#ramen booth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonqz · 8 days ago

Text

RAVISHING : Choi Seunghyun

heres your rock cassette tape with a hidden track just for you ! Enjoy 😉 - day 1 of ‘moonqz record store’ writing challenge : dm or comment to be added to tag list🤍

pairing : Choi Seunghyun x idol!fem!reader

genre : smut - MDNI

description : Being an idol at YG has its perks for sure. The downfall however, is not being able to publicly love your partner. There’s ways to work around this of course…

warnings / contents : smut, in the studio room, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, praising, dirty, some aftercare, forbidden love trope, soft dom!seunghyun

requested by my love @seungttttop thank you so much 🤍

Being in a secret, strictly forbidden relationship with Seunghyun wasn’t easy. But it was fun.

The YG company specifically stated that the idols within were not allowed to date. So they weren’t officially dating. Just bending the rules slightly.

Sneaking over to each others apartment complex at late hours, or hiding behind long nights at the studio, and events where you plan how to make it look like you weren’t together.

It started at a collab stage rehearsal. You and Daesung were extremely close friends, and spent a lot of time with each other anyway, so when you got paired with Seunghyun he was mildly upset, due to him wanting to spend more time with you.

Fans shipped you guys after seeing the dance practise video, even through the terrible quality.

That night, sparks flew between the two of you, and you bonded over ramen. The rest was history.

Three months later, still hiding your relationship from even Daesung and the other members of BIGBANG, you were working late one night in the studio room, coffee slightly cool from the effort of trying to keep yourself up at this cruel hour without going crazy.

Seunghyun was only a few doors down, wide awake in comparison to you, headphones adorning his ears, soft music playing through the speakers.

He caught himself smiling when your favourite song came on. One you had begged him to listen to after he insisted it wasn’t his kinda music, but it turned out to become his favourite too. Not because of the same reason as you however.

You don’t hear the door open just a few minutes later.

You only notice when, in the corner of your eye, someone moves through the dim glass of the control room.

The track keeps playing, your voice echoing faintly through the monitor speakers, but all you can see is him.

He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile. Just closes the door gently behind him like he belongs here. Like he always ends up here.

Your heart stutters in your chest. Tugging off the headphones, you slowly step out of the booth. “You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice is low, almost amused. “Neither should you.”

He’s in a hoodie, pulled halfway up over his head. Studio badge still clipped to his sweats like it’ll somehow make him invisible on the security cams.

You fold your arms, leaning against the frame of the booth door. “I’m working, this is my studio room.”

“I know.” His eyes drag over you, the dim blue light of the soundboard flickering across his face. “I could hear you from even through my headphones baby”

He crosses the room like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t dangerous. Like the walls aren’t paper-thin with risk.

You glance at the lock on the studio door, then back at him. “You just… wandered in?”

He shrugs, stepping a little too close. “I missed you.”

Your breath catches. He’s not touching you, not yet, but he’s looking at you like he might. Like he will.

“You could get us both in so much trouble,” you whisper.

“Then maybe you should tell me to go.”

You don’t. And he knows you won’t.

Seunghyun’s hands hold your waist gently, rubbing up and down from waist to hip, in a caring grip.

“Did you miss me too baby?” His voice teased lightly, dimples on whose, and eyes slightly crinkled from his silly smile.

“I saw you yesterday” you remind him, as if he could ever forget any interaction the two of you have.

The man merely shrugs, hands gripping tighter as he pulled you closer to him, the distance between you two almost non existence.

He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, faint, familiar, and so stupidly him it makes your knees go soft.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek. His knuckles skim your jaw, his fingers ghosting against the side of your neck like he’s testing if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

“You’re always the one who says we need to be careful,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips. “So why am I the one trying to leave?”

You swallow. “Because I can’t think straight when you’re this close.”

“Good.”

He leans in. And then it’s just breath his lips hovering over yours, warm and not touching, like he’s giving you one last chance to stop this.

Like either of you ever would.

So you do it.

You tilt your chin up, catch his mouth in yours like you’ve been starving for it, because you have. It’s instant, messy, desperate. You clutch the front of his hoodie as his hands slide around your waist, pulling you in like he’s needed to all day. All week.

Maybe forever.

His mouth moves against yours with purpose. No teasing this time. No holding back. His grip tightens, and he walks you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the console table.

The studio hums around you, faint beats still playing in the background, half-finished tracks echoing from the monitors like a secret soundtrack to something you’re not supposed to be doing.

“You locked the door, right?” you whisper against his lips.

He smirks, brushing his mouth along your jaw. “Of course I did.”

“Liar.”

“…Okay. But I will now.”

He breaks away just long enough to twist the lock with a soft click, then turns back to you with that look. The one that says come here without saying a word.

And you do.

Because the studio is soundproof. Because it’s too late to pretend you’re not his.

Because secret or not, this is yours.

His mouth is on yours again before you can say another word, rougher this time, less careful. Like now that the lock’s turned, so is something in him.

His hands slide under your jacket, his palms warm and firm against your waist. You let him guide you up onto the edge of the console, knees parting to let him step in between.

“You’re impossible,” you breathe as Seunghyun kisses down your throat, your head tipping back.

“I’m yours,” he murmurs against your skin. “That’s worse.”

You laugh, breathless, shaky, and tangle your fingers in the hem of his hoodie, pulling him even closer. His lips find the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw and linger there. He knows what that does to you.

There’s no rush, and yet everything feels urgent. His hands explore like he’s relearning you, like he’s afraid he’ll forget the shape of you if he doesn’t touch you right now. And you, God, you let him.

You’re pressed so close there’s no space left between you, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. His grip tightens when you arch into him, and for a second, the studio disappears. All of it, the label rules, the career consequences, the risk all of it fades under the weight of his body, his kiss, his hands on your skin.

“You’re always so pretty when you’re like this” His deep voice softly muttered against your jaw, one hand staying on your waist and the other going to your thigh, gently coaxing your legs further apart.

“Like what? Tired and desperate?”

“Like you're really mine” His smile deepens, his lips moving back to your own, pressing a small kiss before his hands are on your hips, just on the waistband, testing the waters that have already been broken thousands of times before.

You nodded, breath slightly quickening and heat pooling between your legs. He didn’t like that answer though.

He shook his head, lips in a small, playful scowl, eyes crinkled slightly, “Words baby. You know I won’t touch you if you don’t say it”

You sigh, needy, voice quiet in fear of getting caught as you answer, “Okay, I’m sorry- just- yes”

He didn’t bother to stifle his deep chuckle, and his hand trailed to your back to help you lift your hips effortlessly.

Seunghyun’s other hand then tugged at both your trousers and underwear, leaving you bare except for the oversized t-shirt you wore, that was now hiding everything he wanted to see, with its length.

Your lips crash into his again, fingers tugging at the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the real world. The studio lights cast soft shadows across his face as you tilt yours toward his, your bodies moving in sync like a rhythm only the two of you hear.

His fingers trailed across your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, but it did nothing to help the fire in your heart and the need that tugged at your chest.

When your own hands tried to tug at his sweatpants, he gently tugged your hands off, pinning them to the console you were on. Not roughly, just a small warning.

“Mm mm, not yet, gotta get you ready okay sweetheart?” He smirked slightly lopsided, and you didn’t know whether to be pissed or to thank him.

“Keep your hands there, okay?” He continued, slowly releasing his hands from your wrists, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

The man hiked up the shirt you wore slightly, giving him more access to what was underneath, and his eyes glistened, forehead leaning to press against yours as his other hand went between your legs, cupping your slick core before his fingers moved to gently rub your clit.

The action omits a small, quiet gasp from you, hand instinctively clasping onto his forearm, before he stopped his movements at the same time, much to your dismay.

“Put your hand back down” He drawled out, hand not moving away, but it wasn’t continuing his ministrations.

You whined, barely loud enough for him to hear, before moving your slightly shaky hand back to the edge of the console you were on, gripping it until your knuckles turned white.

“Don’t whine” he ordered. “You’re so pretty, falling apart for me already, I haven’t even done anything yet” He laughed lowly.

He kept his eyes on yours as his fingers slowly started moving again, his other hand going to your thigh to keep your legs parted when they attempted to close around his hand.

Soft whimpers left you when his fingers left your clit, just to plunge two inside you, immediately curling against your sweet spot he had memorised perfectly by now.

Suenghyun pressed soft kisses to your forehead, lingering there as if he wasn’t literally destroying your insides with his fingers.

He was already working you at a fast pace, coaxing his fingers deeper with each thrust and curl.

Your whimpers turned to quiet moans, half focused on keeping your hands in that spot, and half focused on the way your lower stomach tightened slightly when his thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing tight, practised circles which made you fall apart more.

Your thighs trembled slightly from the attempt of keeping quite and trying not to get caught, the fear exhilarating you more then it should.

It was late, and you doubted many people were still here apart from security downstairs.

He laughed again against your forehead, hands still keeping their actions going, slightly rougher, in a way that moves you further to the edge of release, and his other hand curling into your hair, soothing gently as you almost fell apart right there.

“You gonna come for me baby?”

You nodded weakly, biting your lip to stifle some of the noises threatening to leave you. He kissed your cheek with such gentleness that it contrasted the way he was coaxing you open.

His fingers never once missed your sweet spot, attempting to make you fall apart underneath his gaze.

When your release washed over you, it was hard, burning hot pleasure taking over, and Seunghyun moved to cradle your head against his chest as you gave in to the way he worked you through your orgasm, whispering soft praises and gentle ‘sh’s.

Once you were whining and attempting to pull his hand away, was when he finally gave you mercy and pulled away,

“Did so good, yeah? You want more?” He cupped your cheek gently stroking with your head still pressed to his bare chest.

“Yes Seungie, please?” You drawled out, tired but needy to feel him properly. He pulled his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself, quickly pressing himself against your over sensitive core.

“You okay baby?” He asked gently when you whimpered at the small contact. You nodded, tears brimming your eyes from desperation, as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, pressing himself inside you, his mouth stifling both your noises.

When he bottomed out, you whined, desperate for him to move, but he stayed still, letting you adjust properly, before pulling back slightly only to push back in at a deeper angle. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands itched beside you to touch him.

“You can touch me now angel” He coaxed quietly, moving your hands around his shoulders, just so he could be closer to you somehow.

His thrusts started being more coordinated, deep, slightly faster, and one of your hands tugged at his hair whilst the other raked down his back, earning a deep groan from the feel of your nails against him.

You were thankful that the music still played in the background. Covering up at least a little bit of both your guys’ whimpers, groans and whines.

He gripped your hips as he buried himself against your already abused sweet spot over and over in a hypnotising rhythm that was a mixture of mocking cruelty and sweet care.

After already going over the edge once, your body was quick to get close again, back arching into the blurring pleasure he provided.

One of his hands trailed down to rub against your overly sensitive clit, as his own orgasm was just in reach, barely out of sight.

“Doing so good yeah? Can’t be too loud though, huh? Aw my sweet thing” he murmured deeply, voice staggering slightly when you clenched around him, but his movements never lost pace, or determination.

The all too familliar feeling of release built up in your stomach, slower then before, but it didn’t take as long. He buried his head fun your shoulder, a small, almost whimper leaving him, as his pace kept perfectly, a mixture of roughness and not too fast blurring both of you closer to the edge.

“Come for me baby, okay?” His voice was the last thing you needed before you went over the edge for the second time tonight, your orgasm blurring you slightly overstimulated, as he worked you through it, his own orgasm coming in trail behind yours.

He buried himself deep inside you, teeth gently nipping your neck as he spilled himself inside of you, whines and soft koans leaving you both, your thighs trembling against his torso.

He pulled away slightly to press kisses to your temple, still buried inside you.

“So proud of you, did so good” He murmured stroking your hair out of your slightly sweaty face.

Seunghyun pulled out gently, a whimper emitting from you at the action, before he pulled your panties back in place, practically securing both of your fluids inside you.

He laid another kiss to your temple before adjusting his sweatpants back to normal, going over to your shelf and taking a small towel and a bottle of water from the desk.

Handing you the water with a gentleness only he could provide, he gently used another bottle to pour over the towel, making it cold and dampened before he wiped up any other fluids or sweat from your adorned skin.

The coldness of the towel was welcoming to your warm body, gulping down the water before handing the bottle to him to drink the rest, which he gladly did.

“You’ll be mine one day. Properly. Not just like this, everyone will know”

“I already am yours. Just..Quietly”

“That’s all I ask for” He smiled.

#writers on tumblr #requests open #bigbang #x reader #choi seunghyun oneshot #choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun x reader #moonqzfics #moonqzrecordstore #bigbang ot4 #bigbang x reader #TOP #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p smut #smut #fluff #forbidden love #k-pop

210 notes · View notes

t4kalcvr · 2 months ago

Text

NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS AFTER 2 AM

𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀 word count :: ( 2741 ) genre :: fluffyyy, && romance content contains :: college kids, && all-nighter! honestly just pure fluff !!

— “nothing good happens after 2AM… unless it’s you.”

1:50 AM

the café was dim, empty except for three flickering ceiling lights and a lingering scent of burnt espresso. jageyama sat in a corner booth, hunched over his untouched drink while yamaguchi and hinata laughed too loudly over some dumb video. suga was sipping tea like he hadn’t aged a day since college started. tanaka, as usual, was halfway between hyped and hallucinating.

“alright,” kageyama muttered, glancing at his phone. “i’m heading out.”

five pairs of eyes snapped up.

“no.”

“don’t you dare.”

“we’re not doing this again, kags.”

he sighed. “it’s almost two. i don’t do things after two.”

hinata slammed a hand on the table. “you’re still on that rule?! it’s been years!”

“it’s a smart rule,” kageyama muttered, grabbing his hoodie. “nothing good happens after 2AM. people text their exes. get stuck in sketchy karaoke bars. get hit by bikes. everything’s worse at 2AM.”

yamaguchi leaned in with a smirk. “or… you finally meet someone worth staying up for.”

suga gave him a look. “tobio, you’re 19. the worst thing you do after 2AM is google protein shake reviews.”

the table laughed. kageyama scowled, ears tinged pink.

“have fun going home to your silence, man,” tanaka said, raising his cup like a toast. “let us know if your yogurt betrays you again.”

he left to a chorus of jokes and fake pity, tugging his hood over his ears.

the street was cold. not freezing—just that stubborn kind of chill that slips past your clothes and settles in your bones.

kageyama shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the pavement.

he didn’t even see you until he nearly walked into you.

you were sitting on the curb. hood up, eyes red-rimmed, phone glowing faintly in your hand.

kageyama paused, unsure if he should say something. maybe he shouldn’t. maybe—

“hey,” you said suddenly. not startled. just tired.

he blinked. “hi.”

you sniffed, eyes flicking up to him. “i’m fine, by the way. just… humiliated. but fine.”

