fair.”
“Maybe not. But it's fun.”
Grinning at the way he shook with silent laughter against her frame, Y/N squeezed his shoulder and spoke with a gentle tone. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Mhm. Can't remember the last time I slept so good,” Chris sniffled, plump lips pressing against the small of Y/N's back. His fingers had begun to draw soft shapes over her side, his arms tightening around her as he cuddled closer. “Can you hear the birds? They sound so pretty … “
“And very loud,” Y/N giggled. “You really missed them, huh?”
Chris hummed in agreement, before he rolled onto his back with a loud groan. His arms stretched high above his head, his elbows popping inwards in a way that made Y/N smile with fondness. Dropping his arms with a long exhale, Chris's head dipped onto Y/N's pillow for a moment as a content smile kissed his soft lips, his hair shining like liquid gold around his face as the morning sun spilled through the gaps in the blinds in long lines, washing over him.
He seemed relaxed in a way Y/N hadn't seen in a very long time. Her heart ached; she leaned down and cupped his face, her thumbs caressing over his heated cheeks as his eyes opened again and melted at the proximity of her face.
“Happy?” Y/N whispered, lips grazing his.
Chris nodded. His fingers curled around her wrists, and he brought her hands to his lips, pressing long kisses to her fingers. “Wish I could wake up like this forever. Wanna stay here forever.”
“I know baby,” Y/N kissed his nose. “You'll get to one day. I have a feeling it might end up being sooner than later, with the way you've been lately.”
At that, Chris gave her a crooked grin. “I mean … they do say there's no place like home. There really, really isn't … especially when you're with me. Wish it could always be like this … “
Y/N's lips closed over his with a brush of reassurance. Her heart fluttered when he hummed under his breath at the contact, just as he always did.
“I know it's easy to slip into those thoughts,” Y/N breathed against his mouth. “And it's okay to think them … but baby … don't let them stop you from enjoying the few days you are here, okay? The time will be up before you know it and you'll have wished you were more present in the moment.”
Chris nodded at that, his hands tightening on the soft dips of her waist. “I know, baby. I promise I won't let them get to me.”
Before she could reply, Berry jumped into the small gap between them, banging both of their faces with her body. Groaning at the collusion, both Y/N and Chris burst into laughter as the dog settled herself on Chris's chest, trying to lick the entirety of his face as he suddenly jerked away.
“Sorry, Berry,” Chris chuckled. “Especially when you're here too. My best girl. God … I missed you so much. Missed my little baby … okay please don't eat my face - “
Yelping, Chris's body spasmed as Berry jumped on top of him again, this time covering his face with her body. Y/N rolled away just in time and she sat up again, laughing at the way he was thrashing around, Berry's sudden burst of energy spilling out of her in waves.
“Channie? Love, are you awake?” there was a soft knock at the door, and Chris grabbed Berry, enveloping her in his arms as he sat up, rubbing his face. “Is Berry with you?”
“Yeah, mum,” Chris called back, scratching behind Berry's ears. “Berry woke me up.”
He could almost hear the smile in his mother's voice when she spoke again. After a couple more words the older woman left again, and Chris sighed leisurely, dropping his head against Y/N's shoulder.
“I'm hungry,” Chris declared. “You hungry, baby?”
“Me, or Berry?”
“You,” Chris laughed. “My other baby.”
“Mmm. I'm hungry,” Y/N grinned. She nodded towards the window suddenly, eyes crinkling under the sunlight. “Don't you find it jarring? It was literally snowing for us two days ago and here it's like the middle of summer.”
“Yeah it's weird. The weather change makes me sick every single time.”
Just then, the bedroom door was hammered with impatient fists, and Chris humped, Berry's ears pricking up at the sudden noise.
“Oi, dickhead. Are you up?”
Chris's eyes rolled up to the ceiling at Hannah's voice, making Y/N giggle. “Go away.”
