on jimins hands

the first time you really realise what being in a secret relationship is like, it’s not during a kiss or a date or anything big or special like that. it’s when you’re standing alone in the middle of a hallway backstage, holding two cups of coffee that are already getting cold.

one for you, one for him.

you’re watching staff members rush past you like you’re invisible - headsets, clipboards, wires taped to the floor, doors opening and closing every second. someone brushes your shoulder and mutters a quick “sorry” without even looking at you.

you step closer to the wall, out of everyone’s way, like you have learnt to do, like you always do. you check your phone and see his last texts are from twenty minutes ago.

felix: five more minutes, sunshine

felix: don’t go, i’ll come get you!

you know he’s late but you smile at the screen anyway, because you know this comes with dating him, this comes with loving him.

because loving felix comes with learning how to wait.

the next time you go to see felix perform, you don’t sit with the staff, you don’t sit with the guests, you don’t even go near the stage entrance. you stay where the managers tell you to stay, in the quiet corner near the dressing rooms, half hidden behind a stack of equipment cases.

“it’s safer this way”, they say, “just so no one can see you here”

so you nod your head, like you always do. you’re good at making yourself small, and you’re also good at pretending you don’t mind.

you’re looking at the pictures on your phone when you suddenly hear the muffled bass from the stage vibrating through the walls and the crowd screaming. you smile and then, imagine felix out there, laughing and shining.

everyone gets to see him, everyone gets to cheer for him. and you're back here, counting the minutes until you get to see him properly again. but still, your chest feels warm and your smile gets even bigger, because he’s yours, even if no one knows it, even if you can’t clap too loud or run into his arms when the show ends - you love him, so you wait for him.

dating felix means learning routines no one else sees or even imagines, but dating him means a lot more things.

it means waiting in the car outside the company building while practice runs late.

it means texting him ‘take your time love <3’ even when it’s 2 a.m. and your eyes burn.

it means canceling dates because he texts you saying ‘we have to stay and record for a bit longer, i’m so sorry sunshine’ 

it means pretending you don’t mind eating ramyeon alone in your kitchen counter and smiling when he finally shows up hours later, exhausted and guilty, and saying “it’s okay, lixie, i wasn’t that hungry anyway”

it also means quiet and secret dates - hoodies, caps, masks. movie nights in his dorm or in your apartment. his head in your lap while you play with his hair, kissing softly because the walls are thin, laughing into your pillows so no one hears.

it means loving him with your whole heart, but not too loud, not too obvious.

sometimes you wonder what it would be like to hold his hand outside, just once. you imagine what it would be like to walk down the street like a normal couple, with no hats, no looking over your shoulder.

just you and him. simple, easy. 

but then you think about him and how he smiles at you - that soft and beautiful smile that he reserves just for you - and everything else disappears, nothing else matters anymore. you tell yourself it’s enough, he’s enough.

one night, you’re at his dorm while seungmin is out. the lights are dim and there’s a movie playing quietly on the tv, but you’re not really watching it anyway. he’s lying on top of you, half asleep, his face tucked into your neck, as your fingers trace the freckles on his face.

“you’re comfy”, he mumbles against you.

“and you’re sleepy”, you say.

he laughs softly, the sound vibrating against you.

“i am not”

“yes, you are”, you laugh softly.

he lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes warm and tired and so full of love it makes your chest ache.

“thank you for waiting for me today”, he says quietly.

“it’s fine, lixie”, you tell him.

“no, it’s not. you had to wait for like… two hours. i’m sorry”

you run your fingers through his hair.

“it’s okay”, you say again.

and you really mean it, because you know how hard he works. you see it everyday - the exhaustion, the long hours, the endless days and nights, the way he falls asleep mid-sentence sometimes.

you don’t want to be another weight on his shoulders, so you make yourself lighter, easier. you become the kind of girlfriend who never complains, who always says “of course” and “don’t worry” and “i understand”

but sometimes you wonder if you understand too much, because most nights, you fall asleep waiting for his call, with your phone in your hand and the lamp still on.

one night you wake up at 3 a.m to your phone buzzing.

felix: sunshine i’m done. are you awake?

you stare at the text for a second and your chest suddenly feels too tight, because you had been waiting for him, you had promised yourself you’d stay awake.

and you had failed, but you still call him anyway.