“…okay.”

you let out a breath. “sorry. you looked like a safe stranger to say that to.”

kageyama glanced around. the street was dead silent, all the café chatter far behind him. “you sure you’re okay?”

you gave a half-shrug. “i got stood up.”

he winced. “that sucks.”

“yeah. and the worst part?” you rubbed your face with your sleeve. “i didn’t even want to go out. i just thought… maybe if i broke the ‘nothing good happens after 2am’ rule, i’d be proven wrong.”

his heart stuttered.

“what?”

you looked up. “you know the rule, right? nothing good happens after 2am?”

kageyama sat down next to you before he could stop himself. the curb was cold, but you didn’t move away.

“…yeah,” he said quietly. “i live by it.”

you laughed, a soft, surprised sound. “do you really?”

he nodded. “i was literally walking home because it’s 2am.”

you looked at your phone. 2:01. “guess you broke it too.”

he glanced sideways. “you don’t seem like a bad thing.”

your breath hitched—just a little.

“you don’t seem like one either,” you murmured.

you ended up talking for an hour. maybe two. you didn’t keep track, and neither did he. he learned your name, and you learned that his social skills were still under construction. you told him about your job, your bad date streak, your favorite kind of ramen. he told you about volleyball, how he still plays pick-up games on sundays, and how he’s terrible at small talk unless it’s about sets.

and somehow, you laughed. he made you laugh.

by 3:30 am, your fingers had started brushing without either of you moving away.

“i was supposed to go home,” kageyama said softly, staring at the empty street.

“i was supposed to cry in an uber.”

he looked at you. “you wanna do something reckless?”

you raised a brow. “like what?”

he pointed. “there’s a vending machine around the corner with really bad strawberry milk.”

you weren’t sure why the offer made your chest warm.

maybe it was the way he said it—like it was a sacred ritual. like that vending machine around the corner had never let him down. like bad strawberry milk at 3:30 in the morning was supposed to taste like victory.

“seriously?” you asked, brushing your hands off on your jeans as you stood. “vending machine strawberry milk?”

kageyama shrugged, already walking. “it’s not THAT bad, i was kinda kidding.”

you jogged a little to catch up to him, the soles of your shoes tapping lightly against the cracked sidewalk. “do you drink it a lot?”

he glanced at you, his face unreadable for a second. “only when something feels… like it might matter.”

you blinked. “that’s oddly poetic for vending machine milk.”

he flushed. “i didn’t mean—i just meant, i don’t drink it with just anyone.”

you laughed, soft and breathy. “okay, tobio. i feel honored.”

he stopped at a rusted old vending machine tucked against a convenience store wall. the light above it buzzed faintly, moths circling like tiny satellites. the glass was smeared, the buttons half-faded—but the little pink carton, bright and ridiculous, glowed behind the plexiglass like a prize.

kageyama fished out a handful of coins from his pocket, sliding them in one by one. the machine made a low mechanical grumble, spat out the first milk carton with a dull thud.

he turned to you, holding it out. “you first.”

you raised an eyebrow. “what if it tastes like regret?”

“then you’ll know i was honest about how bad it is.”

you cracked the seal and took a sip.

it was… weird. artificial and overly sweet. the kind of flavor that didn’t pretend to be real fruit. but it was also kind of nice. familiar in a way you couldn’t explain.

you licked your lips, smiling. “yeah. this tastes like a bad decision.”

he took his own carton, cracked it open, and lifted it in your direction like a toast.

“to bad decisions that don’t feel so bad.”

you clinked cartons. “to breaking rules at 2:01 am.”

you found a bench nearby—metal and cold, but facing the earliest edge of sunrise. pink streaks were starting to crack through the horizon, painting everything in a soft, sleepy glow. the city hadn’t woken up yet. it was yours, for now.

you drank your strawberry milk in silence beside him.

not awkward silence. just the kind that wrapped around you gently, like a blanket. his knee kept brushing yours. he didn’t move it. neither did you.

eventually, he leaned back and sighed, his breath fogging slightly in the morning air.

“this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“you mean… meeting me?” you teased.

he looked at you. serious, but not nervous.

“i mean… i thought going home early would keep things simple. but now i kind of wish i’d stayed out earlier.”

your heart fluttered.

you took another sip. “guess the rule was wrong.”

he gave a small, almost-smile. “or maybe it was waiting for the right exception.”

you didn’t say anything back. you just leaned into him—just a little—and he didn’t pull away.

you stayed on the bench a little while longer, the strawberry milk half-forgotten in your hands as the sky shifted from pitch black to a soft ink-blue. the kind of quiet that only exists when the world is paused.

then, you spoke.

“do you wanna keep going?”

kageyama blinked. “going where?”

you stood, brushing your hands on your jeans again. “anywhere. everywhere. just… not home yet.”

he looked up at you, thoughtful. “aren’t you tired?”

“i’ll be tired tomorrow. i’m not ready for this to be over.”

he hesitated for one heartbeat—then nodded, standing beside you.

“okay. what next?”

4:12 am

you found a 24/7 convenience store glowing like a beacon in the quiet street.

“we’re not buying anything,” you whispered as you slipped inside.

“what are we doing then?” he asked, confused.

you grinned. “chaos.”

you each grabbed the ugliest sunglasses off the rack, popped them on like you were movie stars ducking paparazzi. you wandered the snack aisle pointing at random flavors like they were exotic dishes—‘shrimp mayo chips?’ ‘carbonated jelly drinks?’ ‘who asked for this?’

you dared him to try a banana-flavored rice cake.

he did.

he gagged immediately.

you laughed so hard you had to duck behind a shelf.

“okay, your turn,” he said, voice muffled around the rice cake from hell. “you eat one of those pickled plums.”

“absolutely not.”

“coward.”

5:03 am

you passed a tiny park—empty swings, a slide glistening with dew. kageyama slowed beside the entrance.

“you wanna…?”

“race you to the swings,” you called, already sprinting ahead.

he chased after you, long strides catching up fast, his laugh echoing into the sleeping sky.

you collapsed into the swing, breathless, and he took the one beside you. the chains creaked gently as you pushed off with your feet, back and forth.

“when’s the last time you did this?” you asked.

he tilted his head back, looking at the stars. “middle school, maybe.”

“we’re reclaiming childhood then.”

he didn’t reply, but his small smile said enough.

5:39 am

you walked with your hands in your pockets, both of you trailing the painted edge of the sidewalk like it was a tightrope. when he wobbled and nearly tripped, you stuck your arm out dramatically to steady him.

“thank you for saving my life,” he said, deadpan.

“you’re welcome, tobio. i take my duties as a sidewalk guardian very seriously.”

he chuckled softly, and you swore it was the kind of sound you could wrap yourself in. like it was something only you got to hear.

6:10 am

you found an empty rooftop. you weren’t sure if you were allowed up there, but the ladder hadn’t stopped you, and neither had he.

you sat together on the edge, legs dangling over the side, cartons of water and a bag of random snacks between you.

the city blinked slowly awake beneath you—lights flickering on, cars humming softly, a gentle buzz starting to build in the distance.

kageyama’s shoulder brushed yours again. it didn’t feel accidental this time.

“you really think nothing good happens after 2am?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

he stared at the skyline for a second, then turned to you.

“not anymore.”

you looked at him, smiling despite the sleep weighing heavy behind your eyes.

“good.”

you leaned your head against his shoulder, and this time he leaned back.

6:42 am

the sky was bleeding pale gold when you finally climbed down from the rooftop, both of you blinking into the morning like you’d just time-traveled.

you reached the corner of the block before kageyama cleared his throat.

“can i walk you home?”

you looked over, surprised but not unwelcome to the offer. “you sure? you’ve already stayed up way past your personal danger zone.”

he huffed. “i think the danger’s already happened.”

you laughed. “what, me?”

he looked away, cheeks pink. “kind of.”

you smiled and nodded toward the street ahead. “alright, then. you lead.”

the walk was slow and unhurried, both of you buzzing from exhaustion and something warmer, deeper.

“so…” he said after a while, kicking a loose pebble across the sidewalk. “what do you usually do on nights like this?”

“you mean when i get ditched and end up accidentally bonding with a volleyball player over expired strawberry milk?”

he snorted. “that’s a pretty specific category.”

you grinned. “yeah, well… i don’t normally do this.”

he glanced at you. “me either.”

you walked in silence for a few steps before he added, “you made it not weird, though. most people would’ve thought i was awkward.”

you looked at him with soft amusement. “oh, you were awkward. but it was the good kind.”

he made a face. “there’s a good kind?”

“yeah. the kind that makes someone feel… safe. like they don’t have to pretend.”

his pace slowed just slightly. “that’s how you made me feel.”

you blinked, heart stumbling.

“…oh.”

you weren’t sure what to say after that, but you didn’t have to. your hands brushed again, and this time, it wasn’t subtle. he didn’t pull away.

7:04 am

your apartment building stood at the very end of a sleepy block, tucked beneath the long shadows of taller structures, the kind that trapped the last bits of dawn in their teeth. the concrete stairs leading up to your door were cold and a little chipped, but somehow, in that moment, they felt like the steps of something cinematic. something that mattered.

you stopped just before them, turning to face kageyama.

“this is me,” you said, voice a little quieter now. the kind of quiet that comes after laughter, when all that’s left is the weight of what you’re feeling and the silence that makes it heavier.

he nodded, hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie. the wind tugged lightly at his sleeves, ruffling his hair, which had gone slightly messy over the night. he didn’t seem to notice.

you both stood there, like time had pulled the brakes just for the two of you.

“so,” you said, smiling, even though you could feel the ache of the night finally catching up to you. “what now?”

he looked at you like he was still trying to figure out how the past few hours had even happened. “i don’t know.”

you raised an eyebrow. “honest.”

“but,” he added quickly, “i don’t want this to be the only time.”

the words hit your chest in a way that felt sudden and too soft to prepare for.

“me neither.”

your voice came out smaller than you intended, but you didn’t take it back. you meant it. maybe a little too much.

he took a half-step forward, just enough that the space between you started to feel intentional. your fingers were only inches apart now. you could hear the sound of birds somewhere overhead and the soft hum of a car starting up blocks away. the city was waking, but for a second, you weren’t part of it.

his gaze flicked down. not too obviously. not too fast.

just long enough.

your breath caught.

you both leaned in, slow, uncertain—like if either of you moved too fast, the spell would break. your noses brushed. his eyes fluttered closed. your heart thundered.

and then—

“TOBIOOOOOOOO!!”

the shout cracked through the morning like a slap.

you jumped. kageyama stumbled back, his entire body locking up like a guilty teenager.

you both whipped your heads upward just in time to see hinata and tanaka hanging halfway out of an open window across the street, hair wild, mouths grinning like wolves at a full moon.

“IS THAT A GIRL?! TOBIO, YOU’RE LIVING A WHOLE MOVIE DOWN THERE!”

“BRO, DON’T FUMBLE. WE’RE ROOTING FOR YOUUUUUU!”

“WE STAYED UP ALL NIGHT FOR YOU BRO. WORRIED SICK!”

kageyama buried his face in his hands, turning a bright, almost glowing shade of red. “i’m going to kill them.”

you bit down on your lip, laughing so hard your knees nearly gave out.

“your fan club is kind of intense,” you teased.

“they’re not my fan club,” he muttered.

“sure they aren’t.”

you took a step up toward your door, then paused—turning just slightly over your shoulder.

he looked at you like he wasn’t ready to leave yet. like this part of the night shouldn’t end. like he’d let the sun rise ten times over if it meant one more minute.

you leaned in, quick and sure, pressing your lips gently to his cheek.

he froze.

his breath caught, chest still.

you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your own wide with something that felt dangerously close to real affection.

“text me when you’re not being emotionally destroyed by your teammates,” you whispered.

then you slipped inside your building, leaving the door half-open for just one more look.

from the hallway window, you watched hinata and tanaka abandon the third floor and take the stairs two at a time, yelling:

“WE GOTTA GO SEE HIS FACE IN PERSON—NO WAY IT’S THAT RED—”

“HE LOOKS LIKE A STRAWBERRY MILK CARTON—OH MY GOD—”

kageyama groaned, fists clenched at his sides like he was preparing to evaporate.

but he was smiling.

god, he was smiling.

and somewhere, between the blush on his cheeks and the ridiculousness of it all, you realized:

you were too.

💬, well, this is shortest fic ive written !! but it was technically more of a drabble ! lwk came up with this because ive been binging how i met your mother 😭😭

look here for another read !

237 notes · View notes

angelesca · 6 months ago

Text

🌹🌹"weeeeeelcome to 'the worst dating show in hsr'! i'm your host, angelesca(no one cares🙄), and today, we'll find out who will be your lucky valentine's date this year, based on a crappy personality test~" ft. the victims candidates: mydei, dan heng, stelle n' caelus, and phainon!

rules:

for each question, decide which applies to you most - remember to keep tally of the letters you choose (will determine your valentine's date~)!

other notes:

total of 9 very unoriginal questions

five endings (who you end up with!💗) + a song to match from my trash playlist!

this is a post meant for fun! my headcanons will not line up with everyone else's, but hopefully i didn't do them too bad😭

mentions of hugging and kissing, but nothing beyond that😎

the game show is about to begin! lights, camera, action!

thanks for deciding to take part in the game! let's start with the first question:

Q1] pick a season!

a] winter

b] summer

c] spring

d] autumn

Q2] what's your fav food/most likely to eat?

a] noodle soup, phở, ramen

b] spicy, hot wings, mala hot pot, or foods with acquired tastes

c] cake, biscuits and tea/cookies and milk, parfaits

d] whatever is convenient, or you don't have much preference

Q3] plan your ideal valentine's date!

a] dining out, relaxing spa day/museum trip, shopping spree

b] amusement park, arcade, photo booths and cute accessories

c] going for a drive, stargazing, cosy picnic with fairylights

d] staying in, watching a film under blankets, playing boardgames

Q4] choose a valentine's gift!

a] flowers and chocolates

b] stuffed animal

c] jewellery

d] handwritten poem/letter

Q5] what's your fav trope out of these?

a] forbidden love/star-crossed love

b] childhood friends to lovers/soulmates

c] rivals (or enemies) to lovers/opposites attract

d] fake dating/workplace romance

Q6] pick an ideal love language for your partner!

a] words of affirmation

b] gifting

c] physical touch or acts of service

d] quality time

Q7] what are the most important qualities you look for in a partner?

a] outgoing, flirty, romantic!

b] quirky, humorous, spontaneous!

c] headstrong, loyal, protective!

d] intelligent, calm, reliable!