“You know, just for that I'm coming in … are you dressed? You better be dressed … “
The bedroom door clicked open, and Hannah's sister sauntered in, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
“You have Berry!” She suddenly whined, stomping over to the bed. “Hi Y/N. I was looking for her … Berry! Wanna go for a walk?”
Berry barked at the word, and Chris frowned, arms tightening around the dog. “She's mine! I'm not finished with her yet.”
“She loves me more,” Hannah stuck her tongue out at him, her fingers darting into Berry's fur. “Tell him, Y/N. She loves me more, right?”
Chris's eyes widened at Y/N, almost as if he was silently telling her to choose his side. Y/N's amused gaze slid to Hannah, who now was leaning against her, her hoodie soft against her arm.
“No comment,” Y/N cleared her throat. “Put her in the middle of the bed and see who she goes to first.”
Chris scoffed. “Really?”
Y/N shrugged.
Sighing, Chris gently placed her on top of the duvet. Berry looked around widely, the three adults staring at her expectantly.
Then Hannah reached forward and tickled her chin. “Berry! Walk?”
Berry bounded off of the bed and her paws clattered onto the floor; she circled Hannah's legs before darting towards the door, and Chris exclaimed in indignation.
“You cheated!”
“Says who? We didn't set any rules,” Hannah flipped her middle finger up at her brother, causing Y/N to snort with another round of quiet laughter. Hannah paused at the door, looking back at Chris with faintly softening eyes. “Glad you're home.”
She left the room, and though he tried to suppress it, Chris couldn't stop his face blooming with a warm smile.
Bewildered, Y/N turned to look at her husband. Chan was looking at the TV a little wistfully, a sad smile on his lips as he studied the actor depicted on the screen.
"He's so handsome … " Chan continued with a sigh, and he leaned back into the sofa in slow defeat. "And have you seen his body? He's so … big."
Y/N blinked. She moved fully so her body was facing his, and she reached out to take his surprised face in her hands. "Well, I'm very glad you don't look like him. I'm attracted to you, not him."
Chan was confused. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you attracted to me … ?" Chan's voice came out in a whisper; it wavered and cracked towards the end, and Y/N bit her lip.
She had a feeling it was one of those days. One of those days where her husband hated himself more than anything. One of those days where her heart broke over and over again in her attempts at trying to get him to see what she could see.
But she'd never stop trying. Not until he could finally learn to love himself even a fraction of how much she loved him.
"Because you're beautiful," Y/N smiled, caressing his cheeks. "And I love you very much."
Chan frowned. He didn't seem convinced; but then again, he never did. "But … I'm ugly."
Y/N considered saying "no, you're not" or "don't say that" … but something in the back of her mind told her not to. She decided to try a different approach, one that hurt her a little more than she wanted to admit.
"Okay," Y/N nodded softly. "Let's say you are ugly."
Chan was taken aback; his eyes widened as he stared at his wife.
Y/N smiled gently. "If you're ugly, does that mean you deserve less love than anyone else?"
Her question hit him harder than he thought it would. He blinked slowly, and he began to shake his head.
"No," Y/N murmured as she shook her own head along with him. "It doesn't. Do you remember what you used to tell your fans all those years ago?"
Chan bit his lip.
"'It doesn't matter where you're from, it doesn't matter what country you're in'," Y/N quoted as Chan's eyes began to glisten rather brightly. "'You deserve love. It doesn't matter what you are, what you chose to be, you deserve love,'."
At that, Chan couldn't help the tears that began to drop down his cheeks. Smiling up at him with her eyes full of love, Y/N wiped the tears away with her thumbs as she pulled him a little closer to her.
"I know it wasn't exactly about looks," Y/N said. "But I know for a fact that if someone was hating themselves back then because they thought they were ugly, you'd have immediately told them they deserved to be loved."
Looking down at his lap, Chan shut his eyes tightly. He hadn't expected this; he had no idea his musings would result in his wife's words bringing the tears out of him.
"Why are you any different, hmm?" Y/N gently caressed the nape of his neck; his hair had begun to curl up there, and it was soft, so incredibly soft that Y/N couldn't help but feel sad. She didn't understand why her husband hated himself when there were parts of him that were so dear to her, that she had no idea what she'd do without them.