“hi, lixie”, you say as soon as he picks up.

“hi, sunshine. did i wake you?”, he says.

“... no”

that’s a lie, and he hears it anyway.

he sighs, “i’m sorry, y/n”

“it’s okay”, you say.

because it’s always okay.

almost a year passes like that - hiding, waiting, loving, giving. you don’t really notice how often you’re the one bending, how often you’re the one sitting alone with two drinks getting cold. because every time he looks at you like you’re his whole world, it erases everything else. because every time he kisses you, it stops time. 

you don’t realise yet that loving someone shouldn’t feel like this much waiting and giving and giving and waiting. you just think this is what love is really like.

so when your one year anniversary gets closer, you don’t ask for much. you just want to have dinner with him - just one evening, you and him, no more waiting. and that’s what you tell yourself, smiling at your phone while you make the reservation.

“this time, he’ll be there on time, we’ll be together”, you say to yourself.

you’re sure this time, you won’t have to wait for him.

when you wake up the morning of your anniversary, you already feel your excitement sitting warm in your chest.

one year, twelve whole months together.

you lie in your bed for a bit longer, staring at the ceiling with your phone in your hand as you reread his texts from last night.

felix: happy almost one year, sunshine

felix: i’ll finish practice early tomorrow, i promise

felix: i’ll see you at the restaurant!

felix: miss you already 

you roll onto your side and smile into your pillow like an idiot. you know it shouldn’t feel that special - it’s just another date after all – but with him it does. every little thing feels huge, precious, like something you need to protect. 

you spend the rest of the day doing house chores and when you’re finally done, you start getting ready. you try on five different outfits, then you redo your hair because it doesn’t sit right. he’s seen you in your pyjamas and messy buns and puffy eyes, but you still want to look pretty for him.

when you leave your apartment, your heels click against the pavement as you walk to the restaurant, a small and warm place tucked into a quiet street close to the company building. it’s not too fancy, nor too crowded, it’s safe and private for the both of you.

when you enter the restaurant, you tell one of the waitresses that you had a reservation and that you’re waiting for someone else and she smiles and leads you to a small table near the window, a candle in the middle of it, flickering softly. 

you text him to let him know you’re already there and he starts typing almost immediately.

felix: leaving practice now, i’ll be there in 20 mins max, sunshine

you leave your phone on the table before you order water and sit back, watching people  pass outside the window - couples, friends, families, someone walking their dog.

you look at your phone again and check the time.

8:05

okay, he said twenty minutes, it’s only been five. you can wait, you tell yourself again. you scroll through your phone, replying to some texts from your friends, then you fix your lipstick using the reflection on your screen as the candle flickers on the table and you hear music playing softly overhead.

you imagine felix walking through the door, with his hat low and his hoodie, that big and bright smile when he spots you. you imagine how he will sit with you and he will immediately reach for your hand under the table.

8:18

you glance at the door every time it opens, hoping to see him walking in.

not him.

not him.

not him. 

it’s fine, you tell yourself, traffic maybe. or maybe one of his managers stopped him on his way out. you sip your water and look at your phone again.

8:25

you decide to text him, make sure he’s alright and nothing has happened.

you: lixie is everything okay?

this time the reply doesn’t come instantly. he’s probably changing, or maybe he’s waiting for the car. yeah, that has to be. you sigh and then nod to yourself. 

8:40 

the waitress comes by, “ready to order?”

“oh, i’m… i’m still waiting for someone”, you say quickly, a fake smile on your face.

“okay, no worries, take your time”, the waitress says before she leaves your table.

your stomach twists and you check your phone again - still nothing. you open his chat again and write ‘are you close?’ but you delete it before you send it. you don’t want to pressure him or sound too clingy, you don’t want to be another thing he has to handle, so you just sit and continue waiting for him.