Q8] there's a pink cupcake on the table. how do you eat it? (help im running out of ideas)

a] the conventional way, unwrapping it and using your hands to eat. nothing fancy

b] twist it in half and stack it so you can eat it like a burger

c] with a knife and fork, or chopsticks, anything to not make a mess

d] remove the frosting and eat just the cake, or eating them separately

Q9] lastly, pick a cheesy and cringey pick-up line! (that i totally didn't steal from the internet)

a] "remember me? oh, that's right, i've only met you in my dreams."

b] "my love for you is like diarrhea, i just can't hold it in!"

c] "i'm not good at holding conversations. can i hold your hand instead?"

d] "forget hydrogen. you're my number one element."

⚔️ if you got mostly a's... 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐧 is your valentine's date! ♪♫ angel - alice phoebe lou ♪♫ extroverted, easygoing, well-liked by everyone! flirty, romantic, always planning dates like they are anniversaries. any praise will make him shy despite his confidence, lots of blushing. gentleman fr, loves hand-holding, guides you softly with his hand on your lower back, will not kiss you first - only when you want to initiate it! will get clingy if you two are separated for some time, sends teleslate messages every morning and likes using cute puppy stickers. compliments you at every corner, makes you feel like you're in the centre of his universe, looooots of affirmations of his love for you! but behind all the smiles and extravaganza, hides secrets and a pained past unveiled... keep an ear open to let him know you're there for him!

🎇 if you got mostly b's... 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔲𝔰/trailblazer are(is) your valentine's date! ♪♫ it was love - yena ♪♫ there's never a dull moment! spontaneous, adventurous, hard to predict their next moves. loves to make you laugh, expressive, will make a fool out of themselves, always goes along with your ideas and jokes, will heal your inner child! loves clinging to your arm, crawls into your bed at night. looooves gifting you! almost always a box in front of your door, filled with trinkets and gadgets that reminded them of you (was it found in a trashcan? welllll it's the thought that counts, right?). all their medals gained from trailblazing are given to you just to impress you! hoards all your gifts, their room might as well be yours. clumsy, never dated before so this is a new journey for them. make sure to tell them if they accidentally upset you! they're willing to learn and understand.

🍷 if you got mostly c's... ʍʏɖɛɨ is your valentine's date! ♪♫ honey - porch light ♪♫ an undying loyalty, his exterior seems tough, some bickering and competition at the start, but he eventually melts, a passionate love behind closed doors revealed to you only. small and quiet gestures like making you walk the inside of the pavement, carrying heavy baggage, always helping you even if unprompted. will send anyone who wrongs you into orbit, never to return. unexpectedly touchy, makes up for his lack of words probably - loves giving back hugs, kisses all your moles, freckles, scars if you have any, hugs you when sleeping, some affectionate biting, worships your body. likewise, loves when you reciprocate. miiiiight get overprotective and possessive, but it's only because he's afraid to lose you someday. bro needs your reassurance. and head rubs too.

🐉 if you got mostly d's... 𝒹𝒶𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝓃𝑔 is your valentine's date! ♪♫ blue salvia - PRYVT ♪♫ pragmatic and reliable. once you get to know him, he becomes more comfortable! his tail will hug every part of your body, uses it to pull you closer, rests your head on his shoulder, and tell you some of his dry humour jokes. always giving you his undivided attention - puts down everything to listen to you, silence is not uncomfortable or awkward for you two, greatly respects your personal space. really loves watching you be passionate about hobbies, work etc.! will sit with you and help if you have a hard task at hand. will research all your interests in depth, notes down your favourite things in his notebook, eventually knowing it by heart. communication can be stiff sometimes, just remember to be honest and open with each other.

🌹if you got no dominant answer (e.g. there's a tie) ... well... that's depressing- uuuh, is that ar-argenti?? he says he's very sad to be left out on valentine's day, so you two can pair together? oh, nice! he's already reserved a restaurant for the both of you. huh? a wreath of 999 roses and a statue in honour of your excellence is on it's way to you?! (alternatively, you can pick whoever you like most out of your results!)

i'd love to know who you guys got!!!♥️♥️♥️(i got ma boi dan heng😎[dh gang assemble here!])

a/n: literally felt like a couple therapist writing this✍️ anw happy early valentine's!! I MADE IT ON TIME YAAAAAY!!!!! this one is going in with my halloween gang😋 if you enjoyed this, lemme know! maybe i'll make more in the future and other minigames? i have one more draft brewing in my lab, a very special one heeheehe. will prob post soon! thanks for playing! 💐

#i butchered these characters didnt i #im gonna stuff myself with chocolates mmmmm #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #mydei x reader #dan heng x reader #trailblazer x reader #phainon x reader #buuu so many tags do i really need them all buuuu #angie's crayon drawings!

305 notes · View notes

babyarmywrites · 2 months ago

Text

never be like you - bang chan

Synopsys: From studio chaos and midnight phone calls to gentle confessions and years of longing finally unraveling, this is a story of love that doesn’t explode—it grows. Softly. Quietly. Steadily. Because some love stories don’t start with fireworks. Some start with a shared dream—and a boy who always brought you dinner.

Word count: 10k

Warnings: none, I think?

Enjoy!

Love that grows from friendship is the quietest kind.

It doesn’t strike like lightning or unravel like a slow-burn drama. It unfolds—gently, without fanfare, in between coffee breaks and color palettes, late-night edits and sleepy glances across cluttered work tables.

Sometimes, it’s years in the making. Years of inside jokes, of shared playlists, of standing at the edge of each other’s dreams—not to take credit, but to make sure the other doesn’t fall.

That’s how it was with you and Bang Chan.

You met as trainees—both wide-eyed and tired, shoved into dance studios and vocal booths with a dozen other hopefuls. You didn’t want to be an idol, not really. It was your parents’ idea. “Just try,” they said. “You’re talented. See where it goes.”

It went exactly as far as it needed to. Long enough to meet him.

You dropped out before debut. Not because you couldn’t keep up—but because you realized the spotlight was never yours to chase. What you loved was the storytelling, the world-building. Not standing center stage—but shaping what the audience would feel when the curtain rose.

So you stayed. You worked your way through internships and freelance projects until you were offered the role that finally felt right.

Creative Director — one of the youngest in the company.

Now, you’re the one behind every comeback concept. The one in charge of moodboards and visual narratives, teaser aesthetics and tour stage designs. It’s your job to build the world fans fall in love with.

And for Stray Kids, that means working closely—sometimes painfully closely—with their leader, your best friend.

Because if Bang Chan is the engine behind every song, you’re the one driving the car.

And it’s never just work, not with him. It’s ramen eaten at 2AM over concept moodboards. It’s his sleepy laugh when he watches your editing notes play out in real time. It’s the way he rests his chin on your shoulder while watching final cuts of music videos, completely unaware of how still the world goes when he’s that close.

He’s your best friend.

You’re the one who reminds him to sleep, to eat, to take breaks—not because he needs to be looked after, but because he forgets he's allowed to pause. You notice the signs before they show: the way his voice gets quieter when he’s tired, how he stares through screens when he’s overwhelmed.

The boys call you omma when you’re scolding them over cluttered dressing rooms or skipped meals—but with Chan, it’s different. It’s quieter. Closer.

He never resists. He’ll let you steal his laptop mid-session if it means getting ten minutes of fresh air. He’ll groan but follow you when you tug him out of his chair, muttering about deadlines he’ll still meet anyway. He listens when you speak, even if it’s just to say, “You good?” after a long day.

And Chan… he leans into it. Into you. Not because he needs saving. But because with you, he finally lets himself breathe.

The meeting is scheduled for noon, but you’re already in the conference room ten minutes early, iced americano in one hand, your tablet in the other. You’re flipping through early design concepts for the album visuals—dark tones, nostalgic accents, a slightly rough edge to match the overall sound.

Then the door swings open, and in walks Bang Chan with the most unbothered smile on his face and a paper cup balanced on top of his head like some kind of crown.

“Royalty has arrived,” he announces with mock grandeur.

You don’t even look up. “You’re late.”

“I’m ten seconds late.”

“You’re ten minutes late.”

He drops into the chair across from you, the coffee crown still perched atop his curls. “Semantics.”

You set your tablet down and give him a look. “I listened to the tracklist demo last night.”

His eyes sparkle—proud, expectant. “And?”

“It’s solid,” you admit, then pause, narrowing your eyes. “Except for Railway.”

He gasps. Full drama mode. “Railway is a masterpiece.”

“It’s a sensual R&B track in the middle of an emotional, identity-driven concept album,” you say, deadpan. “Explain how that makes sense.”

“It’s a song about trains,” he says, with a straight face that doesn't even crack.

You blink. “It’s not about trains.”

“It’s literally called Railway. It has train sounds in the background.”

“You added those in post.”

He grins, finally cracking. “Okay, but metaphorical trains. It’s layered. Nuanced.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost gives you whiplash. “You wrote a thirst trap and tried to sneak it in between two ballads.”

Chan shrugs, leaning back in his chair like a kid who just got caught red-handed and couldn’t care less. “Balance. Gotta give the people what they want.”

“I am the people and I want you to pick a concept and stick to it.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re not the target audience of Railway.”

Your cheeks burn immediately, but you recover fast. “Bold of you to think I haven’t heard all fifteen versions of it in the studio, including the one with the backup moaning.”

He chokes on his own coffee.

You smirk, victorious.

The meeting continues—technically. You both talk about visual elements, comeback schedules, and how to pace the release teasers. But between the points on your shared document, there's laughter, teasing, soft eye contact that lingers a second too long. You bicker like co-workers. You banter like best friends. And somewhere between debating whether red or gray better fits the mood of the lead single, you feel it again—that quiet undercurrent of something warmer. Something slower.

Maybe it's love. Maybe it's just him. But either way, you don’t say it out loud. Neither does he. Not yet.

Jeongin’s girlfriend wasn’t usually the nervous type. She had pitched branding concepts to CEOs and fought tooth and nail over key visuals with entire creative teams. But today was different. Today, she was presenting her draft designs for Stray Kids’ new comeback album—to Bang Chan and you, the group’s creative director.

She’d heard the stories.

Chan was a perfectionist. Jeongin said he’d once rejected a logo because the spacing between the letters felt “too emotionally distant.”

And you? Jeongin didn’t say much, but Hyunjin’s flower girl had muttered once that you could make even the cockiest stylist cry if a color palette didn’t align with the concept vision. Apparently, you had taste and weren’t afraid to weaponize it.

So, yeah. She was a little terrified.

She arrived exactly on time, nerves bundled in her chest, carrying her portfolio and a neat little stack of mock-ups. The meeting room at JYPE’s creative wing was bright, modern, and—thankfully—quiet.

Chan was already there, lounging back in his chair with a coffee half-forgotten beside him. And you were at his side, leaned forward over the table, highlighter cap in your mouth as you scribbled a note on a storyboard draft.

She paused at the door.

You glanced up first. “You must be Jeongin’s girlfriend.”

There was no icy professional front, no judgment. Just a soft, genuine smile as you stood to greet her. “I’m glad you’re here. He said you were nervous, but there’s no need. We’re not scary.”

“You’re not scary?!” Chan said, voice teasing as he reached for his coffee again, as he looked at his maknae's beloved girlfriend with mischief in his eyes. “She terrifies me. Have you ever seen her throw a Pantone book?”

You kicked him lightly under the table. No hard feelings. Just playful banter between two people who are close. Super close. Have been for a long time,

The meeting flowed naturally after that. Her designs—moody, tactile, layered with handwritten lyrics—seemed to land well. You traced your finger along one of the printed covers and murmured, “This… This feels like the right kind of intimacy.”

Chan didn’t even look at the mock-up. He was already looking at you when he said, “Told you she was perfect.”

The rest of the review blurred. Jeongin's girlfriend took notes, absorbed feedback, but mostly she watched the two of you: the way Chan leaned toward you unconsciously, the way you nudged his coffee back toward him without thinking, the way his eyes softened when you laughed at something only the two of you seemed to understand.

By the time the meeting ended, she was no longer intimidated. Just intrigued.

She met up with Jeongin, Hyunjin, and flower girl at a nearby café that evening, unable to keep the thought to herself.

“She’s in love with him,” she blurted out, pulling off her coat.

“Who?” Jeongin asked, blinking.

“Your creative director. She’s in love with Bang Chan.”

Hyunjin actually dropped his spoon. His girlfriend nearly snorted her drink. Jeongin choked on his pastry.

“No, no,” Jeongin said once he caught his breath. “They’re like siblings.”

“Worse,” Hyunjin added. “They’re like… mom and dad. Not in a weird way. Just—you know. The leadership pair. It’s strictly family.”

“She literally forces him to eat lunch,” Jeongin added. “That’s not romance. That’s parenting.”

“But they’re so close,” she argued. “They’re always touching. And the way he looks at her—”

“They’ve been like that since we were trainees,” Hyunjin said, tone final.

“They’re just affectionate,” flower girl added. “It’s normal. They’ve been best friends for so long, they don’t even notice it anymore.”

She frowned. “So you’re telling me they’re not in love.”

The three of them answered at once:

“Nope.” “Not a chance.” “Absolutely not.”

Still, as she took a sip of her coffee, something about their certainty didn’t sit right.

Because sometimes love doesn’t show up with fireworks and declarations.

Sometimes it slips into the everyday—into quiet meals, gentle nudges, and the way someone instinctively reaches for your coffee before you even realize you've forgotten it.

The building was quiet.

Too quiet, really. Most of the staff had left hours ago, and even the clamor from the rehearsal studios had gone still. The only light in the control room came from the soft glow of monitors and the pale overhead bulbs that buzzed like they were tired, too.

Chan sat slumped on the couch, head tilted back, eyes fluttering open every few minutes like his body hadn’t gotten permission to rest just yet. His hoodie was bunched up under his chin, exposing the curve of his throat. His laptop blinked idly beside him, abandoned. For once.

You returned with two warm bottles of banana milk, holding one out without a word.

He took it with a sleepy smile, not even asking where you’d found it at this hour. Of course you had a stash somewhere.