"Who are you to not love yourself?"
At that, Chan spluttered; the hems of his shorts had ridden up his thighs, and they now glistened as fat tears splashed onto his skin like sad fireworks.
Y/N let him cry; she rubbed his back and kissed his hands until he was finished. When he looked up at her with red eyes, she almost felt her heart physically shattering into smithereens like glass.
There was so much pain and self loathing painted in his eyes … the eyes that felt like home to her, the eyes that calmed the depths of her anxious soul on the most terrifying of nights. She was shocked that such beautiful galaxies could hold such hatred; hatred that was directed at himself.
She found it terrifying yet beautiful that the eyes that looked at her with such love were the same as these ones; hard, cold, and full of pain.
"Okay," she whispered, reaching out to slip her fingers onto his again. "Okay. Let's go through this. What is it exactly that you think is ugly about you, baby?"
"Everything," Chan whispered. "Everything."
"Everything is a very big word, my darling," Y/N smiled. "I don't think even you hate everything about yourself."
She knew him well; the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly, and she couldn't help but inwardly smile even bigger.
"Okay, let's try this instead … you love me, right?"
It was remarkable; Chan's eyes immediately softened at the question, the sparkle that was so familiar to Y/N appearing in his pupils.
"Very much," Chan hummed.
"What is it that you love about me?" Y/N asked.
Chan smiled. "Everything."
At that, Y/N couldn't help but giggle. She leaned forward and kissed the man on his cheek. It was wet and fever hot, and she wiped the traces of tears away with her fingers again.
"Well … you believe in soulmates, don't you?"
He had no idea where this was going, but he nodded; he had said countless times since meeting her that he felt as though their souls were extensions of one another.
"If we're soulmates, then that would mean we share bits of each other, right?" Y/N asked.
Chan pondered this. He nodded slowly.
"If bits of you are in me, and bits of me are in you … " Y/N whispered, running her fingers over the backs of her husband's hands. "If you hate yourself, wouldn't that mean you're also hating bits of me?"
Chan's eyes suddenly widened. He seemed at a loss for words; he had no idea if what she was saying was scientifically correct or not, but he suddenly didn't care. The thought of him hating her, indirectly or not, was too much for him to bear.
His eyes suddenly flooded with tears all over again.
"Baby … " Chan whispered, dropping his face into his hands. Tears spilled through the gaps in his fingers as his body shook in front of his wife.
"Do you know one of the reasons why I began to love myself?" Y/N continued.
Chan shook his head.
"I started seeing pieces of you in me. The more time we spent together, the more I fell in love with you … I realised we were so much more similar than I thought was possible. And I thought … how on earth am I supposed to hate myself when so much of me is like you?"
"Y/N … " Chan was crying loudly now; his face contorted with pain as he gulped, his entire body shuddering. He didn't know what was going through his mind … all he knew was that he had never loved anyone as much as he loved the woman in front of him.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Chan pulled Y/N into him; he closed his lips over hers in a warm kiss, one that made Y/N's own eyes prickle with emotion as she shut them. She kissed him back, her lips gently caressing his. She was telling him something that no amount of words could ever say, and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, and onto hers.
Y/N sniffed as she kissed her husband. She suddenly remembered reading about how people who didn’t love themselves couldn't love others; she couldn't help but feel that that was wrong. She had never felt as loved by anyone as she had by her husband. He loved her fiercely, passionately, so much so that sometimes she forgot he was even capable of hating in the first place.
She knew that people said it was impossible to love a broken person. She didn't think that was true. Difficult, perhaps.
But never impossible.
"You're beautiful to me," Y/N whispered now as she cupped his cheeks. "You're always going to be beautiful to me."
Chan nodded against her; her earlier words had flooded through him like a shock wave, and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty towards himself.
I was something he had never experienced before. He didn't quite know what to make of it.