9:05

now your leg is bouncing under the table as you keep staring at the door. every time it opens, your heart jumps and drops and jumps and drops again. you look at the candle and see it is half melted already. you decide to text him again.

you: are you on your way?

you send it before you overthink it and delete it like the previous one and then, you feel your chest tightening. you know what’s gonna happen, it has happened before, many, many times. that slow sinking realisation, something came up or someone called him or he-

your phone buzzes and you look at it immediately.

felix: i’m sorry, sunshine

felix: one of the managers suddenly called a meeting

felix: idk how long it’ll take

felix: i’m really really sorry, i’ll go to yours later, okay?

you stare at the screen and before you realise it, you’re already texting him back.

you: it’s okay

it’s like muscle memory, like breathing and you send it before you can stop yourself. the same little words you’ve said a hundred times before because what else are you supposed to say?

it’s okay.

but this time, when you set your phone down, something feels different. you know hearts are not supposed to feel this heavy when things are okay. you look around the restaurant at the other tables - people laughing, talking, clinking glasses, sharing food. 

you look in front of you, and the chair across from you is empty. 

you swallow hard, trying to stop the tears from falling, and you tell yourself you’re being dramatic. it’s just dinner, it's just one night, he didn’t mean to, he’s working and you know how hard he works - you always know, you always understand.

so why does it feel like your throat is burning?

the waitress comes back again, “do you want to order something while you wait?”

you force a smile.

“actually, can i… cancel the table? i’m sorry for all the trouble”, you say lowly, like you’re ashamed of saying the words out loud.

“of course, there’s no problem”, she says before she leans in and blows out the candle, the tiny smoke trail curling into the air, disappearing with the hope in your chest.

when you get home almost half an hour later, the soft click of the door echoes louder than it should. you step inside slowly, slipping your shoes off by the entrance and setting your bag down on the chair. 

you stand there for a moment without moving, like you still expect things to feel different just because today is supposed to matter more. you had thought you’d come home happy, smiling, laughing together with his arm around your shoulder. maybe you’d have taken pictures together, with his arm tight around your waist, or of your hands on top of the table with the candle still glowing.

instead, you’re alone in your kitchen, staring at your reflection in the microwave door. and you look fine - your hair done, your makeup still perfect, your outfit carefully chosen.

anyone would think you’re someone who went on a date, not someone who got stood up on their anniversary. the thought makes your heart break, and you immediately shake your head.

no, that’s not fair. felix didn’t stand you up, he had work, it’s different, he didn’t mean it.

you keep telling yourself that while you change into your pyjamas and wash your face, then tie your hair up. you move through the apartment quietly, methodically, like if you don’t stop walking you won’t have to think too hard about what has happened.

your phone sits on the counter and every few minutes, you look at it - no new texts. he must be in the meeting, you say that again and again. you try not to picture him, tired and hungry and stressed, probably feeling awful for missing your anniversary date.

that image hurts too, because you love him and you don’t want him hurting either. and maybe that’s the problem, that even now, you’re more worried about him than yourself.

time passes and it’s almost midnight when there’s a soft knock at your door, just four quick taps.

felix.

your heart jumps before your brain catches up and before you realise it, you’re already halfway to the door. you open the door and find felix with his hoodie pulled low, his hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night.

he looks exhausted and guilty. so, so guilty. 

“hey”, he says the second he sees you.

your chest squeezes painfully because even after everything, the first thing you feel is relief when you see him.

“hey”, you say softly.

he steps inside and closes the door behind him, then just stands there for a second like he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. his hands keep fidgeting with his sleeves, tugging the fabric down over his fingers.

“i’m so sorry, y/n”, he says quickly, “i swear i tried to leave, but they kept adding stuff and the manager wouldn’t let us go and my phone died when i left the building and-”, he swallows hard, “i hate that you had to wait for me, and that you were there all alone. i hate it. i’m really sorry”

he sounds like a kid who broke something important and it’s now waiting for the punishment. you look at him and every sharp feeling you felt on the way home dissolves into something fragile and delicate. you step closer to him and shake your head gently.

“it’s okay”, you say.

the words come out automatically again, too easily. he searches your face like he doesn’t fully believe you.

“are you sure?”

you nod your head, “yeah, you’re busy. i get it”

and you do get it. you understand him so well that you barely leave space to understand yourself. he exhales shakily and pulls you into his arms, hugging you with his arms tight around your waist. you melt into him without thinking, pressing your face into his chest.