“I’m going to tell HR that you’re my emotional support manager,” he said, twisting the cap off.

“I’d be unemployed in five seconds,” you replied, taking a sip of your own.

Silence settled in again. But not the heavy kind. This one was soft, comfortable. The kind that only existed between two people who’d done this a thousand times—sat in the quiet, side by side, not needing to say anything.

You nudged his knee with your own. “You need to go home.”

“I am home,” he muttered.

“Chan.”

He peeked over at you with a small grin. “I know, I know. You’re right. I just… need five more minutes.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“Yeah, well, I like hanging out with you.”

It was such a simple sentence. No weight to it, no emphasis. But it made your heart skip anyway.

You looked away first, pretending to inspect the label on your drink. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re this tired. You’re emotionally unstable.”

“You say that like I’m not emotionally unstable when I’m fully rested.”

You rolled your eyes, but he was still watching you.

There was something about his gaze tonight. Not intense. Just… real. Like the usual noise had quieted enough for him to really see you. Like he didn’t have to be Bang Chan the leader or producer or hyung for a second.

Just Chris.

And Chris looked at you like your presence alone had made his day survivable.

You softened. “Do you want me to call you a car?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because then I won't get to spend time with you.”

You blinked. That wasn’t the answer you expected.

He laughed, a little embarrassed now. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—can you stay for a little longer? Just until I fall asleep. You’re better than melatonin.”

“Great. I’ve been downgraded from creative director to sleep aid.”

Chan reached out lazily and caught your sleeve, tugging you closer so that you’d sit beside him again. Shoulder to shoulder. Familiar.

“I’m serious,” he said softly, “You keep me sane.”

You turned to face him, but he was already closing his eyes again, leaning his head onto your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was. And maybe this—this quiet, sleepy, warm version of him—was the truest one of all. Sometimes too honest. Too raw. But never overwhelming. Always inviting. That's the charm of Bang Chan. That's why STAYs all over the world fall in love with him, without knowing him personally. He's a walking green flag. A boy with the kindest of souls, warmest of smiles, and prettiest of words. He always knows what to say to calm one down, to cheer someone up, or to make them believe they are worth it. That's why it seems so unfair to see him spiral, drive himself crazy over the public's perception of him.

It was almost 2:37 a.m. when your phone lit up.

You groaned, face buried in your pillow, blindly reaching for it with one hand and squinting at the caller ID: Han Jisung. You debated ignoring it—surely he butt-dialed. But then came the second call, immediately after. Then a third. You sat up, heart skipping into emergency mode, and picked up.

“Is everything okay?”

“Noona,” he whispered like someone was holding him hostage, “he’s doing it again.”

“…Doing what again?”

“The thing.”

“What thing, Jisung?”

“The thing where he writes songs he wants to strip to on stage!”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious. He’s got the lights off, there’s a red LED bulb on for ambiance, and he’s been looping the same R&B drum beat for an hour. It sounds like a perfume commercial. I’m scared.”

You sighed and pushed your hair back. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not! Changbin and I left the studio for ten minutes to get snacks, and when we came back, he’d taken off his hoodie and was humming into the mic with his eyes closed. He’s gone.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You want me to come there?”

“Yes, please, I'm begging you. Bring holy water. And maybe something he can emotionally latch onto so he doesn’t write a demo called ‘Velvet Hands’ or something.”

You groaned but swung your legs over the bed anyway. “If this is a prank, I swear to God—”

“I wish it was. But this man looked me dead in the eye and asked, ‘What if this comeback had a pole?’”

You were out the door in under ten minutes.

By the time you arrived, the dorm lights were off except for the glow under the crack of the studio door. You could hear the bass from the hallway.

You knocked.

“Come in,” Chan called, voice smooth as silk.

You opened the door—and immediately paused.

There he was. Hoodie abandoned on the back of his chair, in just a white tank top and joggers, legs crossed as he bobbed his head to a slow beat with a rose-tinted LED light casting a glow over his desk. The scent of instant coffee and something vaguely sandalwood hung in the air.

He turned and lit up. “What are you doing here, sleepyhead?”

You squinted at him. “The better question is, what in the Fifty Shades of Chris is going on in here?”

He laughed, easy and unapologetic, like he knew he was caught. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh? Because it looks like you’re scoring a mood lighting commercial for a lingerie brand.”

“Okay, a little what it looks like.”

“Jesus, Chan.”

You stepped into the room as Jisung and Changbin poked their heads in from the lounge couch, thumbs up in silent thanks.

Chan leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. “I had an idea. You know how our last title track was super high energy? What if this one’s more sensual? Slower? Grown?”

“You already tried that with ‘Drive,’ remember? Half the fandom had to sit down.”

He smiled again, a little too proud. “Exactly.”

You sat down across from him and gave him the look—your patented Don’t-Make-Me-Take-Your-USBs-Again glare.

“Chris.”

“Yes?”

“Did you eat today?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then pointed weakly at a granola bar wrapper.

You raised a brow.

“…Okay, no.”

You sighed and got up. “I’m making you food. Then you’re going to shower. Then you’re going to sleep. And then you’re going to tell me why your Google doc is titled ‘Songs to Commit Crimes To.’”

He grinned sheepishly. “It was a working title.”

“You need supervision.”

“And that’s why I called you,” Jisung chimed from the hall, triumphant. “Good night, lovebirds!”

“We’re not—!” you started, but he’d already disappeared.

Chan laughed again, soft and fond, as you rummaged through their kitchen for ramyeon and eggs.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” he said, leaning in the doorway.

“Apparently, I did.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes never leaving you. “You always do.”

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hiss of water boiling and the occasional clink of a spoon against a pot. You moved around the space with ease, focused on a late dinner or early breakfast, who knew at this point, while Chan lingered near the counter, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

He didn’t say much, just watched you. You could tell his mind was racing, but the usual confident leader was nowhere to be found—replaced by something quieter, more uncertain. After a long pause, Chan finally cleared his throat, voice low. “Thanks for… always being here. For all this.” He gestured vaguely at the steaming food and the calm around you.

You looked up, meeting his eyes, and he quickly looked away, cheeks flushed. The vulnerability was so subtle it almost went unnoticed.

“It’s nothing,” you said softly. “You don’t have to thank me.”

He gave a small, tired laugh. “I do sometimes wonder… if I deserve it.” His words barely a whisper, as if afraid to speak them louder.

You stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “You deserve kindness. You deserve care.”

Chan swallowed hard, eyes flickering between you and the floor. “Sometimes I’m scared if I let myself feel that… I’ll lose it all. That maybe… you’d see the real me, and…”

His voice faltered. You didn’t interrupt. You let the silence speak, letting him find the courage on his own time.

He finally looked up, the faintest trace of a smile breaking through the exhaustion. “But… having you here like this—it means more than I can say.”

You smiled back, squeezing his arm gently. No confessions. No grand declarations. Just two people finding safety in the quiet moments between the noise.

The apartment buzzed with warmth and chatter, fairy lights casting soft glows over scattered wine glasses and snack bowls. The girlfriends had taken over the living room, sinking into cushions and stretching out comfortably as stories flew back and forth like old friends reuniting.

Seungmin’s lover, the stage manager, was rolling her eyes fondly at yet another ridiculous Seungmin anecdote, while Han’s girlfriend laughed, shaking her head at Jisung’s latest tattoo drama. Flower girl was quietly giggling, sharing one of Hyunjin’s latest artistic disasters, and Jeongin’s girlfriend — the graphic designer — sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook forgotten in her lap as she listened intently.

Then, inevitably, the conversation turned towards you. Something you were dreading the whole night, not even understanding how you ended up in this situation in the first place. Jisung's girlfriend worked closely with you, hence why she politely asked you to join. However, being the only single person in the middle of such an ensemble was a nightmare turned reality.

“So, what about you?” Seugmin’s girlfriend asked, eyes flicking toward you with a teasing smile. “Anyone special in your life these days?”

You took a slow sip of your wine, feeling all their curious eyes settle on you like a spotlight.

“Honestly? I don’t really have time for dating,” you said with a shrug, trying to keep it light. “Work is nonstop. And when I do get a moment, I’d rather not waste it on awkward small talk or meaningless dates.”

Jeongin’s girlfriend raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Sounds like you’re dodging something,” she teased. “Or someone.”

You smiled faintly, voice dropping just a bit, like sharing a secret meant only for them.

“I believe… everyone is given one true love,” you said softly. “And maybe I’ve already found mine.”

A beat of silence.

“But I’m pretty sure it’ll never be reciprocated.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the usual buzz fading as your words hung gently in the air. No one pressed you, but the understanding was unmistakable — a shared tenderness beneath the playful surface.

Jeongin’s girlfriend nudged Flower girl, whispering something that made them both giggle, breaking the spell.

“Okay, enough of the heavy stuff,” Seungmin's girlfriend declared, pouring another glass of wine. “Let’s hear more embarrassing stories about our boys.”

Laughter bubbled back up, filling the room again, but the little moment stayed with you — a quiet truth shared with those who cared.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you sent a quick message, the warmth of the wine making your words a little looser than usual.

You Hey… you awake?

Chris♥️ Always. What’s up?

You Just… had a little wine. Might be feeling a bit buzzed. But don’t worry, I’m fine.

Chris♥️ Buzzed, huh? That sounds like trouble.

You I’m a responsible adult, I swear.

Chris♥️ Sure, and I’m a unicorn. Come on, you don’t have to pretend. You sound exactly like you after a glass or three.

You Okay, maybe three. But I’m good. Promise.

Chris♥️ Good or not, do you want me to come get you? Or at least stay on the phone until you’re safe?

You I’m okay, really. Just… buzzed enough to text you random stuff.

Chris♥️ That’s what worries me.

You shifted on the couch, laughter still ringing from your friends around you, but your eyes were fixed on the screen. The noise of the girls’ chatter softened at the edges as your mind floated to the familiar warmth in Chris’s messages. You hated feeling vulnerable, hated the idea of needing someone—but his steady presence was a quiet comfort, a lifeline you didn’t realize you needed so much.

The night stretched on, and soon enough, a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. There he was—Chris, quietly standing with that familiar worried smile, ready to make sure you got home safely. In the chaos of deadlines, meetings, and your self-imposed armor, he was the calm you could always count on. Maybe one day, you’d be brave enough to tell him exactly that.

You were too buzzed to notice, but Chris saw how all the girls shared a knowing look upon his arrival. He greeted everyone tenderly, considering the girls were his brothers' significant others, he tried to keep as close to them as possible, without ever intruding. However, he couldn't really decipher the suggestive eyebrow raises or cheeky winks sent towards him over your shoulder as you hugged everyone goodbye.

The ride home was quiet, the city lights blurring past the windows as you nestled into the passenger seat, your head heavy with tiredness—and maybe the wine, too. Your eyes fluttered shut before long, surrendering to the pull of sleep.

Chris glanced over at you from the driver’s seat, his heart squeezing softly at the sight. You looked so peaceful—soft features relaxed, breathing steady and calm. The world slowed down around him in that moment, and all the noise and stress of his endless schedule faded away.

He thought about how often you were the opposite—busy, always moving, juggling a million things at once. But right now, in this small, quiet space, you were just… you. Unguarded. Vulnerable. And breathtaking.

There was something about the way you trusted him so fully, letting go enough to fall asleep beside him. It made him feel honored, like you were letting him hold a piece of your world no one else saw. That fragile quiet filled him with a warmth he couldn’t explain, a tenderness that made his chest ache in the best way.

He reached over carefully, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment on your cheek. If only you knew how deeply fond he was of you—how every small gesture, every laugh, every late-night conversation stitched you closer into the fabric of his heart.

Tonight, he promised himself, he’d just be here. Quiet. Present. Grateful for this moment.

Because loving you—however quietly—was the most real thing he’d ever known.

The dressing room buzzed with restless energy, but the mood was far from lighthearted. Beneath the surface, tension rippled through the group—subtle shifts, hesitant movements, and uneasy glances that betrayed discomfort.

Chan stood by the door, trying to keep the peace, his voice calm but strained. “Please, let’s remove the tape on Jisung’s tattoos. He’s clearly uncomfortable.”

The stylist gave a polite nod but didn’t make any real move to fix it.

Across the room, Changbin tugged at a rough, scratchy shirt, biting back a grimace. “I’m allergic to this fabric,” he muttered, voice low but edged with frustration.

Then, almost like salt in a wound, a staff member handed Minho a compression shirt, smirking as they said, “Here, this one should fit better—you’ve gained too much weight lately.”

Chan’s eyes flickered with disbelief and something sharper—hurt, maybe. The words hung in the air, heavy and cutting.

He continued to try, his tone measured but growing firmer, “Everyone deserves to be comfortable. Please listen to the members.”

But his words seemed to vanish into the background noise as the staff ignored his requests, their dismissive attitudes making the room heavier.

And then the door swung open.

You stepped in, all business and steel-clad determination, the kind of presence that instantly demanded attention. The chatter died down to a hush. Chan watched you, admiration blooming quietly but fiercely inside him. You scanned the room with a steady gaze—sharp, unyielding, utterly confident.

“What’s going on here?” Your voice was cool but resolute, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Chan’s chest tightened as relief and respect washed over him. Watching you take charge reminded him why he trusted you so completely.

In that moment, he thought about you—your unbreakable character, the way you carried yourself with quiet, unwavering confidence. You never compromised your principles, never faltered when it came to protecting those you cared about. Your vision for the group’s comfort and well-being wasn’t just a job—it was a passion, a fierce dedication that inspired everyone around you.

He admired how you stood up without hesitation, how your belief in respect and kindness was absolute. You moved through the room with purpose, addressing the stylists directly, your voice steady and firm.

“I don’t care how you’ve done things before,” you said, eyes locked on theirs. “Making the members uncomfortable isn’t acceptable. Jisung’s tattoos aren’t a problem to ‘fix.’ Changbin’s allergy isn’t a fashion statement. And Minho deserves respect—no one talks to him like that.”

The stylists exchanged uneasy looks, suddenly aware that their usual arrogance wasn’t welcome here. You held their attention with the kind of authority that came from years of knowing exactly who you were—and what you would stand for.

“Adjust everything immediately, or I’ll find someone who will. This stops now.”

“Thank you,” Chan said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His tired eyes met yours, filled with a rare vulnerability. “I tried to tell them to change whatever needed to be changed, but no one listened. Sometimes I'm just too polite to get my point across.”

You softened, the sharp edge of your professional armor slipping just for a moment. The weight of the day faded away as you took a small step closer. Gently, you reached up and ran your hand through his hair—the familiar curls now tamed, smoothed down by the stylists.