"Whether you're ugly or you're not," Y/N said, her face breaking into a smile as she nudged her husband playfully. "Which you're not. But ugly or not, your body works so hard for you everyday. It does its best for you so you can eat and so you can walk and so you can talk and just … be alive. Don't you think it deserves a little bit of love for that?"
"Yeah … " Chan hiccuped. He leaned forward and Y/N immediately scooped him up into her arms. She held him tightly, gently rocking him as he cried into her shirt with an urgency that made her feel as though hundreds of little needles were piercing through her heart.
"I know you're always dissatisfied with your body and the way you look … " Y/N whispered against his shoulder. "But no matter how much your body changes, you're always going to be dissatisfied if you don't truly love yourself. You could be the strongest man in the world … but if you hate yourself, you'd still find a reason to be unhappy about your appearance."
Chan knew she was right. She always was. She knew him better than he knew himself - she seemed to have somehow crawled into the depths of his mind and addressed the thought that constantly berated him throughout the day.
He knew he'd never be satisfied with the way he looked. He also knew there was only one way to go about fixing that.
Perhaps it was time he actually tried.
"You're right," he whispered, sniffing as he rubbed his cheek against Y/N's neck. "I know you're right. You're always right."
"This isn't about me being right, baby," Y/N smiled as she kissed his cheek. "I just want you to be happy in your own skin. I can't make you happy … but I can hold your hand and be right here while you do it for yourself, you know?"
Chab nodded. He nodded hard, and when he pulled away from his wife again, his face began to glow with a small smile.
"Aw, look at that," Y/N laughed quietly as she kissed his smile. "You're the most beautiful man I have ever seen."
He flushed; his nose turned pink and instead of denying the compliment like he usually would, he grinned.
"Thank you?"
---
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the one in which Hyunjin asks you to dry and style his hair.
﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff
﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. word count: 1,7k
"It doesn't make sense!" Hyunjin's voice is barely audible amid the hairdryer's loud noise and your giggles. "I swear to you, when I tried to turn it on earlier, it didn't work!"
Your small bathroom is enveloped in steam from his earlier bath, mirror foggy and stray strands of your hair sticking up from the humidity. But neither of you cared at the moment, too enthralled by one another to notice the heat that could make a normal person feel faint.
The power of love held you through anything, it seemed.
You laugh, leaning back on the bathroom counter you're propped on, dangling your feet in delight as you turn the device off. "Sure. It has nothing to do with you wanting me to dry your hair. Not at all."
He pouts, taking a step back from where he's standing in between your legs, hair wet and dripping into the grey t-shirt he put on before calling you in here. He has used your shampoo and conditioner and now, the air around him smelled like peaches and cherry blossom. "You don't believe me...that's kind of illegal, you know? Accusing your boyfriend of lying."
"Illegal?" You laugh again, this time throwing your head back, which has Hyunjin quickly reach out to prevent it from connecting with the mirror and give you a bump you'll complain about for days.
None the wiser, you lean in when his hand finds the back of your head, smiling as you press a peck to his pouty lips. "Just say you want me to pamper you, it's okay."
"So, what if I do?" He asks, voice low and reluctant, not wanting to openly admit he does, in fact, want to be spoiled and looked after.
It’s one thing Hyunjin doesn’t ask for often, unless he’s exhausted from work and feeling incapable of pulling himself together enough to get to bed. This time, however, he hasn’t been to work in a week.
No, this desire of his came from the fact that for the past seven days, you two have been glued to each other like never before, spending every waking moment together. Dates, nights out followed by cuddling in bed with the show you were currently binging, pillow forts, cooking together – you name it.
Taking time off to be able to spend it with one another, doing whatever your hearts desired while not having to worry about other people for a bit, just disappearing for a while, was the best idea you two have had in a while.
The look on his face, so soft, so defeated, makes you coo. You set the hairdryer aside and reach to cup his face, thumbs rubbing the apples of his cheeks tenderly. “My big, clingy baby. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”
Then, you lean in to pepper kisses all over his skin, not leaving any of his features unattended for long. Hyunjin completely melts at the touch, eyes fluttering shut like he hasn’t felt your lips in ages, and not just the half an hour he spent bathing.
