#weak hero class 1 x reader

[slaybinnie]

Weak Hero Class boys when: you ask for a photo of them ──★˙🍓̟!!

SMAU (social media au)

gender neutral reader!

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 warnings: fluff & like 2 dirty jokes

★ Sieun

★ Suho

★ Baku

★ Gotak

★ Juntae

★ Seongje

★ Baekjin

[c4shm0neyxxx]

Glass Cage: part 12, “The Knife and the Name”

⸻

Geum Seong-je x Reader | vengeance realized, raw obsession, maternal fire, dark twist

⸻

Rain fell the night you finally moved.

Not a soft drizzle. Not a gentle storm.

The kind of rain that drowned sound. The kind that hid sins.

You stood in your bedroom, the knife on the bed. Beside it — the photo of him and your daughter.

You traced their faces with your fingertips before sliding the picture into your pocket.

⸻

Ji-won’s house sat at the end of a long, winding road. A nice place. Quiet.

Too quiet for the man who tore your family apart.

You parked two streets over. Walked in the dark. The knife felt heavy in your coat pocket, but your hand didn’t shake.

You weren’t scared.

You were focused.

⸻

The porch light was off.

You knew his patterns. His shifts. His grocery runs. You’d memorized his life in the weeks of planning.

Tonight, he was home. Alone.

You stepped onto the porch, water dripping off your hair. Your breath came out steady.

You knocked once.

⸻

The door opened a crack.

And there he was. Ji-won.

Older. Tired. Eyes widening the second he saw you.

“…Y/N?”

You smiled softly.

“Hi, Ji-won.”

And then the knife was at his throat.

⸻

You pushed him inside before he could yell.

The door slammed. Rain pounding outside.

“You ruined my life,” you whispered. Your voice wasn’t shaking. It was too calm.

“I—I was trying to save you—”

“Save me?” you laughed, but it was hollow. “You brought the wolves to my door. You took him away from me. You made my daughter grow up without her father.”

“He kidnapped you—”

“He loved me,” you snapped, pressing the blade harder to his skin.

His eyes darted to the knife.

“You don’t want to do this.”

You leaned closer, your breath hot against his ear.

“You have no idea what I want.”

⸻

And then — the twist.

His hand twitched. Not to fight. But to reach.

Slowly, he slid a folded piece of paper from his pocket and let it drop to the floor between you.

“I was going to find you,” he whispered. “Not to hurt you. To help you.”

“You’re lying.”

“They moved him last week. Higher security. But I… I know where.”

You froze.

Your grip on the knife trembled for the first time.

“Why would you tell me that?”

His voice was low.

“Because I’ve been dreaming of making it right for three years. And you just gave me the reason to finally do it.”

⸻

The rain grew louder.

You stared at him. At the paper between you. At the blade hovering over his throat.

And for the first time in years… you had a choice.

Kill the man who broke you.

Or use him to burn the world down and take back what was yours.

—-

Ji-won’s voice was shaking.

Not because of the knife at his throat.

But because of what he was about to say.

“It was never about you.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Seong-je. He wasn’t supposed to walk free. He wasn’t supposed to stay hidden that long. They didn’t care who he was with. You were collateral. They’ve been watching you. Every. Single. Day.”

Your chest tightened, but you kept the blade pressed to his skin.

“You’re lying.”

“Go home. Look at the trees behind your house. Tell me you don’t see the cameras. Look at the stores you go to. They know what brand of milk your daughter drinks. They know the sound of your car when you pull into the driveway.”

Your grip on the knife faltered for half a second.

“Why are you telling me this?”

His eyes burned.

“Because you’re not safe. And because… I couldn’t live with it anymore.”

⸻

For a moment, the storm outside felt quieter.

You could hear your own heartbeat.

And then, somewhere between rage and grief, you stopped thinking.

Your hand moved on instinct.

A single, sharp motion.

The blade sank into his chest.

Ji-won’s eyes went wide. A sound — half breath, half shock — slipped from his mouth as his knees hit the floor.

You caught him as he fell, whispering into his ear:

“Then they’ll never see me coming.”

When the light left his eyes, the rain finally drowned everything else out.

⸻

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t even breathe heavy.

You moved.

Fast. Clean.

You wiped everything you touched. Left no prints. Took the paper he dropped and shoved it deep into your coat pocket.

You walked out into the storm and didn’t look back.

⸻

By the time you reached home, your daughter was still asleep at your best friend’s.

You stood in the living room, dripping rainwater, staring at the knife in your hand.

You should’ve felt guilt. Horror. Something.

But all you felt was a strange, steady calm.

The kind that comes right before the world burns.

⸻

Later, you unfolded the paper Ji-won had given you.

An address. Coordinates. A schedule.

A name you didn’t recognize at the bottom of the page.

You read it once. Twice. Until the letters burned into your mind.

“You wanted a war,” you whispered to no one. “Now you’ve got one.”

You cleaned the blade. Put it back in the drawer beside your bed.

Kissed your daughter goodnight when you picked her up.

And for the first time in months, when she asked where her daddy was, you didn’t hesitate:

“Mama’s bringing him home soon.”

[muntitled]

Boa

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're just a kid, caught in a gangster’s crosshairs. What happens when you don’t deliver like you should…

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Mentions of Rape, Smut +18 (mdni), Dark fic, Dubious consent, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume. I wrote this for me so...

Ever since you've started working for him, you've learned to get extremely acquainted with the floor.

"I'm sorry, Sir…” your voice is brittle as you try to make yourself heard in the suffocating internet cafe, “I'm short on delivery today..."

Hardwood. Tile. Linoleum. It's become all too familiar to you. The floor is all you see in his presence.

You never looked Seongje in the eyes unless he addresses you first. He likes that, you suspect.

It's kept you alive this long so you must be doing something right.

"I got assigned a kid to tutor and..." you clear your throat, not daring to make direct eye contact, choosing instead, to keep your eyes trained on the dirty, cold floor.

The internet cafe is the very last place you'd want to be on a Friday evening. You were caught right in between two challenging essay due dates- one for English and one for AP English. Both hung gravley over your head, threatening to set off your sympathetic nervous system and have you fainting from academic stress. Seeing him was the very last thing you needed.

"That tutoring time fucked with my system and-" despite all your achievements, despite the academic prestige and the boundless knowledge… in Seongje's presence you feel insignificant.

A bug he's letting scurry around for no other reason except his enjoyment. You didn't want to get stomped on. You saw what happened to the other kids under his thumb and it kept you up at night. All that blood. All the merciless sadism.