“happy anniversary, sunshine”, he whispers into your hair.

you smile weakly against him.

“happy anniversary, lixie”

he kisses your temple, then your forehead before he moves to your cheek, with delicate presses of his lips against your skin, soft and apologetic.

“i’ll make it up to you, okay?”, he says, “we’ll go somewhere nicer. tomorrow or the next day. anywhere you want”

“you don’t have to”, you say quickly.

but as you say it, something twists quietly inside your chest. because maybe you do want him to, maybe you want him to have to, maybe you’re tired of being the only one who does the waiting all the time.

later, when he falls asleep on your bed with his head in your chest, his breathing slow and deep, you thread your fingers through his hair and stare down at him. he looks peaceful and beautiful, like the boy you fell in love with a year ago.

you trace the freckles on his cheek gently, careful not to wake him.

“i love you, felix”, you whisper.

and you mean it, you really do, but underneath the warmth, underneath the softness, there’s a small ache that doesn’t go away, a quiet thought you can’t shake.

you show up to every concert, you wait backstage for hours, you plan around his schedule, you cancel things for him without even thinking, you wait in restaurants alone. and even though you know he loves you, sometimes it feels like you’re stretching yourself thinner and thinner just to fit into the tiny spaces he has left. 

you look at him sleeping and your chest hurts with how much you love him and how tired you suddenly feel, but you press a soft kiss to his hair anyway, because even now, even with that ache slowly growing somewhere deep inside you, you’d still wait for him.

the next few days he tries to make it up to you, as if he’s trying to rewrite what happened that night, determined to erase the memory of you sitting alone at that restaurant. he texts you more, calls you whenever he has ten minutes between schedules, sometimes he sends you selfies from the practice room or the recording studio, one day he even sends you flowers to your work.

you tell yourself this is proof that he cares, that you’re not crazy for loving him too much.

one night, he shows up at your place with takeout and a tiny brownie with a candle stuck in it.

“happy one year and one week, sunshine”, he says with a big smile on his face.

you laugh and let him in, and the two of you sit on the sofa eating dinner while the candle burns crooked between you. it feels easy and familiar, like it felt when you started dating and your heart settles. maybe you overreacted, you think to yourself. maybe love is adjusting and understanding. maybe this is normal.

another night, you go on a late night walk after one of his late practices. it’s past midnight and the streets are quiet and cool, completely empty. you’re wearing one of his hoodies and your hands are tucked into the pockets while he keeps one arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

you talk about nothing important - you tell him about a show you’re watching and he tells you about how changbin almost tripped over his own feet that day. you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

“stop”, you laugh, grabbing his sleeve.

“no”, he grins, “you look beautiful when you laugh like this”

you look at him under the streetlight, his smile matching yours, and your chest feels so full you think it might burst.

this is why you stay.

but then, things start changing again over the next weeks. less calls, less texts and your dates become few and far between. and then, friday night happens.

you’re in your apartment, curled up on your bed with your laptop open, half-watching a movie while you wait for him. he’s supposed to come after practice, just a movie and takeout and finally spend a whole evening together without rushing. you’ve been looking forward to it all week.

suddenly your phone buzzes and you see his name lighting up the screen. you grab your phone and smile before you even open the text, but then, you read it.

felix: i’m so sorry, practice got extended again

felix: our manager says we need to stay late, i don’t think i can make it tonight :( 

the smile fades slowly. you stare at the words for a long time, like maybe they will disappear if you stare at them long enough. then, you get another text.

felix: can we rain check? i hate doing this to you

your fingers hover over the screen. you start writing, then delete what you just wrote, then write again.

you: it’s okay! don’t worry

send.

you set the phone down carefully, like it will break if you don’t. the movie keeps playing, but the voices and laughter sound fake and far away. you close the laptop and stay there for a while, staring at nothing.

your chest starts hurting again but not in the way you’re used to now. it’s worse, somehow.

because it’s dull, numb. like you expected his texts, like some part of you already knew this was gonna happen again and the past few days were just an illusion. you think about tonight and the night at the restaurant. you think about all the times you’ve said ‘it’s okay’ without even thinking if it really is. you think about how you’re always waiting. 