“Come on, let me dry your hair.” You smile, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his pillowy lips, wet from the way he keeps licking them. The water from his hair was starting to drip down your hands, and then his neck, shoulders and shirt. “But only if you let me style it however I want.”
His eyes open slowly, half-lidded gaze landing on your face, cheeks rosy from the heat and his inability to admit he loves being treated like this."...Fine. But no mohawk this time!”
Your giggles flow through the bathroom, a clear sign of no promises being made as he hands you a towel, and you get to work. After getting most of the water off with said towel, you turn on the hairdryer and start running your fingers through silky, black hair that has grown so much in the past six months, resembling some sort of mullet you adored.
Eventually, Hyunjin walks away from the safe haven named you, more specifically between your thighs, to go and open the bathroom door, not wanting you to suffocate in the compact room. When he returns, his hands land on the cold marble of the counter, right next to your bare thighs, the soft skin kissed by the hem of one of his shirts.
When he turns around, broad back greeting you with a flutter in your chest, you try to keep quiet and focus on blow drying the back of his head. But he keeps rambling, and you can’t help but respond, and soon, you’re laughing away at something one of your friends did the other day as she tried to reach you over Facetime.
“Stop moving!” You scold lightly, moving the hairdryer away, but not before the hot air hits him right in the face for the fifth time in the past two minutes, making him pull the funniest expressions.
“But you’re talking to me! I’m being polite!”
You shake your head, giggling, and tap the top of his head with the brush, which has him grinning like a little kid.
No more than five minutes later, you both can finally breathe more freely as the hairdryer is unplugged and set aside, grateful for the open bathroom door helping the air circulate.
Hyunjin doesn’t even bother looking past you, in the mirror, before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips, tenderly cupping your face in one of his big hands.
You smile into the kiss, before one of your hands lands on his shoulder to push him halfheartedly. “No distracting the stylist.”
He grins, chasing after your lips when you turn your head to reach for the hair oil, surprising you with another kiss right as you face him again. “I’m tipping you in affection, okay?.” He mumbles right over your lips, nipping down on your bottom one just for a moment before pulling away.
With an affectionate eyeroll, your fingers grab his chin, gentle as always, angling his head before you pour a tiny amount of oil in your palms to tame his frizzy locks.
For the next few minutes, Hyunjin is silent as you play with his hair, styling while planting the occasional kiss on his forehead, to which he closes his eyes and smiles, so content and relaxed he never wants you to stop.
You play with the gel, giggling and smiling to yourself at whatever you’re doing, thankful he’s not yet able to see his reflection and ruin the surprise. Fluffing and lifting his hair, sculpting it with entirely too much enthusiasm.
With his eyes still closed, Hyunjin hums under his breath. “Why does it feel suspiciously high?”
You pause, trying to stifle a laugh as you pull your sticky fingers away, turning to the sink to wash off the remaining gel. “No reason. None whatsoever.”
When you’re done, you wipe your hands on the big t-shirt you were wearing and grin. “Alright. Ready to see how you look?”
Hyunjin nods and finally opens his eyes as you move your body out of the way, so he can have access to the mirror. For one moment, he just blinks, trying to regain his words.
His silky, freshly cleaned hair has now been molded into an abstract masterpiece, the type only you could have come up with. The strands are spiked straight up, but only the front of his hair – the back was none of your business, apparently. It looks like it’s trying to defy gravity, with the determination of a man who isn’t yet ready to accept adulthood.
His doe eyes meet yours, and he slowly raises a lone, dark brow, not as flabbergasted as you thought he’d be. “Why…did you make me into a cartoon villain with no fashion sense?”
You laugh, nearly doubling over and falling off the counter as his big hands land on your thighs to steady you. “Baby, it’s abstract! Art!”
Hyunjin makes a face, reaching up to touch his poor hair. “It doesn’t even move. How much gel did you use? The whole thing?”