“I was actually imagining you leaving your hair naturally curly for this comeback,” you murmured, your fingers lingering in the strands. “But I guess the staff straightened it anyway.”

Chan’s lips curved into a sheepish smile. “That was my call,” he admitted quietly. “I thought people liked the straightened look better.”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping. “No way. Everyone thinks you’re way hotter with your curls. Fans go crazy for it.”

His eyes twinkled with something like relief, maybe even gratitude. For a brief moment, the chaos around you both dissolved—there was just the two of you, quiet and intertwined. In the middle of the dressing room frenzy, it felt like the only place that truly mattered was the connection shared between the two of you.

The studio feels unusually quiet this afternoon. The usual buzz has softened to a gentle hum, like the calm before a storm. The others are busy with their last preparations for the Japan trip, but you sit still, fingers hovering over your laptop, words caught somewhere between your mind and the screen.

Chan looks your way, hopeful but cautious. “You’re coming with us, right?”

His question is simple, but it carries more weight than you can say. Your heart twists painfully at the thought.

You want to go with them. You want to be there, beside him. But your feelings for him are getting tangled, overwhelming — and you’re scared what might happen if you don’t keep some distance. You need to protect yourself.

You shake your head gently. “I think I’m going to stay in Seoul this time.”

Chan’s eyes widen for a moment — surprise, confusion, maybe even a flicker of hurt, quickly masked. “Oh. Okay.”

He wonders why you’re staying behind.

Does she not want to be with me? Did I do something wrong? I don’t want to lose her — she’s the one person I can always count on. But maybe I’m too much, or maybe I’m not enough.

You avoid his gaze, your heart pounding. “It’s nothing to do with you. I just… need some space.”

Chan tries to decipher what those words really mean.

Space? Does she mean distance? Or something else? Does she even feel the way I do?

The room suddenly feels colder, heavier.

Chan swallows and forces a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alright. If that’s what you need.”

I want to reach out, to tell her everything — how I feel, how scared I am of losing her — but I’m too afraid. What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin this?

You watch him quietly, your carefully held walls starting to crumble.

He deserves to know. He deserves to hear that you care, that the space you need isn’t because you want to leave him behind, but because you need time to sort through feelings that overwhelm you.

But the words stay locked inside.

As Chan zips his bag, the silence between you grows heavier — fragile and full of unspoken things neither of you dares to voice.

You both sit there, two hearts aching quietly, afraid to cross the line into the unknown. You stand up, gathering your things slowly, the weight of unsaid words hanging in the air. Chan watches you, his fingers twitching at his sides, as if he wants to reach out but holds back. Before you walk away, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Hey… if you change your mind, just text me. I'll pay for your flight and all,”

You turn, catching the sincerity in his eyes — a soft, vulnerable light that you don’t often get to see. Your chest tightens. Without thinking, your hand brushes lightly against his arm. It’s a small touch, almost hesitant, but it sends warmth rushing through you both. Chan’s breath catches. For a heartbeat, the distance between you feels smaller, less certain. You give him a shaky smile. Finally, he pulls you into a warm embrace, one that feels like home. He's renowned for his hugs; his muscular arms feel safe and calming as they encircle you, and as you're surrounded by his sweet vanilla scent, it becomes harder and harder to keep your distance.

“Thank you, Chris.”

He nods, fighting the urge to hold you there a little longer.

As you leave the studio, your heart aches — filled with hope and fear tangled together, knowing that maybe, just maybe, this fragile moment is the start of something neither of you dared to say out loud.

The day had been relentless for Chris—hours packed with rehearsals, last-minute adjustments, and the stress of their TV showcase looming large. Every little detail needed to be perfect, and the weight of it pressed down on him heavier than he expected. It's always difficult for him to manage all this chaos without having you there. By the time he finally got back to his hotel room, his mind was still racing, the exhaustion in his body nowhere near enough to quiet his thoughts.

He stared at the ceiling, the buzzing of his phone beside him offering a small comfort. Without really thinking, he swiped it awake and dialed the one person he knew would calm the storm in his chest.

You answered on the second ring, your voice sleepy but warm. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Chris said, voice a little rough. “Long day… couldn’t sleep.”

You yawned softly. “Same here. What’s on your mind?”

He let out a tired chuckle. “Everything and nothing. The showcase prep is driving me crazy. The kids are great, but the pressure… you know.”

You listened quietly, the calm steadiness of your voice smoothing the edges of his tension. “You always manage to hold it together, Chris.”

“Only because I have you to remind me to breathe,” he said, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart skip.

For a while, the two of you just talked — quiet, easy conversation about silly things and shared memories, letting the comfort of each other’s presence work its magic. The city’s distant noises faded away, replaced by the soft intimacy of the call.

“I’m really glad you picked up,” Chris whispered.

“Me too,” you answered, your eyes closing as the warmth of the moment wrapped around you.

“Hey, promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

“I promise,” you said.

A long pause. Then, his voice, softer now. “Goodnight, pretty girl.”

“Goodnight, Chris.”

The phone slipped from your hand as sleep finally took you, the quiet sound of Chris’s even breathing the last thing you heard before drifting off.

As soon as he got back, you were over at his place. He didn't even get to unpack, which for a meticulously clean and organized person like him was equal to hell, but he wanted you there as soon as it was possible. He dialed your number from the airport shuttle, begging to see you. And you can't say no to Chan. It's impossible. And he knows.

The apartment was filled with the comforting aroma of a home-cooked meal, Chris moving around the kitchen with practiced ease. You admired the way he handled the pans and spices — precise, confident, and calm. Unlike his usual self-consciousness in public, here he was in his element, effortlessly creating something delicious. You slipped in to help, chopping vegetables or stirring sauces, your laughter blending with the soft music he’d put on.

When Jeongin and his girlfriend arrived, the atmosphere shifted to playful and lighthearted. Jeongin’s grin was impossible to miss.

“Double date vibes tonight, huh?” he teased, elbowing his girlfriend with a sly smile.

You and Chris exchanged quick, shy glances. Both of you turned a shade of pink, feeling that familiar mix of warmth and awkwardness as Jeongin’s joke hit right where it counted. You laughed nervously, trying to play it cool, but the teasing was relentless — and honestly, it just made the evening feel more special.

After they left, the night settled into quiet comfort. You and Chris retreated to his room — his sanctuary, a place full of soft lighting, scattered notebooks, and the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faintest trace of coffee from his late-night sessions.

You settled into the familiar nest of blankets and pillows on his bed, limbs entwined like you always did. The world outside faded away. His hand found yours, fingers curling around yours with that gentle, grounding pressure that made your heart beat a little slower.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, lulling you to sleep. He slowly leaned in, sure that you were already floating in dreamland, pressing a little kiss to your forehead. His voice was low, hesitant but filled with something you’d longed to hear.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, so soft that you barely heard it.

Your breath caught — a smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t say anything, you knew he didn't mean for you to hear his quiet confession, so you stayed put. Nuzzled into his chest. The silence wrapped around you both like a tender promise.

And as you drifted off to sleep, still tangled in each other’s arms, you felt a warmth settle deep inside — the quiet certainty that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in feeling this way after all.

You lie there, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady next to you, and the quiet weight of his words resting softly on your skin. It’s everything you didn’t dare say out loud, and suddenly everything feels both fragile and certain at once.

You want to tell him that you’ve been afraid — afraid of losing this, afraid of hoping too much, afraid of how much you care. But right now, words feel unnecessary. You just want to stay here, wrapped up in the warmth of him, and believe that maybe, this could be the start of something real.

You don’t know what tomorrow holds, but for the first time in a long time, you feel brave enough to let the possibility in. Maybe love doesn’t have to be scary. Maybe it can be this quiet, steady, and soft. Maybe it’s already here.

You Hey, did you actually eat today or are you surviving on caffeine and sheer willpower again?

Chan♥️ Haha, I had a sandwich. Barely counts, I know. But don’t worry, I’m not turning into a walking skeleton yet.

You Barely counts? Chris, you’re supposed to be the leader, not a starving artist. I swear, if I see you at the studio looking like you’ve forgotten how to human, I’m dragging you out for food myself.

Chan♥️ Deal. Speaking of dragging, when can we schedule that meeting to go over the tour details? I need your magic on this.

You How about Thursday afternoon? I’ll bring snacks as a bribe.

Chan♥️ Thursday it is. You bring snacks, I’ll bring the caffeine. Perfect.

You Also, have you noticed Changbin’s been acting weird lately? Like, seriously weird?

Chan♥️ Haha, you mean the way he stares at the new personal chef like she hung the stars? I caught him trying to “accidentally” get into the kitchen more than once.

You Right?! I’m pretty sure he’s got a crush. This is going to be interesting…

Chan♥️ Oh man, imagine the chaos. Should we start placing bets on how long before he actually talks to her?

You You’re on. But if he messes it up, I’m blaming you for not coaching him properly.

Chan♥️ Fair enough. Guess I better start my mentorship duties early.

You knew he hadn’t eaten properly all day. You saw the way his eyes were a little tired, how his movements had the usual restless energy but lacked the usual spark. So, you did what you always did—showed up at the studio, determined to drag him away from his work.

When you slipped into the control room, Chris was hunched over the mixer, headphones around his neck, completely absorbed. You cleared your throat softly, and he looked up, surprised but relieved in equal measure.

“Hey,” you said, voice gentle but firm. “Come on. You’re not finishing that without food. I’m taking you out.”

He hesitated for a moment, that familiar crease between his brows, but then he gave a small, grateful smile. “You’re relentless.”

You took his hand—a quick, familiar squeeze—and led him out before he could say no. The city lights blurred past the windows as you drove to a quiet little restaurant you both liked. The kind of place where the lighting was soft, and the music was just low enough to hear your own thoughts.

Chris was different here, relaxed. He pulled out your chair with a gentleman’s ease, ordered your favorite dishes without asking, and laughed softly at your jokes—those little things that made his presence feel like home.

You watched him across the table, the way his eyes caught the candlelight, the easy warmth in his smile. It stirred something deep inside you. A flutter of hope mixed with the fear that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just friendship anymore.

You wanted to reach out, to tell him all the thoughts swirling in your mind—the late nights you spent wondering if he felt the same, the quiet moments you replayed where maybe he was sending signs you missed. But you stayed silent, because saying it aloud felt too fragile, too risky.

Chris caught your gaze, and there was something in his eyes—a flicker of the same hesitation, the same unspoken yearning.

The conversation drifted softly, filled with comfortable silences and light teasing. Neither of you rushed to cross the invisible line, but the space between you was charged with all the things you weren’t saying.

When you finally left the restaurant, the night air cool against your skin, Chris slipped his hand into yours without hesitation. It was a small, simple gesture, but it said everything neither of you dared to speak.

And as you walked side by side, your heart thrumming with a nervous hope, you realized—this was real. And it was terrifying.

But somehow, you didn’t want to look away.

Chris stepped back into the studio, the familiar hum of equipment greeting him like an old friend. He barely had time to drop his bag before Han and Changbin were all over him like a storm.

“So? How was the dinner? Did you finally say it? Spill the tea, hyung!” Jisung practically bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes shining with excitement. “You’ve been dragging this out forever, man! She’s perfect for you, you know that, right?”

Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to dodge the barrage. “I didn’t say anything, okay? It was just dinner.”

“Just dinner?!” Han threw his hands up dramatically. “Hyung, that’s like the first step to confessing! You’ve got to put the moves on her, make her see that you’re the one!”

Changbin, who’d been silently watching the exchange, finally stepped in with his trademark calm tone. “Han-ah, maybe ease up a bit. Channie hyung, listen—if you’re scared or unsure, that’s normal. But you don’t have to rush it. Just be honest. Start small. Show her you care, and when the time feels right, tell her.”

Chris looked between the two, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the pressure. Jisung was a hurricane of energy and encouragement, sure—but Changbin’s steady voice made more sense.

“I know. It’s just… hard,” Chris admitted quietly. “I don’t want to mess this up. She means too much to me.”

Han clapped him on the shoulder so hard Chris nearly stumbled. “Then stop overthinking and just go for it! We’ve got your back, hyung.”

Changbin nodded firmly. “We do. And no matter what happens, you’ve got us.”

Chris let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. With friends like these—some chaotic, some calm—maybe he wasn’t so alone in this after all.

The rest of the group was glued to the karaoke machine, belting out pop hits with that mix of enthusiasm and off-key charm only close friends could appreciate. The room was alive with laughter and music, but you had slipped away to a quieter corner with Hyunjin, Flower Girl, Jeongin, and his girlfriend.

The soft clink of glasses punctuated the hum of conversation as the girls leaned in, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“So,” Flower Girl teased, swirling her drink, “You called someone your ‘one true love’ on girl’s night. We need details. Who is he? What’s going on?”

Jeongin’s girlfriend grinned, adding, “Yeah, spill it! Any advances? Is he making moves or what?”

Hyunjin was already dramatizing the moment, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “Come on, this is a moment worthy of a drama. Does he know he’s won your heart? Has he confessed yet, or are you torturing him like the dramatic lead you are?”

You laughed softly, feeling a little warm from the wine and the company. “Maybe things have been… different lately,” you said, eyes darting around just enough to keep them guessing.

The girls exchanged knowing looks, ready to pry more, but before they could launch into another round of questions, Chan appeared.

His eyes were a little glassy, and a goofy grin spread across his face as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close with affectionate familiarity. “Hey, no leaving me alone, okay?” His voice was low, slightly slurred but full of warmth.

You leaned into his embrace, the buzz in your head settling into a calm comfort. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips.

Hyunjin gasped theatrically, clutching Flower Girl’s arm. “Well, there’s your answer, ladies! The clingy best friend has arrived!”

Jeongin rolled his eyes but grinned. “It’s about time.”

You glanced up at Chan, who was looking at you with a softness that made your heart flutter and your worries melt away, at least for the moment. Chan tightened his hold on you, but the teasing from the girls was relentless.

“Hey, Chris,” Flower Girl said with a sly smile, “You do know noona’s been calling someone her ‘one true love’ at girl’s night, right?”

Jeongin chuckled, nudging Chan’s side. “Yeah, we’re all trying to figure out who this mystery guy is. It’s like a secret mission for us.”

Chan’s smile faltered for the barest moment. His buzzed brain knew better than to get upset. He didn’t have the right to be jealous — not when you hadn’t said anything, hadn’t given him a sign. Still, a flicker of something like possessiveness tightened in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Chan said, voice a little rougher than usual but carefully calm, “I’m not worried. Whoever he is, he better be worth it.”