You aren't dumb enough to hope an exception would be made for you.

"I'm sorry,” you conclude, and for a second, you get no response. He plays his game. His friends remain silent.

That's all until he pushes the bridge of his glasses up further against his nose. A calm, quiet sigh leaves his lips.

“Before you started working for me, do you know what you were?" Seongje doesn't take his eyes off the screen. His fingers run deftly over the keys as he speaks to you without ever really acknowledging you, "You were in an alleyway, about to get raped by Eunjang scum."

"Yes, Seongje, I know-"

"And in return for my kindness, what did I ask of you?"

"FUCK- COVER ME BRO!" Your eye snaps up to the source of the loud and sudden burst of energy. Your frightened and pitiful eyes find a boy seated adjacent to Seongje and his goons. He's bent over his screen, clearly not a part of the group. Clearly far too young.

Your heart sinks when you realize Seongje's eyes are trained on the boy too.

"Ya…” Seongje raises his voice a decimal above the cacophony yet it has you flinching. “Too loud,” he says to the boy, “Didn’t anyone teach you shut up when adults are talking?” he asks monotonously to the boy- a child really- still mourning the loss of his avatar on the screen. He doesn't pay Seongje any mind.

Of course he doesn't. He's a kid.

How could he have known?

He came to an internet cafe to play a game with his friends.

It's the boy's innocence that hurts the most.

He doesn't know that the monsters under his bed are very real.

They walk where he walks.

They don't hide.

They move about freely.

Your heart makes like the titanic and sinks.

"Excuse me for a second." Seongje addresses you politely, finally giving you a fleeting glance before pushing himself out of his gamer chair. You see his entire row of friends (if that's what one could even refer to them as) remain unfazed as Seongje rounds the table to stand directly behind the young boy.

He’s bigger, far bigger as he pushes the rims of his glasses up, staring directly at you

"I know you're smart so you're probably aware that your fuck-up won't be tolerated-” he says to you, despite slithering his arm around the boys neck like a boa as he squeezes. Everyone keeps their eyes trained to their computers. Your fist curls at your side. You want to look away but you can't because you're speaking to Seongje. You wouldn't want to aggravate him further by showing him his mindlessly violence bothers you. So you try not to flinch.

You try not to let the casual violence scare you. How nonchalantly he speaks while an elementary school boy flails in his arms, begging to be released from the headlock making his lips turn blue

“You knew there'd be a punishment,” Seongje is still speaking to you. You hold your breathe in solidarity with the boy choking in his arms, “-for fucking up your delivery-” crimson blossoms onto the little boys face but Seongje keeps his eyes on you, appearing unfazed by the boy flailing like an animal in arms, "And yet you came anyway. That's the kinda work ethic, I like-” he smiles, “I like it alot-"

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he lets go of the boy. You finally breathe as well, watching as the kid slumps forward ingesting the air in horrid gasps.

Seongje bends forward, patting the boy on the back.

"No more interrupting when I speak, yeah?" Whether the boy was new to this particular internet cafe, it was unclear, but you hoped to whatever divine being that he wouldn't dare come back.

"So I'll let it slide-" He turns his attention back to you and you watch, still shaken up as Seongje leaves the little boy to make his way back to his side of the table. When he breezes past you he smells like nothing. Like his eyes, everything about him is empty.

"Thank you, Seongje-"

He nods before adding, "After you get on your knees." The goon sitting nearest to you, all the way at the end of the table, his fingers hover over the keys, and just like before, the room is rid of all air.

"Excuse me?”

He pulls out his chair for you, like some mimic of a perfect gentleman he opens his arm, gesturing you in.

"I want you on your knees, under the desk.” His words hang above you all. It has tears threatening to spill. Bile rising.

“What’s with the face? Its not like I’m asking you to suck my dick,”

"Seongje, I need to get home-"

"If you can't do it yourself I'm more than happy to help."

That has your legs moving into action. In your periphery, it feels as though everyone's watching you. A thing in psychology called the imaginary audience. When you're so self-conscious you concoct this idea of being the center of attention… only this time, it's real. You know they're all watching you. You know no one will do anything about it.

"Under the desk you go," he chuckles before sitting down and pushing his chair back in. You back away, creating intense distance between you. Your back hits dirty wires and your knees press hesitantly down onto the grime just to achieve a more comfortable position. Everything you see is his legs, his friends legs and you're suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry.

You want to scream at him to let you go. He's hijacked you from your endless pile of homework and yet the very thought of standing up for yourself causes a sea of nausea.

So you sit there in the dark, not knowing when this punishment would conclude. When would he let you go home? That sends you into another spiral. You've heard Seongje could game for 24 hours straight. Maybe more if he was in close vicinity to food and a bathroom. You knew this internet cafe would close eventually, that gives you the smallest sliver of hope and so you do your time.

Never once does he acknowledge you- the girl under his desk. Unbeknownst to Seongje, you catch one of his fellow gang members sneak multiple glances at you under the table. They all do. Like they enjoy seeing you under here. As time passes, and you slip further and further away from the stress, you realize that down here, on the floor, under his desk, the world is small. It's quite comforting actually and that wasn't the trauma talking.

You've always liked small spaces.

It definitely beat dealing with whatever he had going on up there half the time.

Slowly, your body begins to shut down. Your energy plummets from all the stress and all the thoughts. This is the first time you've been forced into a spot for too long doing nothing. No essays. No tutoring.

Due to tendencies from your childhood that you should've gotten rid of, you find yourself curling up against his leg. He stiffens and you snap out of the exhaustion long enough to reel back. Especially when you see his hand reach under the table. Your heart hammers in your chest, not a single word spoken as his hand searches for something. You move a bit closer until his hand catches on your hair. You wince as he drags you closer, pushing your head against his leg as you had done.

He leaves you there. You try to regulate your breathing as you feel him adjust in his seat above you.

You shift as well. Not your head. He clearly wants you there. But your legs are uncomfortable. You try to kneel and it's ridiculous because your head never leaves his leg.

No position seems comfortable enough until he stretches his leg out, right in between yours and you're made to straddle it. Above you, his fingers are still hitting the keys and you try to disassociate from the fact that his leg is pushing against your cunt. You try to sneak a peek at the surface, his glasses are trained on the screen. Not knowing whether it's your exhaustion making a reappearance but you could've sworn you hear the words, "good girl," release from him in a low drawl.

Something in his tone has you shifting over his leg. Your cunt warms against his leg and you fight the urge to buck against him. All you had to do was remember who it is that you're currently touching. That conscious reminder has you once again hellbent on doing your time with concrete resolve.