and suddenly, you’re so, so tired. tired of hoping every plan will happen, of pretending you’re fine when you’re disappointed, of loving someone you barely get to see.

your phone buzzes again.

felix: thank you for understanding, i love you

“i love you too”, you whisper it back to the empty room.

but you don’t send those words to him.

the next morning you wake up before your alarm, your eyes opening and seeing that soft grey light that comes right before sunrise. for a few seconds, you forget why your chest feels so tight, why your throat burns like you’ve been crying in your sleep.

then you remember the texts from last night, felix telling you he loves you in the last text and the way you whispered it back to your room like an idiot, like he could somehow hear through the walls and the city, through the distance that never seems to shrink no matter how hard you try.

you roll onto your side and debate whether to text him good morning or not. you imagine he’s already awake, maybe rushing out the door or maybe too busy to even answer, even though it’s too early for any of that. the thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

but then you picture his face when he’s surprised, when he smiles so wide his eyes disappear, when he calls you “sunshine” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you miss him, you miss him so much it feels stupid.

so you sit up with a quiet sight and decide, before you can overthink it, that you’re going to go to his dorm to see him, not to talk or fight, just to be together and make up for the date that never happened, to remind both of you that you’re still good.

you get ready and leave your apartment before you stop by his favourite café on the way to his dorm. the owner recognises you and smiles knowingly when you order the same things you always do.

“big morning?”, she asks you.

“yeah, something like that”, you say softly.

you carry everything carefully as you walk to his dorm. you feel strangely hopeful, like you’re planning a big surprise for someone you love, like those couples you see in movies. you imagine his reaction - him opening the door and then blinking at you when he sees you there and then breaking into that bright grin - and you rehearse what you’ll say “since you skipped dinner with me, you owe me” or something like that. something light and teasing, nothing heavy or hurtful. 

when you reach his dorm, you knock on the door and then hear footsteps shuffling closer before he opens the door. for a split second, you see the surprise you expected - his eyebrows jump and his mouth opens wide.

“what- sunshine? what are you doing here?”

you lift the bag so he can see, “breakfast delivery”

you’re ready for the smile, for him to pull you inside while his arms wrap around you to kiss you. but instead, something flickers across his face first - not joy, not excitement, it’s something closer to worry.

it’s gone almost instantly, replaced with a small smile, but you saw it, and it hits you harder than you expect.

“you didn’t have to”, he says quickly, already stepping aside to let you in, “you should’ve slept more”

you laugh, trying to shake the weird feeling crawling up your spine, “wow, good morning to you too”

“i just mean- you came all the way here this early…”

“i wanted to”, you interrupt him gently.

he nods but he still looks tense, like his brain is somewhere else. you set everything up in the kitchen while he washes his face and brushes his teeth. you can hear the water running, drawers opening and closing quickly, as if he was already late to something.

when he comes back, he presses a quick kiss to your temple and sits down.

“you’re too good to me”, he says.

you smile, “i know”

for a few minutes, it’s nice. you sit across from each other, your knees bumping under the table, sharing bites and stealing sips of each other’s drinks. he keeps reaching out absentmindedly to touch you, your wrist, your hand like he needs the contact, and you cling to those touches.

it almost feels normal.

almost.

until you notice how fast he’s eating, how he keeps checking the clock on the wall, how his phone lights up every few seconds with notifications, how he keeps sighing. 

“you’re in a rush?”, you ask him, trying to sound casual.

he freezes for half a second.

“umm, well… yeah. practice got moved earlier. everyone is already there and i have to leave in like… ten minutes”

ten minutes. 

you look at the untouched half of your food. you did all this for ten minutes.

“oh”, that’s all you can say and you hate how small your voice sounds.