You caught the shadow in his eyes and squeezed his hand softly. “No one else compares.”

The girls exchanged amused glances, clearly loving the low-key tension.

Hyunjin smirked. “Aw, poor Channie hyung. So sweet, but so defeated.”

Jeongin laughed. “Don’t worry, hyung. You’re not losing noona just yet.”

Chan just shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, though inside he was quietly fighting down a storm of hope and fear — the same storm you were feeling.

The night air was cool and soft as Chan wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You walked side by side down the quiet streets, the buzz of the party fading behind you like a distant memory.

He was quieter now, the confident teasing replaced by a gentle protectiveness that made your heart flutter. You could feel his warmth, steady and reassuring, as you both navigated the dimly lit sidewalks.

At your doorstep, he hesitated, eyes searching yours like he was looking for permission without words. You leaned into him, still a little tipsy, your breath catching as he pulled you closer.

Without any grand confession, just a simple, heartfelt murmur, he whispered, “I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.”

That was all it took.

Before either of you could overthink it, his lips found yours—soft, a little shaky, but full of everything he hadn’t said aloud. You melted into the kiss, fingers threading into his hair, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you in the quiet night.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Chan rested his forehead against yours, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Goodnight,” he whispered, voice thick with feeling.

And just like that, everything changed—though neither of you quite knew it yet.

The studio was quiet, the usual hum of equipment softened by the early morning calm. You arrived early, clutching your tablet filled with notes and schedules, ready to dive into the day’s agenda. Chan was already there, leaning against the desk with his usual relaxed smile, but there was something different in his eyes today — a flicker of something unsettled.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but steady. “Can we talk about last night?”

You glanced up, offering a polite smile but immediately returning to your notes. “I’d love to, Chris, but we have the new tour timelines to finalize, and the creative direction for the lighting effects still needs your input.”

He stepped closer, hopeful. “I mean—us. What happened.”

You nodded, voice clipped but careful, “Right now, I’m focused on ensuring the choreography cues sync perfectly with the stage design. I think if we prioritize that, the rest will fall into place.”

Chan’s expression faltered, his smile tightening. “You’re dodging me.”

“Not at all.” You tapped on your tablet, scrolling. “I’m just being responsible. The boys need us to be sharp. We’ll get to personal stuff later, okay?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, eyes searching yours for a crack in the armor. When none came, he took a step back.

“Fine,” he said quietly, hurt clear in his voice. “Guess I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, leaving a silence heavier than any words. You sat there, heart pounding, guilt settling in even as you tried to bury it under the weight of your work.

You watch him walk away, your chest tight. You tell yourself it’s just about work—staying professional is the only way to keep things from spiraling out of control. But deep down, the ache is undeniable. You’ve been protecting yourself, building walls because these feelings scare you more than you want to admit. Could you handle the possibility of losing him as more than a friend?

Chan’s footsteps fade down the hall, but in his mind, the moment replays over and over.

She won’t talk to me. She’s shutting me out. The frustration twists in his gut, but underneath it all, there’s a small flame of hope. Maybe you're scared too. Maybe you just don’t know how to say what you feel.

He thinks about how carefully you always carry your heart, how you put on that strong, unbreakable front like a shield. But to him, that isn’t weakness—it’s a kind of bravery. And it makes him want to protect you even more.

I can’t give up on her—not now.

Back at your desk, you force your focus back to the glowing screen, but your mind is tangled in “what ifs.” What if you’d been softer? What if you’d let yourself be vulnerable? But the fear of crossing that line, of exposing yourself to pain, keeps you locked in your professional shell.

You take a deep breath. Tomorrow, maybe, you’ll try again.

Your inbox dings just as you wrap up your work. You open the email from Chris, expecting the usual files for the comeback lighting setup. But then you see it—a whole folder attached, titled with your name.

Curious, you click it open. Inside are dozens of raw, unpolished demos—all love songs. Written by Chris himself. Songs he’d never meant anyone to hear yet, especially not you.

Across town, Chris’s phone buzzes urgently. It’s Jisung's girlfriend, the PR manager of Stray Kids.

“Hey, Chris, quick question,” she says, trying to keep her voice professional but with a hint of amusement. “Did you mean to send some files just now? Because there’s a folder attached with—uh—noona's name on it. I was included on the email thread, so I saw it.”

Chris freezes, confusion twisting into panic. “Wait, what? I didn’t send anything like that. Which folder?”

She chuckles. “The one titled with your Creative Director’s name. That one.”

Chris’s breath hitches. His mind races. “No, no, that can’t be right. That was not supposed to go out. I—I don’t even remember attaching that.”

Chan hears Jisung's voice on the other side of the call, in full teasing mode.

“Dude! You seriously sent your secret love song folder? The one you never share with anyone?! Man, you’re so busted!”

Chris runs a hand through his hair, heart pounding in his chest.

“Yeah… I’m officially doomed.”

Chris was already halfway across the city when his phone buzzed with your message: “I’m at the studio. We need to talk.” Panic clawed at his chest, his mind spinning out of control. He couldn’t let you listen to those songs. Not like this. Not now.

When he burst into the studio, he found you there—sitting quietly in his chair, headphones on, the soft glow of the computer screen illuminating your face. One by one, the songs played, each one carrying the weight of his most hidden feelings.

His voice stumbled out, frantic and breathless. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. The kiss—me sending those songs—it was all a mistake.”

You slowly took off the headphones, your eyes shining with unshed tears, voice trembling but steady. “Was it really a mistake? Do you mean any of those things you wrote in those songs?”

Chris hesitated, heart breaking at the sight of your fragile expression, the quiet sadness that clung to you like a second skin. But instead of softening, his frustration boiled over.

“No, you’re not the one who should be sad,” he snapped, voice rising. “You still have your one true love out there, you said so yourself. You're the one who didn't want to talk about our kiss in the first place, probably because of him. You’re the one who gets to be happy with someone else after this, while I lose my best friend and the love of my life at the same time.”

His words hit like a slap. Your breath caught. Your voice cracked with fury and heartbreak as tears spilled down your cheeks. “That’s you, you absolute idiot! It’s always been you, Christopher! Ever since you snuck me food during our trainee days, I’ve been in love with you. You're the one I was talking about that night, you're my one true love.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your confession hanging between you. Chris’s eyes softened, searching yours, finally understanding just how long and how deeply this had been brewing inside you both.

Chris's breath hitched, eyes wide with disbelief and an overwhelming rush of happiness. The weight of years—of silence, of hiding—seemed to lift all at once. His heart pounded louder than ever before, as if finally free to beat without restraint.

Without thinking twice, he closed the small gap between you in one swift step. His hands reached up to cup your face gently but urgently, trembling just a little. And then, without hesitation, he pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was fierce and full of everything he’d been too scared to say—the longing, the fear, the hope, and the unshakable love that had quietly grown between you all along.

You melted into him, your hands threading through his hair, grounding him. Time blurred. The noise of the world faded away until there was only this—only the warmth of his lips, the steady beat of his heart matching yours.

Chris pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own shining with relief and something raw—vulnerability mixed with hope.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispered, voice trembling but steady. “Since those trainee days when I’d sneak you food because I didn’t want you to go hungry. Since every time I stayed up late, not just because of work, but because I was thinking about you. I was scared—scared you didn’t feel the same, scared I’d lose the best thing I’ve ever had if I said anything. But I can’t hide it anymore. You are the one I want. You’ve always been the one.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek as if memorizing your face. “You’re my person. My home. I’m done being afraid.”

His gaze never wavered as he waited, hoping you could see just how true it all was.

Love with Chris never needed an occasion.

It weaved itself into the hours between rehearsals and meetings, slipped through quiet spaces where no one was looking. It lingered in how he reached for your hand when the cameras weren’t on, how he always had a snack stashed away just in case you hadn’t eaten. It lived in stolen glances during choreography, in warm coffees passed to you before your fingers got too cold, in songs he never meant to share but somehow always found their way to you.

The music swells through the studio, crisp and thunderous beneath the harsh hum of overhead lights. It echoes with every stomp of sneakers against the polished floor, every timed breath of eight bodies moving in sync. You stand just off to the side, tablet balanced against your chest, tracking cues and transitions with practiced precision.

But there’s a warm weight pulling at the edges of your focus—something gentle, persistent, and wearing a black sleeveless tee.

Chris.

You try not to watch him. You do. But there’s something about the way his brow knits together when he’s concentrating, the way his mouth tugs into a half-smile every time he catches your eye. The way his gaze keeps sliding back to you, like he can’t help it.

You’re wearing his hoodie. That’s probably part of it.

It’s a simple thing—grey, worn-in, oversized. You’d thrown it on without thinking when the studio air turned too cold this morning, sleeves hanging long past your fingers. It smells like clean laundry and faint cologne and something undeniably Chris. And maybe that’s what’s messing with his head.

Because you notice it, too—the split-second beat he misses in the choreography, the tiny stutter in his footwork.

“Chris!” Changbin’s voice cuts through the music, sharp but amused. “You planning to look at the floor or your girlfriend the whole time?”

Chris startles, eyes widening like he forgot where he was. The rest of the boys chuckle. Seungmin shakes his head, muttering something about “heart eyes,” and Hyunjin just smirks knowingly.

Chan stumbles through the rest of the sequence, then jogs over to you when the track cuts out. He’s flushed and slightly breathless, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“I’m so sorry,” he pants, eyes flicking to the hoodie and then back to your face. “You’re—uh—distracting.”

You blink, playing innocent. “Me?”

He groans quietly, tugging on one of your sleeves. “You’re wearing my hoodie. It’s not fair. I can’t think straight.”

You grin, amused and fond all at once. “Then maybe don’t give me things if you don’t want me wearing them.”

“I want you wearing them!” he blurts, then immediately winces at himself. “I just… not during rehearsals. My brain short-circuits.”

You raise a brow. “You’re blaming your dancing mistakes on me?”

He shrugs sheepishly, eyes crinkling. “Maybe. But only because I keep looking at you and thinking she’s in my clothes. Like, mine. It does something to me.”

You don’t say anything—you just hold his gaze a second longer than necessary. His cheeks flush again.

Then, before he runs back, he leans in with a quick, stolen whisper: “You can keep it, by the way.” Your heart stumbles the tiniest bit, just like his feet had.

The green room feels quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that settles after a long day but before the next begins. You slip in first, the sound of your coffee lid popping open the only interruption. There’s a warm hum of laughter somewhere down the hallway—Jeongin and Han, probably still arguing about something ridiculous—but in here, it’s calm.

You curl up on the far couch, tucking your legs beneath you, fingers wrapped around the paper cup.

You barely get a sip in before you feel it—the slight dip of the cushion behind you, the warm presence you’ve come to know instinctively. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just settles in, letting his knee brush yours, letting his arm stretch out behind you on the couch like he has every right to it.

Then his voice, soft and scratchy from overuse: “Hey.”

You glance at him sideways. “Hey.”

He tilts his head, eyes drifting to your cup. “Is that your first one today?”

You sigh. “Second.”

He hums thoughtfully, unconvinced. “Did you eat anything?”

You give him a pointed look. “Chris.”

“I’m just asking,” he says, lips curving. “I worry.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“No,” he agrees, inching closer. “I’m your boyfriend. That gives me, like, triple the authority.”

You roll your eyes, but the affection in your chest blooms anyway, soft and steady. Especially when he leans his head gently onto your shoulder, nestling into the crook of your neck like he’s found his home there.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs. “Soft. Sleepy. In my hoodie.”

“You really like this hoodie, huh?”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you. “I love it on you. You have no idea. It’s unfair.”

From the hallway, Jeongin’s voice rings out, sharp with mock jealousy. “Hyung! Share! She’s gonna forget the rest of us exist!”

Chan doesn’t even flinch. He wraps his arms around your waist and replies casually, “That’s the plan.”

You laugh, warmth unfurling through your ribs, and let yourself fall back against his chest.

It’s one of those rare moments where the day slows down enough for it to feel almost like a secret. The studio lights are dimmed, the hum of activity dulled to a background hush, and Chris stands by the console with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You walk in expecting a conversation about deadlines.

You get a boy holding out his tablet like it contains treasure.

“I wrote something,” he says, barely able to hide the eagerness in his voice. “I wanted you to hear it first.”

You narrow your eyes in amusement. “Another love song?”

His smile falters—just a little. “Yeah. I guess I can’t stop.”

You take the tablet from him, earbuds already offered. “I feel like I’ve become your muse or something.”

He watches you closely as you press play. The melody is soft, gentle, like a heartbeat in lullaby form. And the lyrics—full of quiet longing and the kind of devotion that feels built over years.

When the song ends, you take the earbuds out slowly.

Chris is still watching you.

“I don’t even know when it started,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But now it’s like… every chord, every verse… they all sound like you.”

Before you can reply, the door creaks open and Hyunjin walks in dramatically, tossing his hair like he’s entering a stage. Jeongin follows, mid-laugh.

“What are we listening to?” Hyunjin asks, already grinning. “Another ballad? Another ‘I love you more than air’ moment?”

Chris glares. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” Jeongin smirks. “We’re just saying, maybe spare us the next eight-song EP titled ‘My Girlfriend’s Smile, Vol. 1’.”

You snort, unable to help it. Chris groans.

But then—he turns to you, all jokes aside, and says quietly, “If I’m gonna flood the studio with songs, they might as well be about the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The boys both groan.

You, on the other hand, are already replaying the melody in your head, heart swelling with every beat.

Love that grows from friendship is the quietest kind.

Sometimes, it’s years in the making. Years of inside jokes, of shared playlists, of standing at the edge of each other’s dreams—not to take credit, but to make sure the other doesn’t fall.

That’s how it was with you and Bang Chan.

You learned the language of his silences, the softness behind his steady hands. And he learned to trust the steady rhythm of your presence—the kind of comfort that doesn’t need words to be felt.

No grand declarations, no fireworks—just the steady warmth of two souls intertwined, quietly daring to be seen, quietly daring to belong.

And in that quiet, you found a love so true it's unnecessary to shout from rooftops.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff

214 notes · View notes

fckmyylife · 12 days ago

Text

unspoken rules | 9

(Itoshi Sae x female reader)

Switching from one job to another as a maid wasn't easy due to your multiple bad experiences with previous employers. Somehow, you had landed a job as the maid for Itoshi Sae, a famous footballer. He was more present at his estate in Japan, as he was back home to train for an upcoming match, meaning he needed someone to take care of things whilst he was busy. You kept things in order as best as you could, mostly out of fear of his intimidating presence and incase he'd let you go, leaving you with no employment and nowhere to live. But as a few mishaps occur here and there, you're convinced Sae despises you even more - yet does not fire you, for some reason.