That resolve breaks.

It shatters when he eases his back against the chair, enough to once again slither his hand down towards you.

He curls his fist into your hair and tugs.

He pushes you down and lifts you up and you mindlessly follow his movements until you realize he's coaxed you into riding his leg.

He lets go of your hair, satisfied when your hips move out of their own accord.

You hate how good it feels to quite literally be beneath him. You look up and you whimper oh so quietly when you see that small smile play on his lips while his eye remains on the screen.

He's given you new instructions now and so you don't dare to stop moving your hips against him. Despite the damp spot forming on the seat of your underwear. You're not sure what it is that allows you to lose yourself so easily. Perhaps it's all the expectations that melt away when you're doing something so pitiful. You're breaking for him and he's letting you. You're not in control of anything and there's freedom in that.

“F-Fuck-” you didnt mean for the words to slip. There are still other people here but you also couldn't help the wave of pleasure that pushed up so suddenly. Your clit is moving against the fabric of his pants just right and your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head.

The second that whimper escapes your mouth, he stiffens again.

You watch as he leans back again, this time his hand isn't reaching out for you. It's to ghost over the bulge forming in his pants. Somehow that spurs you on more.

You grind against him desperately and before he can take his hand away, this time you reach up for him.

You watch him closely. The glare from the screen reflects on his glasses. His jaw, tight.

He controls the game easily with one hand, while you bring the other into your mouth.

You're not sure where this other side of you came from. This vixen who rolls her tongue out and forces his index and ring finger into her warm mouth.

He becomes more and more restless… His breath hitching. Seongje's fingers hit the keys more aggressively, while his right hand forces his fingers further down your throat. His hips buck upwards and you can see the damp spot forming where his cock is straining against his pants. He's about to cum in his pants and you're about to cum on his leg and it's far too much for you.

You know his friends are about. You try to preserve even a sliver of dignity but it all goes out the window.

“Fuck-” he spits out, slamming his fist on the table before abandoning the game. There's a fire in his eyes as he sits back to watch you peer up at him with complete and utter desperation.

“What a fucking slut-” he snarled, cleaely audible enough for not only him but his friends too. It has your mouth snapping open. Your back arches as you try to watch him watching you cum on his leg.

You've never held his attention for this long and it sends you off the edge.

“S-Seongje-” you barely squeak out as your cunt spasms against his leg. You rut uncontrollably, spurred on by the name That fell from your lips as if your body needed a reminder of just who it was making you cum. Your tormentor.

It has you seeing stars.

For all of 11 seconds.

Until it comes crashing down on you. Your pitiful act has you reeling. Mind spinning.

You don't want to look up at him but you have nowhere else to look. Your heart sinks when you see a smile form slowly across his lips… Somehow you knew you'd never be rid of him.

[sknyuz]

hi r u doing smut fics? but anyways if u do pls make about how whc 2 characters would react if you give them a bj 🤭

anyways i luv ur whc fics keep it up thanks xoxo

weak hero class headcanons — going down on the boys of weak hero class 🔞

synopsis — how the boys of whc... well, anon’s ask is pretty self-explanatory

pairing/s — (all the whc boys here are in senior year/18+) sieun x reader, suho x reader, baku x reader, gotak x reader, juntae x reader, baekjin x reader, seongje x reader, beomseok x reader

a/n — >< everyone’s been waiting for something a bit more... out there for the whc boys, and since i rarely do smut, this was definitely a challenge !! i hope everyone has a fun time. disclaimer: this is pure smut, mdni. if you’re a minor in the taglist, don’t interact pls. i removed who i know are under 18, but might have missed some.

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

⤷ yeon sieun

he doesn’t say a word when you kneel, just watches you with that intense, unreadable stare. it’s not until your lips wrap around him that his breath hitches—barely audible, but sharp. his fingers curl into the arm of the couch, the only giveaway that he’s actually unraveling.

you go slow, wanting to see what kind of reactions you can pull from him. he swallows hard. his thigh twitches. then, finally, a sound—low and breathy: “don’t stop.” he doesn’t guide you. doesn’t push. but when his hand cups your jaw, there’s something raw in it��like he’s grounding himself with you. he finishes with a tight exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and when he comes back down, he murmurs, “come here,” like he’s desperate to hold you, to take back the control he just gave up.

⤷ ahn suho

he watches you kneel in front of him, his expression shifting from surprised to almost amused. “you sure about this, baby?” he asks, voice still calm, but you can hear the hint of anticipation beneath it.

but the moment your mouth wraps around him, his teasing demeanor fades. “f-fuck—wait—” his hand flies to your hair instinctively, not rough but firm, guiding you just the way he wants. his hips buck upward just a little as he tries to hold himself together, but it's clear he's losing it.

"shit, you feel so good," he groans, voice thick with need. “y-you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering shut, his grip tightening in your hair as he shudders. afterward, he pulls you up into his arms, kissing the top of your head with a soft laugh.

“you have no idea what you just did to me,” he whispers, his breath still unsteady, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

⤷ park humin (baku)

“oh my god, wait, wait—holy shit—” he’s already whining before you even start, half laughing, half panicking. you press your mouth to his length and he melts, one hand flying to his hair like he needs to pull it to stay conscious.

he talks through the whole thing—loud, flustered, ridiculous. “you’re so hot, oh my god, i can’t—babe, babe—your mouth is actually insane—” he keeps trying to look down at you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second. every time you suck a little harder, he moans like he’s being possessed.

“i’m gonna cum, oh fuck, i’m—ah, shit—” he whimpers, hand flying down to cover his mouth as you take all of him in. afterward, he lies flat on the bed, panting. “i literally saw god. was that even real? or did i hallucinate?”

⤷ go hyuntak (gotak)

he doesn’t say a word—just watches you silently, jaw clenched. when your lips wrap around him, he inhales sharply through his nose, gripping the edge of the couch so hard his knuckles go white. his voice comes out low and strained—“don’t tease. if you’re gonna do it, do it.” and when you take him deeper, a groan rumbles out of his chest—so deep it makes your thighs clench.

he doesn’t fuck your throat, doesn’t move much at all—but you can feel the tension in his body like a live wire. he cums with a stifled grunt, holding your head there as he spills down your throat. afterward, he leans back, breathing heavy, eyes glazed. “…fuck. that was something else.”