“A respectable amount.” You pout and shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest in feigned offence.
“You mean too much.” He clarifies, leaning closer to the mirror like that alone could somehow help him blink away the monstrosity that became of his hair. He’s not mad – he could never – but he’s definitely teetering on the edge of a meltdown.
Scooting away, his warm hands leave your skin as you jump off the counter and briefly leave the bathroom, letting Hyunjin chuckle at himself in the mirror while shaking his head, set on eventually making his spiky hair move.
Before he can notice, you lift your now retrieved phone and snap a quick photo from the doorway, perfectly timed, grin on full display, nose almost touching the glass. Nothing could paint a more endearing picture than this.
His sixth sense seems to tingle, because he turns his head instantly, meeting your eyes with the tiniest frown that doesn’t do anything but make you feel even more love for him. Because that smile? It's still there.
“Delete that.” Hyunjin tries to protest, pouting, but you shake your head, hiding your phone behind your back with an innocent smile of your own.
“Nope.” You reply serenely.
“Baby – “
“Hyune, no.” You cut him off, using that same, slightly whiny tone as him. “This is too cute to get rid of, accept it.”
But knowing Hyunjin, he won’t ever accept such an embarrassing photo to exist without a fight. It’s one thing for you to take silly pictures of him while he’s unaware, another to shamelessly point a camera in his face when he’s right in front of you.
That’s exactly why it doesn’t take you long before you’re running out of your shared bedroom, just barely managing to escape his claws and the torturous tickle attack that would surely end with your phone in his possession.
Your laughter echoes through the home you built together as you go down the stairs, with him, and his still unmovable hair, hot on your trail.
“You’ll never catch me alive!” You say laughing, risking a glance over your shoulder just to end up squealing once you notice he’s closing the distance fast.
Hyunjin chuckles, endeared by your baseless confidence. “Oh, but I will. And you’ll feel sorry for running in the first place when I get my hands on you.”
And one thing about Hyunjin – he always keeps his promises.
You woke up first, still tangled in Yunho’s arms on his bed, his face buried in your shoulder, hair messy, breathing slow and warm against your neck.
You tried moving. Huge mistake. His arms tightened around you instantly. Like a seatbelt.
“No,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
“Stay.”
“Yunho, I need to pee.”
“No.”
“Babe—”
He groaned, loosened his grip just enough for you to slip out… but the moment her warmth left his chest…
He woke up.
Eyes half-open. Groggy. Confused. Disoriented. Very much puppy mode. The ‘wait, where is my oxygen?’ look.
You walked towards the bathroom, still tying your robe, when you heard something behind you.
Soft footsteps. Shuffling. Low whining.
You turned around and face palmed.
Your six-foot-two boyfriend in pajamas was following you. All sleepy and disheveled yet still effortlessly good looking at 7am in the morning.
His hair sticking up in twenty directions making him look more puppy-er than usual. Your blanket still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.
A feral golden retriever that had imprinted on his mate.
You blinked, “Why are you following me?”
He blinked back, like the question was offensive. How dare you ask that question?
“…Because you left.”
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
“No, you won’t.”
He nodded stubbornly. “Yes, I will.”
You squinted. “Are you… pouting?”
He immediately shook his head. He absolutely was pouting.
He padded after you all the way to the bathroom door, blanket trailing on the floor. When you tried to close said bathroom door, his fingers slipped into the doorway.
“Baby.”
“What?”
“I miss you.”
“You saw me thirty seconds ago!”
“I still miss you.”
You groaned, but not really complaining. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned his forehead against the doorframe, groggy and adorable.
“Come back quickly,” he murmured. “I can’t function alone yet.”
You laughed so hard that you nearly forgot why you went in there.
By breakfast time? Yunho was already in maximum Feral Puppy Boyfriend mode.
You headed to the kitchen. Yunho was exactly one step behind you.
No, not beside you. Nope, not even near you. God, never in front of you. Right behind you. Wherever you went.