• angst, maid, reader has no friends or family, intimidation, hurt/comfort, shy reader, Itoshi Sae is bad at feelings. inspired by this story!

Warning: implied/referenced past sexual harrassment, reader has no friends or family.

!! DO NOT MAKE AI BOTS OF MY FIC !!

previous | masterlist | read on ao3 | taglist + rules

comments, likes & reblogs are appreciated!

"My schedule over the next two weeks is changing," he began, pausing. He wasted no time, did he?

"I am going back to Madrid."

Your head turned. Sae faced the road with an unchanged expression.

Back to...Madrid?

Every now and then, you wondered when Sae would go, but you pushed the thought of your mind. It was inevitable he wouldn't stay here forever, not when he wasn't a fan of Japanese football.

For some reason, you didn’t expect it to be this soon. You had only worked for him for a few months. Was it something you had to conclude yourself, even though the application and interview said the job was a permanent role?

You swallowed, attempting to make your voice even. "In two weeks?"

"No. I have to go over for a few weeks to sort things. I'll come back to Japan afterwards to finalise it," he answered.

He most likely would not dwindle here after two weeks, when he came back to Japan. Knowing him, he wouldn’t need to pack his things and had separate clothes in Spain.

That left you with no time at all.

You placed a hand on top of the other to stop them from shaking.

You’d need to search and apply for jobs immediately, even tonight, as soon as you got home. At least your previous employers gave you a month’s notice, as bad as they were.

A two week’s notice, when Sae would be in Madrid, was not enough time to find another job. You deemed it to be two weeks since you had no idea how long he’d be back in Japan for, before he fully moved back to Spain.

There were times you had to stay at a hotel or hostel, because you didn’t start another job early enough. It was only for a few days, and at least you already had another job. Sae paid you well, but you couldn’t blow your small amount of savings on hotels.

You weren't sure what you were saving for. A rainy day, or to afford rent for a room one day - maybe it would make things easier for you in the future.

Stuck in your thoughts, you forgot to reply to Sae and fell into silence as he drove.

You broke out of your daze when Sae stopped the car. Blinking, you realised you were outside the small ramen restaurant he took you to before. He wasn’t kidding when he told Aiku he already had dinner plans.

You didn’t have much of an appetite anymore when anxiety took over your body, but you attempted to get something down or you’d regret being hungry later.

You both ate in silence, in the same booth as last time. And like before, it was not busy.

Last time, short conversation lingered between the two of you. Sae asked you a personal question that time about where you went between jobs. You told him you didn’t have a home.

You stole a glance at him, that lasted longer than the split-second you planned for it to be.

Magenta hair was dark red and damp from being washed in the stadium's locker rooms. Barely noticeable tired, teal eyes and long, separated eyelashes that looked down. Lips that naturally rested in almost a frown.

Was it one of the last times you’d look at him?

The match felt like it was never going to come, as well as your dismissal from the job. Yet they both happened quickly today.

It was a pipe dream to work in his mansion and estate, with a nice room of your own, and the freedom to work at your own pace, with no creepy or demanding boss. It seemed idealistic, but for a few months, it was your reality.

You grew attached, when Sae didn’t speak to you or even know you at all. He intimidated you more than any of your former employers, but he was strikingly different from them all.

You shouldn’t have gotten used to his small amount of respect, that seeemed like the bare minimum. But it felt like he didn’t show that side of him to anyone. Like the moon hiding behind clouds, he showed you a glimpse of him, yet nothing at all.

Deep down, you knew he'd get rid of you eventually. His purpose here was done and a nobody like you would never be a part of it.

You struggled to sleep for the next few nights. Anxiety kept you up into the early morning, with never-ending fears of being homeless and jobless in the next two weeks.

You applied for similar maid or housekeepings jobs, but as usual, there were not many looking for new people. Not to mention, locations where interviews would be held were far. Hopefully, you could get a bus or train there if they shortlisted you in time.

If that happened, maybe the selection process would not take long. if you were chosen, you could leave Sae’s estate on time and somewhere else to work again.

Your plans to meet with Rin could fall through too. It was far from ideal. Rin seemed up for talking to you - for some reason - and you were afraid to not keep your promise and make him not want to open up again. But if Sae was not even your boss anymore, it wasn't any of your business.

Then again, was it ever your business in the first place?

You probably wouldn't be able to meet Rin at Sae's house, but you hoped he would be okay with meeting elsewhere. And if your new job, that you also hoped to get, would allow it.

Nothing was set in stone.

You weren't blaming Sae. You hadn't seen much of him since the match a few days ago, aside from serving him meals. But again, as it got closer and closer to the match, you barely saw him too.

Maybe it was his way of foreshadowing your redundancy.

Were you a fool the entire time?

In the evening, a few hours after dinner, you mindlessly scrubbed a pan that was already clean and clear. Your racing thoughts and running water were loud enough that you didn’t hear Sae approach behind the kitchen counter.

"Are you busy?"

You jolted at his deep voice. Being on edge, ever since you were younger, subdued your mind and body full of tension.

He brought you back to reality, when you realised the pan was squeaky clean and you were scrubbing it with soap for no reason. You shut the water off, turning to see him in pyjamas - a set of matching striped dark blue trousers and a button-up shirt. Even in sweats or pyjamas, he looked lavish and cozy at the same time.

You shook your head, glancing at the floor next to him. You didn't particularly always look into his eyes, but you would have probably bursted into tears if you did today. "No, sir. Would you like help?"

What if he'd kick you out now?

"I need to retrieve some books," he informed.

You held in the breath of relief, as his answer completely opposed your fearful conscience. "Yes, sir."

You followed behind him up the stairs to the library. Aside from that day he made you clean it as your punishment, where you broke the china cup, you had yet to use the room. Even with his permission, it still felt wrong to freely roam around a house that wasn't yours. What if he walked in on you idling around the place and doing no work?

In the dimly lit library, he pulled out a ladder between shelves, on the first floor. You guessed he wanted you to climb it. "There are books on the top."

You nodded and held onto the ladder, stepping up to the top. The ladder wobbled as you did, but all ladders did that with any weight on it. The sound of metal clanking stopped when you reached the top step. Your legs tingled, but you weren't as scared remembering it wasn't as high as it could be, since the library was split into two floors.

Sae told you the first title, A Study of Skill Development in Modern Football and the author. You skimmed through the author's surnames, fingertips brushing book spines as you tried to find it quickly. Most books had creases in their spines, even if they were just small ones. How many had he read? Or were they second-hand?

Who even organised the library? Sae? Even books on top of the shelves were perfectly in alphabetical order.

You found the first book, holding it behind you to hand out to him.

As different authors' last names altered between the alphabet, you carefully stretched your arm or stepped down and moved the ladder to where the letters were.

"Is this right?" you asked, handing him the sixth book.

He gave a nod, retrieving it from you. The light feather of his fingertips brushed against your hand as he took the book.

You glanced down at your hands, but the split-second touch was out of view by the time you did.

He must have not felt it.

"You can find books for yourself too," he suggested, setting the pile of books down on the table behind him.

For...yourself?

For what?

To read now, while he went to Spain and before you had to leave?

You didn't mean for the long pause. He glanced up at you.

You turned back to the burgundy bookcases in front of you, avoiding his eyes. "It's...it's okay."

"Have you began to pack?" he asked, almost abruptly.

He wanted you to go that badly?

Just when did he want you to leave, before he went to Madrid?

"Not yet," you replied. You lightly cleared your throat. "When...are you going to Spain, if I may ask?"

"In a few days."

You let out a small breath at his answer, unable to stop yourself from adding, "When would you like me to leave?"

"The flight should be around 8pm tomorrow, so before then," he informed.

Tomorrow?!

It was the evening now. Not to mention, it got dark around 5:30pm. So, that meant you had no time until tomorrow and you had nothing.

Only a few days had passed since the match against Blue Lock, where he told you he would go back to Madrid for two weeks. You only applied for jobs, but no interviews were confirmed. You stupidly thought he'd give you the two weeks he was gone, but no, he wanted you out of here before he went, before 8pm tomorrow.

Despite how much he had done for you, and despite your job, you were a stranger in his home. You would no longer be his housekeeper. Of course, he wouldn't trust you to be here alone whilst he was on the other side of the planet.

Whichever country he was in, you and Sae were in different worlds. A pro-footballer like him would never trust someone like you.

You didn't know why you assumed he'd be slightly lenient.

It was kind of him to buy you a new phone, a coat, and three dresses, but maybe he did it because he was fed up of how you had nothing.

It wasn't like you were about to argue and have him kick you out tonight instead.

"Yes, sir," you whispered.

"We should aim to get out of the house by six," he added.

Wait.

"We?" you couldn't help but question. He must have accidentally said it.

"To the airport."

What?

The ladder wobbled for only a second.

CRASH!

Your feet, that you didn't realise were on the edge of the ladder, slipped and you roughly landed on top of Sae.

Sae hit the ground with the impact of your body falling on him. You both fell with a light groan.

Instinctively and quickly, Sae's arms wrapped around your upper back and pushed you close into his chest, before flipping you both around. Warmth of his touch and embrace filled your body, while the cold floor hit your back, when you realised he was on top of you now.

He hovered over you and you heard the clank. The large ladder landed on his back. He mostly caught it with one arm, pushed it away and onto the floor beside you both, so the entire thing didn't crush him, but he partly got hit.

The impact was hard, but the ladder itself was light. He didn't flinch or even wince, but you gasped, eyes widening.

"Sir..." you began in a whisper, not knowing what to even say.

As if this entire thing couldn't get worse.

You were such an idiot. Why would you let such simple words shock you to the point where you were distracted on the ladder?

You should have stepped off of it as soon as Sae started conversing with you.

Instead, Sae felt a double impact with you falling onto him and making him thud to the floor, and turning you both over so the ladder would hit him, not you.

Why would he protect you?

His teal eyes searched between yours, a wave of what seemed like concern washing over his face. "Are you alright?"

"No, I..." you started, your breath quickening. You forced yourself not to cry, to not even allow tears to fog up your vision. You wouldn't let yourself cry for the second time in the library, not when you didn't have the right, since he was the one that was hurt. "I'm so sorry, sir. I'm really sorry, sir. Are you okay?"

His hands on your upper arms were both keeping and losing your sanity at once.

He let out a breath. "Why are you apologising?"

"I fell on you and then the ladder..." you trailed off. You weren't about to relay what just happened to him. "I really didn't mean for that to happen. I should have been careful."

"It doesn't hurt," he spoke, simply.

Time stopped as he was still over you. You thought you couldn’t get closer to him than the time at the charity fundraiser, when you tripped and he steadied you. There was no getting away from him here.

This time, his large, tall, muscular body hovered over you. His hands that were on your upper arms, moved to rest on the floor on either side of you instead, yet you were still trapped.

The musk scent of his aftershave made you both drunk and alert, causing your eyelashes to flutter. Oxygen was running out and all you could breathe in was him. Your lips parted for air and you swore his eyes flickered to them for a second.

Dim lighting of the library accentuated the contours from his long bottom eyelashes dark, but your eye bags must have been deeper from your lack of sleep these past few nights.

His head ducked for a moment, breaking out of his own stare and glancing at the situation below him - your body underneath his.

With one push, he stood from the floor, and you, and got to his feet. Your eyes were wide at what just happened, and shocked at how he got up so quickly.

You sat up yourself, staring at the fallen ladder on the floor. Turning back, you almost jolted at the hand reaching out above you.

Glancing up, Sae expectantly held his hand out in front of you.

After all that, he was...helping you up?

You took his hand and your weight was nothing under just one of his strong arms that did all the work to pull you from the ground.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

You should be asking him the same question, but he said it didn't hurt. With how his face did not even flinch or change at the sudden impacts of you and the ladder, you believed him.

You shook your head. "No, um…I'm really sorry."

"What did I tell you about apologising?" he asked, with a slight sigh. "That ladder is old."

You nodded, glancing down.

You didn't know if the inanimate objects could always be blamed. The china cup you broke was apparently old and something Sae didn't even care about, and now the ladder was also old. Those things may be true, but didn't you deserve the blame too?

You let your fears and anxieties of your future employment, or lack thereof, affect you to the point of being distracted at the top of a ladder. It only took Sae's words to get you to slip off and fall on top of him.

Something about an airport...

Right. He said we should aim to get out of the house by six. And when you questioned his use of pronoun, he didn't seem to notice himself and responded about the airport.

It sounded like you were both going to go together, that's why you were shocked.

Sae never made mistakes, not when he spoke.

"Do you not wish to go?" he asked, as if it were nothing. "To accompany me in Madrid."

Your eyebrows rose.

Accompany him?

That was what he was talking about?

After days of worrying about interviews and new jobs, somehow this was scarier.

Why?

You had no idea how you'd accompany him in a country he knows way more about than you. Also, you wouldn't expect him to bring along someone as insignificant as you. You were his maid, not his manager. Wouldn't Mr. Dabadie be better suited for this?

You'd never even been outside of the city, let alone to the other side of the world.

What would Sae need to do in Madrid, if he requested you to accompany him?

Going with him to Madrid was still technically your job, right? If your boss was the one requesting it. But that gave you less time to apply to other jobs.

After all, he would still be moving back to Madrid after he arranged what he needed in both countries - Spain and Japan. It wasn't like he was taking you to Madrid to move there forever.

How much time would you have to find a new job, before he left Japan entirely?

Two weeks in Madrid was still another way for you to earn more money, surely. Because there was no way Sae was tolerating you enough for this to be a trip and nothing else.

Perhaps it was better to go, than leave the estate as a whole when he went for two weeks and struggle by yourself.

You'd struggle regardless.

You weren't sure if that was enough justification, but you also wouldn't voice your confusion or concerns to Sae.

"No, I...I would love to," you responded. "Tomorrow?"

"Make sure your things are packed. Do you still have your passport?" he asked, tone devoid of emotion as usual, unlike how he sounded moments ago when he was on top of you. You nodded; you used your passport for Mr. Dabadie to check your ID in the job interview. "Good. Don't bother working tomorrow."

You considered how insane everything was, over and over again.

Days of worrying how you’d be jobless and homeless, which was still entirely possible. Falling on Sae and him protecting you from the ladder hitting you. Him inviting you to accompany him in Madrid.