“i thought we could.. maybe hang out a bit”, you add, forcing a smile, “since yesterday…”

“i know, i know”, he says quickly, reaching for your hand again, “i’m sorry, sunshine. it’s just crazy right now. after this week it’ll calm down, i promise you”

after this week.

but there’s always an after, there’s always another thing. another week, another schedule, another practice, another recording, another tour, another reason.

he finishes eating, then stands up and starts gathering his things and the room feels different now, rushed, like you’re just a stop between tasks, like breakfast with you - even if it had been a surprise - was something he had to fit in and not something he actually wanted.

you watch him put his jacket on, then shove his phone into his pocket, mumbling about choreography changes and recording and meetings. you’re still sitting at the table and you feel stupid, like you’re a guest who overstayed or like you misread everything. 

“hey”, you say softly.

he hums, distracted, tying his shoes.

“do you… do you want me to leave now?”

he looks up, confused, “what? no, you can stay here if you want. i’m sure seungmin won’t mind”

stay alone in his dorm while he’s gone all day. stay there waiting, again. the thought makes something inside your chest shatter.

“i didn’t come here to sit by myself, felix”

the words slip out before you can stop them and he pauses to look at you.

“what? what’s wrong?”, he says.

you weren’t planning to talk about it, you told yourself you’d be easy today, supportive and understanding again. but suddenly, your throat is tight and your eyes sting and everything you’ve been swallowing for months starts pushing up.

“i just…”, you laugh weakly, “i feel stupid”

“stupid? why?”

“because i keep planning things that never happen and i keep telling myself it’s fine when it’s not. because i wake up and decide to surprise my boyfriend and then he only has ten minutes for me before he runs out the door again”

he blinks, hurt flashing across his face, “sunshine, it’s not like that-”

“then what is it like, felix?”, you ask, softer than you expected.

and the fact that you’re not yelling, shows how exhausted and tired you are. so incredibly tired.

“i know you’re busy”, you continue, your voice trembling, “i know your job is crazy and i’ve never asked you to choose me over it, i would never do that. but sometimes it feels like i’m the only one bending, like i’m always waiting for you and understanding your job and everything and i don’t know how much more i can take before i break”

the room goes quiet and he looks devastated, like every word you had said had physically hurt him.

“i’m trying”, he whispers, “i swear i’m trying”

“i know you are”, you say quickly, “and i know you love me, lixie. i know you’re doing best, but your best still leaves me alone most nights”

your voice cracks and that’s when you realise you’re crying. you didn’t want this to happen, you just wanted a normal, quiet morning with your boyfriend.

“i can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt”, you say, “i can’t keep acting like it’s okay every time you cancel, because it’s not okay, felix, it’s not okay for me”

he runs a hand through his hair, pacing like he does when he’s overwhelmed.

“so what do you want me to do, y/n?”, he asks, almost helpless, “i can’t quit, i can’t skip practice, i can’t- i-”, he stops and sighs, “if i could clone myself i would”

“i’m not asking you to change your career”, you say, “i’m asking you to fight for me a little. to make me feel like i’m not just something you squeeze in between your schedules”

you look at him and your heart breaks because you still love him so much, but you can’t keep doing this, you don’t want to. all of that waiting was a sadness that was fading into madness.

“if you want me to say”, you whisper, “just say it. i would stay forever if you tell me not to go”

the words hang between you, heavy and simple, because this is your limit. you feel like you’re standing on a tightrope alone, holding your breath a little bit longer.

he stares at you like you’re halfway out a door that won’t close and then his lips part, then close, then part again. 

you can see the war in his eyes - love, fear, guilt, want. he loves you, you know he does. but you also see it, the realisation that loving you might mean hurting you over and over again, that keeping you might be selfish, that asking you to stay might trap you in this endless waiting.

his hands clench at his sides and seconds pass, too many seconds. he doesn’t say it, he wants to say it, but he can’t. 

and that silence tells you everything you need to know, and your heart understands before your brain does. 

slowly, you nod.

“okay”, you breathe.

you walk to the door and pause, then turn around to look at him one last time before you leave his dorm.

“i love you, felix”, you say, because that part is still true, it will always be true.

his eyes fill with tears, “i love you too”, he says, and it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever heard. 

you exhale and then turn away from him. he sees you cross the door, not being halfway out anymore, but now you're completely out of reach from him. and when the door closes behind you, the click echoes down the hallway, final and quiet, because, deep down, you knew it from the very start, you were a shot in the darkest dark.

event masterlist | the library

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