You opened the fridge. He peered over your shoulder. You went to the sink. He followed. To the coffee machine? He kissed your cheek. You reached for a mug. He grabbed it for you like a loyal but unhinged butler. “I’ll get it for you baby!”
San passed by the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Stopped and stared. Half in disbelief, half in judgment.
“…Why the hell is he like this? Bro it’s 7 in the morning.”
You poured juice. “I don’t know.”
Yunho, still glued behind you, muttered, “I want cuddles.”
By the others start waking up, Yunho still stuck by you. Nothing new. Just their Yunho being a baby to his girlfriend in their home. Totally a normal Sunday. One by one, they wandered in, completely used to this nonsense.
Wooyoung walked in, too happy with life, immediately screamed, “Good morning—OH MY GOD HE’S IN PUP MODE.”
“Someone get the spray bottle.” Mingi cackled while receiving a glare from his bestie.
Hongjoong, absolutely done with this madness, rubbed his temples and waved the others off, “Leave him. He’s harmless until noon.”
Yeosang deadpanned, “That’s a lie. He bit me once.”
“He doesn’t bite. He nibbles.”, Hwa corrected, stirring his coffee, smiling apologetically at you, “You okay, sweetheart?”
Jongho walked in last with San back hugging him, “Hyung, let the poor girl breathe.”
You turned to look at Yunho. Only for him to tightened his hold around your waist, blanket swallowing both of you now.
“Don’t listen to them, baby,” he mumbled into your neck.
“I’m good. I’m warm. You’re warm. Everything is perfect.”
You giggled softly, patting his cheek before giving him a peak on the lips.
“My clingy puppy.” He made a sound. A little whimper.
The boys all screamed internally. Gagged internally. Or externally, seeing Hongjoong cringed at the affection early in the morning.
Wooyoung shrieked, shaking San by the shoulders, “That’s it. She broke him. He’s never coming back.”
Yunho nuzzled into your neck, finally awake enough to smirk. That cocky smirk that always made you want to either smack him or kiss him. Or both to be honest.
“If she calls me that again,” he murmured against your skin, “I’m carrying her back to bed.”
۶ৎ Pairing: stray kids x fem!reader ۶ৎ Gener: Fluff, Romance, Slight Humor ۶ৎ Words count: 1,200 words ۶ৎ Team reading: 4–6 minutes ۶ৎ Published: 11 November 2025 ۶ৎ Status: Completed ۶ৎ Warnings: None
۶ৎ Note: Please do not repost, translate, or claim my work as your own, All writing belongs to the original author. Respect the creator’s effort.
BANG CHAN ── .⟡ 방찬
He’s talking too much again — rambling about a new track — when you suddenly lean forward and kiss him mid-sentence. His words cut off with a surprised hum. For a second, his brain completely stops working. Then, he smiles against your lips, hands gently coming up to cup your face.
“Guess I was talking too much, huh?” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours, eyes soft. “You can interrupt me like that anytime.”
LEE MINHO ── .⟡ 이민호
When you kiss him, his eyes widen for a split second before he quickly recovers, smirking.
“Well… that’s one way to shut me up,” he teases, voice low but his ears are bright pink. You try to pull back, embarrassed, but he tugs you back by your wrist and kisses you again — slower this time.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart,” he says, trying to sound confident, though his heart’s pounding hard enough to betray him.
SEO CHANGBIN ── .⟡ 서창빈
You barely press your lips to his before he lets out a noise — somewhere between a gasp and a surprised laugh. “Wait— wait— you just— kissed me?” His face turns red immediately, and he hides it behind his hands.
You giggle, and he groans, peeking through his fingers. “You can’t just drop that on me like it’s nothing! My heart’s doing gymnastics right now!”
He eventually pulls you close again, shyly kissing your forehead. “Do it again… but maybe warn me next time?”
HWANG HYUNJIN ── .⟡ 황현진
He freezes, eyes fluttering shut mid-breath as your lips meet his. When you pull back, you’re not sure if he’s breathing. Then he smiles — soft, almost dazed.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that,” he whispers, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers.