⤷ seo juntae

he looks like he might pass out when you kneel—eyes wide, hands flying up like he’s about to protest but forgets how. “w-wait, you don’t have to—i mean, if you want to, i’m not gonna stop you, but—” and then your mouth is on him and he chokes on a gasp. his hands hover awkwardly in the air for a second before he grips the blanket, knuckles white.

“ohmygod—th-that feels—” his voice is high, barely coherent, broken between moans and shaky breaths. you glance up and his face is flushed, lip caught between his teeth, eyes behind his glasses already watering. he cums with a whimper, hips bucking up with his thighs trembling, immediately covering his face. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to go that fast, i just—holy shit, you’re really good at that.”

⤷ na baekjin

he doesn’t speak when you kneel, but his expression changes—sharpening, almost curious. maybe a little hungry. he stays perfectly still as your mouth wraps around him, but his breathing falters, eyes darkening as he watched his length disappear against your lips, hand twitching once before it settles gently on your head. he groans—quiet but intense, jaw clenching every time your tongue swirls around him. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, hand tightening in your hair.

you feel his thighs tense under your touch, and his voice breaks when he tells you, “just like that.” his body shivering as you hollow your cheeks. he cums with a gasp, hips barely jerking, breath catching like he didn’t expect it to hit so fast. after, he helps you up, kisses you slow and deep, he touches your jaw gently and pulls you into his arms, forehead to yours and whispers, “thank you, darling.” like you just saved his life.

⤷ geum seongje

he smirks the moment you drop to your knees, eyes glinting with something dark. “damn, baby. didn’t think you had it in you.” but when your mouth sinks down on him, that smirk vanishes—replaced by a look that’s feral.

his hand fists your hair, not rough at first, but when you moan around him? he pulls—hard. “fuck—keep doing that,” he growls, “you look so good like this. fuck, you’re mine.” keeping you there as his hips twitch forward. he pulls—not to hurt you, but to keep you there, like he needs it. his other hand wraps around the back of your neck, firm and possessive, holding you close as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth.

“look at me,” he growls. “i said—look.” his pupils are blown wide, gaze locked on yours like you’ve got him under a spell. “you’re fucking perfect like this,” he pants. “mine. you get that? mine.”

“fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, head tilting back as his muscles tighten, breath ragged. the moan he lets out is raw, needy, almost desperate—the kind that lingers in your ears long after.

and afterward, he yanks you into his lap, kissing you sloppily, breathing you in like he needs you to live. “don’t ever do that for anyone else,” he whispers against your lips, “i’ll lose my fucking mind.”

⤷ oh beomseok

he stares when you kneel in front of him—eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe what’s about to happen. “a-are you… really gonna—?” his voice is so quiet, it barely comes out. he shifts back on the bed like he doesn’t know where to put his hands. but he doesn’t stop you—he can’t. and the moment you wrap your lips around him, he breaks. “f-fuck—wait—” his head falls back instantly, a choked gasp punching out of him as his fingers grasp at the sheets.

his glasses slide down a bit, his breath stuttering as the heat rushes straight to his face. he whimpers when you take him deeper, soft and sharp, his thighs trembling slightly as he tries so hard not to move. “you look so good like this,” he pants. “fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums suddenly, hips twitching up into your mouth before he can warn you. it’s high-pitched, needy, almost embarrassed as he moans through it—his glasses fogged, his whole body tensed and shaking. afterward, he reaches for you with trembling hands, pulling you against his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “how am i supposed to act normal after that?” his usually deep voice is slightly higher now, still recovering from the high.

if u liked this, a reblog would be greatly appreciated to help my work reach other people as well >><< !! thank u thank u sm

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[juliettejwnewinesa]

I just read your Sieun with big boobs reader. Can you do a Seongje version

💋 “You Gonna Hide Those From Me Forever?”

Seongje x Fem!Reader (Big Boobs Edition) 💥 friends to something-else | teasing | slow tension | soft-filthy smut 📏 reader is busty and shy about it, Seongje is not subtle 🩵 tone: playful, hot, but with a little tension and surprise softness underneath

You're used to boys staring. You're not used to Seongje staring.

He’s always had that smug, easy attitude—confident in a way that made most people roll their eyes. You, though? You kept your distance. Not out of dislike—but because you knew the moment he noticed you?

You’d be doomed.

So you wore hoodies. Crossed your arms. Avoided leaning forward when you sat near him.

But Seongje wasn’t stupid. And one day—he finally called you out.

“You always wear stuff like that on purpose?” “Like what?” “Baggy. High collar. Arms crossed. You tryna hide something?”

Your throat dried. “No.”

He grinned. That Seongje grin. Arrogant. Dangerous. Knowing.

“Nah… you are. You totally are. Shit,” he laughed, leaning back. “How big are they?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re hiding D-cups in a zip-up. Who’s the real criminal here?”

You threatened to smack him. He didn’t stop grinning.

But a few days later, he walked in on you changing your shirt at your friend’s place.

He wasn’t supposed to be there.

You yelped and tried to cover yourself, arms crossed tightly over your chest—but it was too late.

His jaw dropped. Eyes glued.

“…Holy shit.”

“Seongje get out—!”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“You’ve been walking around like that this whole time?” he muttered, stunned. “No wonder I’ve been going insane.”

You threw a towel at him. He caught it—still staring.

“Let me see again.”

“What?!”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice lower now. Slower. “I’ve been trying to be good. I really have. But fuck—please. Just once.”

You didn’t say yes.

But you didn’t throw him out, either.

And a few seconds later, his fingers were brushing under your bra, tongue in your mouth, hips pressing you against the wall—

“So soft,” he murmured between kisses, eyes dark, “fuck, you’re so soft—”

He didn’t even make it to the bed. Just dropped to his knees in front of you, desperate and starved, hands everywhere—

“Bet you were hiding all this ‘cause you knew what I’d do to you, huh?”

You couldn’t even argue. Not with your shirt off and his mouth between your breasts.

kinda short but i dont have any isnpo

[parkersgarage]

a/n: me when I open up the drafts immediately after watching the second season. something simple for now 👍

kdrama! yeon sieun x gn!reader | 595 wc | no major warnings, no spoilers, mentions injury (bruising)

“Did you get into a fight again?”

Sieun turns at the voice—not his mother, not even his head imagining things—but you. Standing in the middle of the apartment with tears in the corner of your eyes, just staring at him under the dim light.

His fingers twitch at his sides, palm itching as if it hurt him to keep his hands from moving. “I did.”

Sieun always found it hard to lie to you. That was one of his greatest faults that he could never fix. You always saw right through him.