Now, the surrealism was coming true.

Packing took you less than fifteen minutes. It was probably ideal to have as little as possible for travelling, even if your lack of things was embarrassing. You had nothing appropriate for warm weather in Madrid, only a few t-shirts and thin sweaters.

Maybe there wouldn’t be an occasion for it, but you took one of the dresses he bought you - the baby pink one you hadn’t worn. It was casual, but still put together.

You did go back today and select a few books, mostly staying away from the area and bottom floor of the library to not relive the moment from yesterday. You didn't know what was worse, falling on Sae or crying in front of him the other time.

You didn’t work like Sae had instructed you to, before the flight. You hadn’t seen him the entire day either, maybe he was resting himself.

Soon enough, 6pm rolled around, and you and Sae headed out to the airport. He drove his own car, stating that someone else would pick it up from the airport for him.

The drive, with the lack of traffic, took around half an hour to forty minutes. The sky got darker as you neared the airport. Airport lights, lampposts and vehicle lights highlighted the sheer amount of people coming into view.

You had never been in an airport before, let alone a plane, but you were excited for some reason.

As Sae drove past the building and to the parking area, you caught a glimpse of the bright lights illuminating the place and groups of people lingering around.

He effortlessly parked, as usual. It always looked attractive when he turned the wheel with one hand and slightly glanced at the different mirrors as he reversed.

Were you crazy?

Finding him attractive whilst parking was not right!

You both got out of the car and he retrieved his bag from the backseat. He didn't have a suitcase, only a carry-on like you - which must have proved your theory that he didn't need to pack his clothes and had separate clothes in Madrid.

He pulled out black fabric and put it on his face, hooking it over his ears - a mask.

Was it because of the crowd?

It made sense. The airport was not quite the same as going out in public. Crowds of people were in one place for a long time at an airport, so there was more of a chance of being recognised. You doubted Sae would be mobbed or anything extreme, but he probably wanted privacy before the journey,

He held out his hand to you after he locked the car.

You stared at it, confused.

"I'll take it," he spoke, gesturing to your bag on your shoulder.

You blinked rapidly.

Right, the bag.

You shook your head lightly. It wasn't fair to make him do that, when your bag wasn't even heavy. Why would he even offer, when you were his staff? Maybe you should have offered to carry his? "It's alright, sir. Thank you."

He left it and you both headed towards the entrance, following various people.

The airport was just like the movies. Busy, big and bustling. Yet, unlike other busy parts of life, like a city of salarymen going to work, it was humane.

From what you could see at the entrance, people napped on uncomfortable metal seats, or even slept on the floor and leaned against their luggage. No one gave a second glance.

"You still have your passport?" Sae asked and you nodded.

Sae checked in online before you both stepped to the security checkpoint, where Sae lowered his mask for ID verification. They verified you before letting you proceed to the main area of the terminal.

You found out that the flight was nineteen hours, with a layover in Istanbul. How on earth did Sae do it? And recovering from jet lag, you heard that was a pain.

It would have been hard to get used to, if he didn’t fly back and forth often. Then again, Sae seemed superhuman sometimes.

Either way, you didn't mind. You were excited to fly, though you would probably be asleep for the majority of it until the layover.

The two weeks you'd spend in Spain with your boss was not the focal point of your mind at the moment, it was another thing to push out. Because if you began wondering about what on earth you would do for two weeks and alone with Sae, before you even boarded the plane, you would probably spiral.

You'd worry when you got there. For now, you just wanted to be up in the clouds, even if it was too dark. In the evening, as the sky threatened to erase the various shapes of clouds, the moon accentuated them instead, just for a moment. To be up in the sky and watch out of the window as the plane felt more surreal than the actual trip, but you'd have to see.

You walked side by side through the terminal, hoping he didn't find it annoying. It was such a large place, with many people and places at that - and your first time here. Definitely far too large and busy to go wonder off by yourself.

The two of you had mostly been silent the entire time, on the way to the airport and now walking through the airport, only talking when it was needed. You would probably be sat in silence on the plane and you were glad; you did not want to be reminded of yesterday's events, despite how they replayed in your mind like a broken record.

You took in the rows of expensive, high-end stores that seemed never-ending. Why anyone would want or need to buy a luxury purse before a flight was beyond you, but perhaps the stores profited off of people's boredom as they waited to board their flights.

The marble floor below your feet shined enough for you to see the reflection of your shoes, despite all of the people walking on it.

You wondered if any of the strangers were in a similar situation to you. Taking a flight that felt like a way for them to avoid their problems, but when they got home from their vacation, things would get worse.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” he spoke, making you realise he had walked you near the toilets. You nodded and he left his bag on a table next to you.

Gnawing guilt and doubt ate at the back of your mind. Sae had paid for the flights. Maybe you could talk to him about deducting some money from your salary for this trip, if he was already paying you extra for accompanying him.

You also doubted if you were even worthy for this trip. Yesterday, you hadn't just embarrassed yourself, but you risked injuring him when you landed on him and when he protected you fromt he ladder.

You probably seemed incompetant and foolish. You didn't want him to think you were taking advantage of his kindness, only for you to treat him badly.

Not to mention, you were uneducated. You didn't know much outside of your job, or the things you read in books, so you weren't sure you were the best person to accompany Sae to the country he mostly grew up in.

You'd need to thank him and approach the topic later on, somehow.

You both only had to wait for just over an hour for your flight and it luckily was not delayed. He took you to a lounge for people with business class flights or high-tier flights to wait.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t consider the type of flight. You were more thinking about flying, rather than where you would be sat. Business class was insanely expensive, especially for two people.

Even more to deduct from your pay, but you didn't mind. If that would be a way to give back to Sae, after everything he had done for you, than so be it. You'd struggle when you'd come back from Madrid either way, money or not.

The plane, or business class, was organised by a two-three-two configuration. Sae led you to your seats; two dark grey seats, on the left side with a window and towards the middle of the plane. Each seat had a large blue pillow on it, as well as a screen on the back of the seat in front, for watching films or tracking the flight. There was a great amount of space and leg room.

Sae stood and waited for you to go into the window seat. You glanced at him, as if to internally ask if he was sure.

He gestured. "Sit down."

"Thank you." You nodded, sitting down with your bag. The chair was comfortable, soft and firm at the same time, as was the pillow. You didn't want to cause up a fuss when other passengers were boarding, plus, you also did want to see out of the window.

"Do you need your bag now?" he asked and you shook your head. He put his own bag on the overhead bins at the top, towards the ceiling of the plane, before holding his hand out.

You gave him your bag. "Thank you, sir."

You were already feeling like a broken record, but you'd be saying that a lot on this trip.

You were feeling it now. Not so much the nerves of flying, but the fact you were even here and next to Sae at that. You felt out of place and probably looked it too.

You weren't sure how you'd feel once you actually got to Madrid.

What a strange time to be living in. You still didn't know the status of your job and how screwed you'd be when you got back from Madrid, which was an underlying anxiety, but for two weeks, you hopefully wouldn't need to worry.

Were you doing the right thing, by avoiding your problems like this?

You'd still keep a look out for any employers getting back to you about interviews, or even other jobs to apply to, if you got a chance to do so in Madrid. Maybe you could ask them to rearrange for an interview when you got back, if it were willing.

Sae may get you to work at your own pace in Madrid too. If that was the case, you'd have a moment to look at other jobs.

After a short while and after all passengers had settled, the plane prepared to take off. There was barely any on this flight, even less passengers in the economy class. They dimmed the lights, considering it was the evening, but not late enough that most people went to sleep. You saw other passengers already roll up an electric barrier between the seats, before looking down betweens yours and Sae's seat, seeing the button to raise it.

Sae could do it whenever he wanted to, but you made sure not to even accidentally lean on it.

SAE'S POV

Sae took off his mask before they boarded the plane, but now he pulled out his sleeping mask. This was usually a clear meaning not to bother him, even if he wasn't tired.

He lifted his head to put the mask over his eyes, until he saw your silhouette in his peripheral lean in towards the window.

For a moment, he thought you were afraid.

Imagine. He pressured you to come to Madrid with him, which probably explained your shock the day before, when you were scared of flying the entire time.

Could you not just tell him you were scared? He wasn't that unapproachable.

Until, the ghost of a smile lifted the corners of your lips, watching in awe. The plane lifted from the ground, distancing from the airport until you could see the top of the building. Eventually, it was a dot of many others below the sky.

He watched with precision, as though you were the window and he was in awe of you instead.

"Have you been on a plane before?" Sae couldn't help but blurt out, though his voice sounded like an intrusion.

Your smile fell slightly, even though it was barely there in the first place.

Was he that unlikeable?

You turned to Sae, smile replaced with a usual nervous expression. Sae retracted back in his seat as you did. You couldn't see him peering at you, like a creep.

You shook your head, with a swallow. "No, sir."

You always looked nervous. Was it him, or did you just feel on edge most of the time?

Maybe you were on edge because you were pretty much going on vacation with your boss.

And Sae still didn't know why.

He didn't have that much to do in Madrid for two weeks, just sign a few contracts. Hell, two weeks was probably too long, if he'd go back to Japan for a few days before going back over to Madrid forever.

That was what he decided, right?

Maybe he was just trying to stall time with you. Especially since he had no idea what to do when he would go back for good.

Would you want to stay? Or go back to Japan?

Even if you told him you didn't have a home. Did you not have a family either? If you did, it didn't seem like you were on good terms. But you still lived and worked in Japan, home or not. Why would you want to work in a totally different country for him?

Doing what exactly, too? He had already ran out of things for you to do in his Japan estate and he assumed you probably felt that way too.

The first day you arrived, when he came back from training and mistakenly with Shidou, you looked like that too. Avoiding eye contact and being as formal as possible.

Sae was satisfied with your detachment at first, until he felt the need to get closer, even though he was rude to you.

Some called it rudeness, others said it was just the way he was. Either he barely spoke, or insults sprung out of his mouth like it was carbon dioxide. It was natural.

People both feared him and knew he was right, which was why no one argued. Or if they did, it didn't work. Aiku, for example, tried inexplicably hard to come across as unbothered. In reality, he covered up what he lacked in football skill with the wit that came out of his mouth.

Sae, on the other hand, wasn't a personality hire.

You feared him, you didn't argue, but you also didn't seem to have a problem with it.

He wasn't upsetting you in order to make you retaliate, that was just bullying. Although, he could admit, in his head at least, that he had made mistakes when it came to you. And Sae never made mistakes.

He didn't respond, glancing away.

Right. He hadn't considered you hadn't flown before.

To be honest, he hadn't assumed anything, about whether you had or hadn't before. And perhaps that was a problem, that he didn't care to assume and instead just wanted needed you to come to Madrid with him, for a reason that was unknown to him.

It made sense, given your amazement. He couldn't say he ever had that reaction the first time he went on a plane as a little boy, and especially not when his parents had shipped him off to Madrid all by himself where he had nothing but the window to lean on.

He pulled his black sleeping mask over his eyes, leaning back in his seat. The plane was nicely quiet, which was partly due to the dimmed lights and lack of passengers in business class.

After about an hour of sitting in silence, head resting against the perfectly reclined seat and listening to your gentle breathing instead of his headphones, he heard the flight attendant come over.

"Can I offer any refreshments?" she asked. Sae heard glasses placed in front of you, with what he assumed was water. "Tea, coffee, juice, soft drinks, alcoholic beverages?"

"Can I have…" the gentle voice beside him paused. "Two black teas, please."

You must have known Sae was awake, if you ordered two. You didn't need to. Either way, he didn't mind drinking it cold if he actually did fall asleep.

"Sir?" you whispered, after the flight attendant left.

Was it that obvious he was awake?

"Speak," he said and almost winced behind the mask, which he never did. It was difficult to calm down the boss attitude. There was no one on this planet he spoke to on a normal level, not anymore, at least.

He let out a small breath and took off his sleeping mask, feeling ridiculous if he had a conversation with you like this.

He needed to see your face.

Blinking to adjust to the dim light and rid of the bluriness, he waited for you to speak.

"Sorry for bothering you," you began, and he resisted clicking his tongue.

You foolish girl, you could never bother me.

"I just…wanted to say thank you," you spoke, hesitantly. "For…bringing me here."

For bringing you on a plane?

"I've never experienced something like this before, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity. I'm…really grateful, sir."

He couldn't say he had ever met anyone as thankful as you before.

Whatever the fluttering in his heart was, he'd need to get it checked out. He had been feeling it a lot lately.

He only had more to show you, beyond a plane. The world, even.

He blinked hard, hoping his brain would free away such thoughts. The airplane air made him delirious. He did forget to turn on his humidifier before coming to the airport, that too.

"It's nothing. Wait till Madrid."

He was right. The plane was nothing compared to Madrid. This wasn't even the best airline for a business class flight, but it was the shortest flight of them all from Tokyo to Madrid - being nineteen hours.

You gave a nod, facing your screen that you hadn't turned on yet.

He opened his mouth, about to speak again until the flight attendant returned with the two mugs of tea. She placed them in front of the two of you.

"Oh, please drink this, sir," you spoke, gesturing your hand to the tea.

He reached out and took a sip, but the taste was unusual on his tongue. It even tasted odd when he trained at the JFU and drank tea from there during his break. He stopped drinking it from there after one or two times, waiting until he got home to have tea instead.

It didn't taste like the freshly brewed, steaming tea that you left for him in the morning before he went to training. It was extra hot, the way he liked it.

You didn't need to make it on time, but you did.

Probably because it was your job. But who was he kidding? It wasn't like you were going to work over in Madrid.

In fact, he didn't know what you were going to do. Not that you needed to do anything, but he didn't have a reasoning for you to be there.

None of the excuses in his head worked. He couldn't say he needed you to look after his house in Madrid, because that was ridiculous.

He trusted you to stay alone in his estate in Japan, but he didn't want you to.

He didn't want you to be alone, in his house that you were employed to work in and clean.

You weren't contracted to work at his home in Madrid, but you also weren't contracted to come to Madrid either.

Would you even want to spend time with your boss?

He knew he hadn't been around lately, spending extra time training and resting. Then again, was he even there often in Japan?

Perhaps you felt alone, unless you felt comfortable in your own company. That was how he was too.

Was it a power imbalance? Was it unprofessional?

Probably.

But the thought of you being alone made him want to take you away forever.

#blue lock #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #angst #sae itoshi #x reader #female reader #x you #blue lock angst

137 notes · View notes