He leans back in and kisses you again, slower, deeper. “Now that it’s happened once… I’m not letting it be the last.”
HAN JISUNG ── .⟡ 한지성
You kiss him on impulse while you’re both laughing about something dumb, and he completely short-circuits. He just stares, blinking, mouth open.
“Wait. Did— did that actually happen? Are you—”
You laugh, leaning in again, and he immediately melts into it, hands awkwardly hovering before settling on your waist. When you pull back, he grins like an idiot.
“I’m never shutting up about this,” he warns. “Ever.”
LEE FELIX ── .⟡ 이 필릭스
He goes perfectly still, freckles bright against his flushed cheeks. “Y/N… did you just—?” His voice cracks adorably, and you nod, suddenly shy.
He breaks into the softest smile, eyes shining. “You don’t know how happy that makes me.”
Then he wraps his arms around you in a warm hug and kisses you back, featherlight. “You taste like sunshine,” he says, half-joking — but his tone is full of wonder.
KIM SEUNGMIN ── .⟡ 김승민
You kiss him unexpectedly while he’s teasing you, and when you pull away, he raises a brow, completely unfazed. “So that’s your way of winning an argument?”
You cross your arms, flustered, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “It’s effective,” he admits, leaning closer. “But next time, maybe I’ll kiss you first.”
You barely have time to respond before he does exactly that — calm, sure, and entirely in control.
YANG JEONGIN ── .⟡ 양정인
He goes from confident to flustered in an instant. One second he’s joking around, the next his entire face is red.
“I—I didn’t think you’d actually do that!” he stammers, covering his mouth.
You giggle, and he groans, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay— hold on— I need a second.” Then, after a deep breath, he looks at you shyly.
“Can I… try that again? Properly?” he asks — and when you nod, he kisses you this time, soft and hesitant but sweet beyond words.
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Jisung: I wanna open a cat cafe, but need investors.
Felix: I'm listening.
Jisung: Here's the plan. The first floor will have normal cats, but as you go up, each floor will have more and more dangerous cats. And at the top floor is Minho with a gun.
Okay I just watched a video of the boys designing and then unboxing their individual merch items and it’s giving me all the feelings so I need to scream.
Of course Chan made us a jacket. Something to keep us warm, like a big hug from him. It’s also one of the most obviously skz pieces out of the bunch, which definitely tracks bc he has to stake his claim while taking care of Stay.
Naturally Lee Know is giving us plushies of his cats, we know he adores them so why wouldn’t he want to share them with all of us in some way?
Changbin and his subtle Dwaekki slides, because isn’t it just like him to want to provide comfort and support? And he does it without being super obvious or flashy while still very iykyk.
Of COURSE Hyunjin gives us a chain. Of COURSE he has the key to the locks. It’s so aggressively him I could sob. The dramatic symbolism, the vague possessiveness, it’s so romantic and artsy PLEASE.
Han and his hat absolutely slay me because I imagine it’s basically what he’s like as a friend. He’s right there for you, keeping the sun out of your eyes, covering a bad hair day, or just chilling. At the same time unbearably silly and creative to make you smile.
Felix is making us friendship bracelets and you cannot change my mind. I can absolutely see him sitting down and making those embroidery thread bracelets for his friends, so of course that’s what he’s essentially doing for us now. It’s so warm and sweet of him and I could sob over my sweet lil baby brother.
Not Seungmin making us the PERFECT PuppyM plushie. Something comforting for us to hug, because he can’t hug us all himself. (We all know he’s a big softie you can fight me on this.)
And finally I.N and his little phone cardholder. There he is, fitting seamlessly into our lives, never getting in the way but always there. Helping us keep track of the important stuff. Putting his face on there in the silliest and most subtle way he can, so we think of him every time we see it.
I have so many feelings about this merch. Who knows if I’ll get my hands on any of it at all but I’d love to snag at least one thing. Probably Felix’s or Seungmin’s. (Only fair I have a big PuppyM to match my Ultra!Dwaekki. 🤭)