“Come to me.” His brow twitches, but he stays in place despite your words. You don’t move either, feet planted firmly in your spot before your arms cross over your chest. “When you get injured– when your friends you’ve told me about– if and when they get hurt, you guys come to me. Alright?”

He nods slightly, hesitating because, essentially, he was adding you to the list of people he has to worry about. Though you always were at the top, now it seemed more detrimental than ever.

They’d already shown up to Suho, after all. Who knows what would happen if they’d come to you.

Your socks shuffle against the hardwood floor as you walk towards him, fingers brushing against the bruises along his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can handle myself.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t worry.”

Your hand freezes against his skin, eyes darting between his as he stares at you, a hardened glare– yet no malice within it. “Right. Okay.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist unexpectedly, eyes snapping to your hand as he slowly brings it away from his face. “How did you find out?”

“Word gets around fast.” You say, heartbeat quickening when he takes a step closer to you. “You know, high schoolers love to talk.”

He releases your hand with a hum, brushing past you to walk to his room, turning around just before he reaches his door. “Are you staying?”

You look towards your shoes at the door, tapping your fingers against your thigh as silence fills the room while he waits for your response. “I ca–”

“It’s late.” Your head turns to him, jolting when he stands right in front of you. “You should stay.”

In a rare moment, Sieuns’ eyes tell you something you’d never heard before.

I need you here. Stay. Don’t go.

You wonder how it was possible to get all that from a simple look, but his eyes never once held anything but the truth. It was his tell.

“Okay,” your fingers twitch against the back of his hand when you feel it brush against yours, your pinky wrapping hesitantly with his. “Alright.”

The light flickers off, and the apartment is silent except for the buzzing light from the streets outside and the floor creaking under your and Sieuns’ steps. The bed dips as you settle down, and your arm absentmindedly wraps around him, clutching onto the fabric of his shirt.

Sieun couldn’t tell if you were grounding him or yourself. But he wouldn’t brush you off.

Another thing he finds himself incapable of doing.

“Get some rest.” You whispered, breath brushing against the nape of his neck. He almost pulls away, almost.

He replies with a hum, eyes flitting to the alarm clock across from him, sighing at the time. “You too.”

Your fingers flex against his shirt, clutching tighter, and your head presses into his back. Sieun stays silent, watching the numbers on the clock change until he hears your breathing even out.

[imhaechanshoe]

thinking of hyuntak with a cute nerdy girlfriend

Title: The Glasses Don’t Mean Weak

Pairing: Gotak x Shy Nerdy Girlfriend (OC)

Gotak had no idea what Juntae was thinking when he introduced him to her—quiet, wide-eyed, always hiding behind too-big glasses and a stack of books.

“She’s cool,” Juntae had said casually. “Kinda weird, but smart. She helps me cheat.”

Gotak didn’t like quiet girls. They made him feel loud, too much. But there was something about her that didn’t feel fake. She didn’t flinch when he talked, and that was rare.

She started tagging along sometimes—nervous, always half a step behind—but she laughed at his dumb jokes and brought him spicy snacks in cute little plastic containers.

And eventually, he started waiting for her after class. Not that he’d say it out loud.

It happened on a Thursday.

He was walking back from the corner store, stupidly alone. He should’ve known better. A couple of guys from a nearby school who didn’t like him were already waiting in the alleyway.

“Where’s your little study buddy now, huh?” one of them sneered.

Gotak smirked, dropped his bag, and cracked his knuckles. “Don’t need her for this.”

He got in two hits before someone caught him in the ribs. Hard.

Then again, in the jaw.

It was getting bad. He was on one knee when he heard a voice—soft, furious, and terrifying in its calm.

“Hey.”

His attackers turned just as she stepped into the alley.

Gotak blinked. “What the hell are you doing here—?”

She didn’t answer.

She moved.

Fast.

One of the guys went down with a swift kick to the knee, the other got flipped—flipped—into a trash pile.

She moved like water, sharp and perfect. Years of training behind every controlled motion. And then it was just them, the alley suddenly silent except for Gotak’s ragged breathing.

She stood over him, frowning.

“You okay?” she asked gently, offering her hand.

Gotak just stared.

“You can fight?”

She helped him up, brushing dirt from his hoodie.

“I was going to tell you. Just… didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“Weird?” he wheezed. “You just did a Jackie Chan on those bastards.”

Her cheeks turned red.

“I do taekwondo. Since I was six.”

Gotak couldn’t stop grinning. His lip was bleeding, and he was definitely going to feel that kick tomorrow, but he still laughed.

“I think I just fell in love.”

She buried her face in her sleeve to hide the smile.

That night, he texted Juntae:

bro. you didn’t tell me she was a damn ninja

thanks. i owe you.

[gotaksboyfie]

yeon sieun with a short partner

general

gif creds: @siqoi

» he's not the tallest (5'8) so it comes as a bit of a shock when he sees you for the first time. did you skip a couple grades?? are you in the right grade school???

» doesn't think much of the height difference honestly—you're short there's not much to it. it's only deeper into the relationship that he starts to become hyper aware of it.

» every time you go to hug him, he relishes at how well you just tuck under his chin. when cuddling, he'll pull you flush against his chest and stroke your head in a soothing manner, lulling you to sleep while you're completely surrounded by everything sieun

» gets too used to looking down at you that it makes it a little awkward when he's faced with his friends again. looking up is so much work compared to just glancing down at you, especially since he isn't rewarded with seeing your cute face but baku's instead :/

» analyzes everything you do. you're just so fascinating in how you move (a bit creepy, but whatever sieun..) he notes down the way your face slightly scrunches when something is just barely out of reach, or how you tippy toe just to pat his head, or how your head blends into the crowd just a bit too well and he loses you sometimes— yeah. he's whipped

» being not much of a talker, he silently does everything for you. he'll grab all the items you need off the top shelf, presenting it like an expectant puppy and preening slightly when you praise him for it

» locks onto you pretty firmly in crowded areas. his hands tightly hold yours, ensuring that you won't escape his grasp. "losing you is such a hassle because of how hard it is to find you" - that's the excuse he prepares when you point it out, but you know he does it mostly because he likes holding your hand

» speaking of hands, yours are actually small in comparison to his. sieun's always been on the smaller side in the hand comparisons that baku and gotak make him do. when he noticed just how tiny your hands are, it made him want to hold them more. (something inside him is unlocked once he realizes the size diff between you guys..)

» not one to initiate physical touch, but when he does he usually goes for a back hug. you're like a portable teddy bear with how you just get dwarfed by him. his hands wrap around your waist and he breathes in some of your scent, perfectly content where he is

fin

a/n omg i accidentally posted when i wasn't ready (only had the gif LOL) and i lost the ask i'm so sorry anon!! i hope you see this.. 🙏

[freakmcnastyy]

Weak Hero Boys x P!Reader Headcanons

Weak Hero Class boys x pregnant!reader (fluff)

Includes: Geum Seongjae,Na Baekjin, Ahn Suho, Yeon Si-eun, Kang Woo-young, Oh Beom-seok, Go Hyuntak, Park Humin (Baku)

Note: This was an anon request! AND GOD, I swear writing — let alone reading — stuff like this makes me feel all kinds of weird. And I wrote each character at a different time of day so they wouldn’t all feel the same. Hope I pulled it off.

⸻

Geum Seongjae

1. The Moment He Finds Out:

Silence. He just stares. Then his lip twitches.

The second you tell him you’re pregnant, Seongjae goes quiet for a few seconds. He looks unbothered on the outside, but you know a thousand things are racing through his head. In that moment, his whole “world” shifts.

“I knew no one else could ever give me something like this.”

He says it softly, but something breaks in his eyes — like the idea of ever letting you go has become completely impossible.

2. Possessiveness:

Obsession. Protection. Paranoia.

He’s not just protecting you anymore, but everything you’re carrying inside you. Even the tiniest bit of stress is enough reason for him to lock you in the house. If someone bumps into you by accident? Seongjae might beat them up in the middle of the street without a second thought.

“I better not see you cry again. I’m dead serious.”

Even the dark circles under your eyes feel like a personal insult to him.

3. Physical Obsession:

He’s obsessed with your belly. Every time he talks to you, his hand goes there like a reflex. At night, he lays his head against it and whispers things to the baby. He starts acting like a “family” way before the baby’s even born — but not in a normal way.

“There’s a piece of me inside you. That means you don’t get to leave. Ever.”

4. Jealousy & Going Insane:

Another guy checking you out while you’re pregnant? Your best friend trying to take you out of the house? It’s all a problem. At some point, he might even try to hide the fact that you’re pregnant altogether.

“Don’t wear that. There’s no reason to show your stomach like that. People don’t need to see. That’s mine.”

5. Random Kindness Spikes:

He’ll suddenly start talking about baby room ideas, sweet little dreams, out of nowhere. In those moments he seems normal, like a regular excited dad — but there’s always a breakdown bubbling underneath.

“If it’s a girl, you can name her. But if it’s a boy… I’ll decide.”

6. Before & After the Birth:

The closer it gets to your due date, the more controlling he becomes. He chooses the hospital, who’s allowed in the room, even the nurse that’s going to be with you.

“If anything goes wrong… someone’s paying for it. Got it?”

And after the birth? He isolates you, the baby, and himself like it’s a three-person world. He wants to build everything from zero — just you three.

“It’s only us now. Everyone else out there is dangerous. What else do I need to do to make you understand that?”

⸻

Na Baekjin

1. When He Finds Out:

Silence. He masks his emotions, but his pupils shake. After you tell him, he holds your gaze — and stays exactly the same. Cold. Serious. Neither happy nor mad. Then he lowers his head a little.

“Is it mine?”

He trusts you. He does. But he still asks — not because he doubts you, but because he wants to believe so bad it physically hurts. And maybe… because he hates himself a little too much.

2. He Doesn’t Say “I Can’t Be a Dad,” but…

Responsibility? That’s not something he’s ever believed he deserved. He tells himself, “Someone like me can’t raise a child.” But he still parks outside your place every night, just watching. Making sure nothing happens.

“Don’t be alone. I’m behind you like a shadow — just act like I’m not there.”

3. His Way of Protecting You:

Silent. Brutal. Shadowed. Baekjin never publicly claims you. But anyone who threatens you? They start disappearing one by one. He’s given a silent order across the whole Union.

“If anyone even thinks about getting close to her — they better have their grave ready.”

4. How He Sees the Pregnancy:

It’s guilt mixed with obsession. When he sees your belly, his eyes freeze for a second. Because there’s a life inside you — his life — and he’s still struggling to believe something so pure could come from someone like him.

“If I were someone cleaner… maybe we could’ve really had this together.”

Still, his hands always go to your stomach. Every time he touches you, it’s careful. Gentle. Like he thinks you might break.

5. He Cuts You Off From the World:

The closer it gets to your due date, the more he isolates you. Friends? Family? Opinions? None of it matters to him.

“I don’t care what anyone says. If something happens to you… I’ll burn the f*cking world down.”

6. “Family” Becomes Real for the First Time:

Baekjin never had warmth growing up. Never had a real home. But now? Now the idea of building a house — not a place, but a feeling — with you and the baby is something he clings to in the dark. One night, he says without thinking:

“If someone had hugged me growing up… maybe I could’ve loved as good as you do.”

7. After the Baby’s Born:

He’s a wall. Cold, distant. But always there. He won’t hold the baby and coo over it, no. But he stands by the crib at night while you sleep, silently watching the tiny hand curled around his finger.

“Would it be okay… if I picked the name?”

⸻

Ahn Suho

1. When He Finds Out:

Shocked. Eyes wide. “Wait, what? Are you serious?! We’re PREGNANT?!”

At first, it doesn’t compute. He asks you to repeat it like three times. Then his hands start shaking. He might even tear up.

“I’m… I’m gonna be a dad? For real?!”

His first reaction is pure joy — mixed with straight-up panic. He wants to pick you up and spin you around, but the moment you say “Stop, I’m nauseous!” he freezes and immediately puts you down.

2. Ridiculously Affectionate:

He flips into “mom mode” in two seconds. Tries cooking for you, watches YouTube videos on pregnancy massages, double-checks every corner of the house like “is this safe for her? for the baby?”

“No more junk food. Less salt. Sit down, feet up. This baby’s not stressing you out!”

3. Fighting His Own Demons:

Deep down, he thinks, “I didn’t have a good childhood… what if I mess this up too?”

But he never says it out loud. He just holds you at night and whispers to your belly:

“If I raise this baby with someone like you… maybe I won’t mess it up.”

4. Emotional Rollercoaster:

Your hormones? Yeah, his are worse. You cry, he cries. You snap, he sulks — but then brings you a fruit bowl with a pouty face. One time, you probably ended up ugly crying together while eating stuffed grape leaves.

5. Silent Jealousy:

If he sees you talking to another guy? His whole vibe shifts. He won’t say anything, but the pout, the slumped shoulders, the quiet little stares — they’re all there.

“Go out if you want, just… wear something warm. And text me. At every step. I just— I worry, okay?”

6. The Birth Itself:

Sweating. Shaking. Crying. Loving. If they let him in the room, he’s right there, holding your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. If they don’t — he’s on his knees outside the door, praying like his whole soul’s in it.

“You’re both okay, right? Please… that’s all I need.”

⸻

Yeon Si-eun

1. When He Finds Out:

His brain literally freezes for a second before it starts processing. When you say “I’m pregnant,” Si-eun just stares at you in silence. No yelling. No running. No hugs. His hands tremble a little.

“How long has it been? Are you okay? How many weeks?”

He hides his emotions — but every question screams, “I’m scared to death of losing you.”

2. Switches to Practical, Strategic Dad Mode:

Hospital? Booked. Doctor? Researched. Nutrition? Charted. Stress? Monitored.

“You’re not eating anything on this list. I’m serious.”

But also:

“But… if you’re craving something… I kinda snuck in a little chocolate. Please don’t be mad.”

3. He Suppresses Emotion, But Never Leaves You Alone:

He didn’t grow up with love, so he genuinely has no clue how to treat you or the baby. But one thing’s for sure: he’s not going anywhere.

He’s not the jealous type — but he is controlling. He won’t say “who did you hang out with?” but he’ll definitely check your phone later and mentally profile anyone who could hurt you.

“Don’t see anyone who might stress you out. Please. Not for me — for our child.”

⸻

Kang Woo-young

1. When He Finds Out:

Silence. Eyes on the floor. Then suddenly, his breath catches. He doesn’t say a word at first — just stares blankly. But if you look closely, you’ll see he literally forgot how to breathe.

“…I’m gonna be a dad?”

His voice shakes, but he tries to play it off. His jaw clenches.

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll figure this out. Just give me a little time.”

And then he leaves — not because he doesn’t care, but because he never planned to build a family. It was always just you and him. But later that night, he comes back. Finds you asleep, puffy-eyed from crying. Slips into bed behind you, holds you tight, buries his face in your neck.

“Don’t ever think you’re alone. No matter what… I’m here.”

2. Shows Love Through Actions, Not Words:

He can’t cook soup, but he’ll leave water by your bed every night. He can’t write you poetry, but he’ll tie your shoelaces without a word. And the first time your belly starts to show, his eyes well up.

“God, this is so weird. But so beautiful.”

3. Protection Style:

Quiet But Deadly.

Someone bumped into you? Woo-young doesn’t say a word. But a few days later, you’ll hear that guy got beat half to death in some underground ring.

He promises no more fights — “for the baby.” But of course he still does it.

4. Obsessed With Your Belly — But Too Shy To Show It:

His eyes keep drifting to your stomach when he talks to you. But he’s too shy to touch it. One night, you place his hand there — and he literally forgets how to breathe. His fingers tremble.

“Did you really love me this much?”

That night, for the first time, he rests his head on your belly and whispers for hours:

“Don’t be like your mom. She’s too soft. This world’s harsh.”

5. Emotional Breakdowns: Silent Crying:

As your pregnancy progresses, every time he feels like he’s not doing enough, tears fall. But he hides in the bathroom so you won’t see.

“I have to be strong. For both of you.”

6. Day of the Birth:

Looks like he just stepped out of a street fight. Doesn’t yell at the doctors, but the fire in his eyes says enough.

7. Fatherhood:

He can’t stop the baby from crying. Can’t change a diaper right. But every single night, he stays up beside the crib. He lets you cry in his lap without saying a word.

“You don’t have to be scared. I’m right here. Always.”

⸻

Oh Beom-seok

1. When He Finds Out:

Stares blankly. He thinks you’re joking at first.

“Wait… are you serious? From me? Like, really…?”

Then his voice breaks. His eyes fill up, but he tries not to cry. Honestly? His world crashes down. Because his dad… well, you know. And it’s not about what’ll happen to him — it’s the fear of something happening to you or the baby.

“I’m gonna… be a dad?”

His voice cracks saying it. Because his father made sure the word “dad” left a scar on his soul.

2. Wants To Run — But Can’t:

In his head: “I’m someone who doesn’t know love, who grew up on violence, who shuts everyone out. What do I have to do with someone like you?”

But leaving you would be death to him. So instead, he goes quiet. Closes in on himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you… so I might keep my distance for a while. But I won’t leave. I promise.”

3. Blames Himself Deeply:

Lays in bed staring at the ceiling every night.

“What if I turn out like him? What if I am him?”

4. Hyper Emotional, Super Fragile:

Every time you’re tired, he blames himself. Don’t feel like eating? He tears up, thinking he messed something up.

“I can’t stand seeing you upset. I’ve already been so awful… don’t turn into me.”

To him, your pregnant body feels sacred. Sometimes he can’t even touch you.

“You’re carrying something inside you now. I don’t even wanna accidentally hurt you. I’m scared.”

6. The Birth:

He breaks. Shaking. Sitting in some hospital hallway, hands covering his face, sobbing like the world’s ending.

“Please… God, please don’t take her from me.”

7. Fatherhood:

Slow, but deeply tender. Doesn’t know how to hold a baby. But watches over yours every second of the night. Talks to the baby while you sleep.

And one day, watching the two of you together — he smiles. For the first time. A real, slow, genuine smile.

“I thought I had no place in this world. But… you gave me a room in it.”

⸻

Go Hyun-tak

1. When He Finds Out:

This man goes feral. In a good way. Just stands there with this shocked, joy-filled smile, completely speechless. Then suddenly:

“Wait WHAT? OUR baby? PROJECT LEBRON JAMES BEGINS!”

2. Protective Soft Side Comes Out:

He shows up for every single doctor’s appointment. Tries to learn everything he can. At home, he leaves little surprises — hot soup, a fruit plate, a stack of pillows. But he does it shyly, almost embarrassed.

“You feeling okay matters more to me than anything.”

3. His Excitement Is Contagious:

Shopping for the baby? He treats it like a mission. Toys, clothes, the perfect paint color for the nursery — he’s got opinions.

“Our baby’s gonna sleep in the nicest room on the block, alright?”

4. Tiny Panic Attacks — But He Bounces Back:

He sometimes spirals like “what if we’re not ready?” But then breathes in, looks at you, and says:

“We’re in this together. No matter what. We’ve got this.”

5. Jealousy Is Soft & Silly:

Sees you chatting with another guy? Pouts a little. Then immediately smiles again.

“Sorry… I just. You’re kinda my whole world.”

6. Birth Time = Full Support Mode:

He’s right beside you, holding your hand, hyping you up with every push.

“You’re strong. I’m right here.”

When the baby cries for the first time, he’s standing right there, trying to feed it with trembling hands.

“Look at our tiny Lebron James.”

7. Dives Into Dad Life Fast:

He’s hungry to learn. Wakes up for every night feeding, writes down every little milestone.

“We’re building something new. You, me, and our baby. It’s gonna be amazing.”

⸻

Park Humin (Baku)

1. When He Finds Out:

He screams. For real. Like he just scored the game-winning goal in the final second. Pure, goofy, chaotic happiness.

2. A Little Insecure:

His relationship with his dad? Yeah. Complicated as hell. He’s terrified of telling him, and even more scared he might turn into him. Just like Beom-seok, he fears becoming a bad father.

3. Quiet, Emotional Protection:

With you? He’s tough. Out in public? He smiles and holds your hand like you’re fragile glass.

“No one’s touching you. Baku’s right here.”

But when he’s alone, his chest aches with the memories of his dad.

4. Tiny Surprises & Care:

You’re tired? He sets up cute little things around the house. Brings your favorite dessert. Buys fresh chicken from your favorite spot.

“I know this isn’t easy… but we’ve got this. Together.”

5. Jealousy & Trust:

Sees you talking to other guys? His eyes tear up — but he never says a word. Keeps it buried.

“Just… understand me, okay? I just wanna protect you.”

6. During Birth:

Nervous as hell but stands strong. His palms sweat like crazy, but he holds your hand the whole time.

“You’re gonna be okay. You and the baby — you’re both okay.”

7. Fatherhood:

Soft. Steady. Scared. But loving. He’s clumsy at first, scared to touch the baby. But he never leaves your side. Stands by the crib every night.

“I’m not just here for you anymore. I’m here for them too.”

[mournaeve]

❝ almost, always ❞

paring : yeon si-eun (weak hero) × gn!reader

genre : fluff, mild angst/hurt-comfort, emotional miscommunication, slow burn

warnings : mentions of emotional exhaustion/burn out, emotional whiplash but make it quiet and poetic, excessive eye contact with a emotionally constipated boy, 9/10 confession (where's the last 1, no one knows)

synopsis : Two people, both quiet in different ways, six missed chances, one almost-confession—and a love that grows in the silence between what’s said and what’s meant.

joy speaks : hi, and welcome to my first fic <3 genuinely hope you like it. don't be a silent reader!

1. The first time you met Si-eun, you were stealing Baku's snack and threatening to bite Gotak. Not seriously, of course, but with the kind of conviction that only came from a lack of shame and too little sleep.

Your mouth still tasted like instant noodles and regret. Your hair was a chaos theory. Your hoodie?—stolen from Baku, smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sweat, like a boy who lived his life in motion and never washed anything properly and also had a giant yellow pikachu on the front.

You didn't notice him at first.

No, at first you were too busy lying on the classroom floor, narrating your slow descent into madness because Gotak had, in your words, 'emotionally betrayed you' by siding with Baku over what was clearly your bag of chips. Baku, naturally, just sat on your back and told you to accept death with dignity.

Then you saw a pair of shoes. Clean, white, very still. Not fidgety like Gotak's or scuffed like Humin's.

You tilted your head up, squinting from the floor like a raccoon caught under fluorescent light, and there he was.

Expression unreadable. Face sharp in that quiet way—like something drawn in pencil and not yet colored in. Si-eun. Yeon Si-eun. You knew his name only because Gotak had once whispered it like he was talking about a ghost who might hear him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked down at the mess on the floor, you, mostly, and blinked.

You, still on your stomach, gave a small wave.

"Hey. I swear I'm not usually like this."

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of the mouth. But you swore later, swore, that his eyes lingered for half a second too long. Like he was trying to decide whether to ignore you or classify you as some new species.

Maybe both.

That was the first time. You didn’t know yet that it would become a pattern—him appearing silently, you saying something ridiculous, the two of you orbiting each other like mismatched planets with slightly wrong gravity.

But in that moment, on the floor of a classroom you barely stayed awake in, with Baku sitting on your back and Gotak looking vaguely concerned for everyone’s sanity—

—you thought, 'huh'

He’s kind of cute when he looks confused.

◎⫘◎

2. You didn't expect to see him again. Not so soon, not without the buffer of Baku's laughter or Gotak's nervous commentary or the chaos of you being your usual, spiraling self. But there he was, outside the convenience store, earphones in, staring at the gum rack like it had personally offended him.

You stopped short. He didn't look up.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain even under emotional duress, you didn't keep walking. You hovered.

Like an idiot.

"Didn't peg you for a mint guy," you said finally, voice casual, like you hadn’t just debated crossing the street to avoid standing next to him and his inexplicably intense aura.

He looked up, slow. Blank expression unreadable. Those same pencil drawn beautiful eyes.

Then, flatly, "I'm not."

You blinked. Looked at the gum in his hand. "You've been holding that for like three minutes."

"I was spacing out."

"Oh."

Beat.

You nodded, like that explained the universe, and turned to grab a bottle of water. Behind you, you could feel his silence — not heavy, just… neutral. Like air that hadn’t decided if it was humid or cold.

"I wasn't following you, by the way," you added without being prompted, twisting the bottle cap as you rejoined him at the register. "In case your survival instincts kicked in."

Another pause. He looked at you.

"I didn't think you were."

You laughed — too loud, too fast — and instantly regretted it. "Right. Cool. Great. Just clearing that up, y'know, for the record."

"I don’t think about you that much."

And there it was.

You froze mid-step, plastic bottle crinkling in your hand. A second too slow, your brain tried to patch the damage: he didn't mean it like that. Probably. Hopefully?

"Oh," you said, smile cracking just slightly. "No offense taken. I also don't, like, catalogue your whereabouts or anything. That would be psychotic."

He gave you a look, like he was either very confused or wondering if you were having a stroke.

You both stood there, the cashier watching, deeply done with both your energies.

Si-eun finally paid for his gum. That he definitely didn’t want.

And you stood holding a bottle of water and the first bruise of misunderstanding, shaped like a boy who said things without malice but still managed to dig a little too deep.

Later that night, Baku asked why you were chewing mint gum with a dramatic sigh.

You told him it was an aesthetic choice. You didn't mention Si-eun. Not yet.

◎⫘◎

3. It happened because Gotak's mom called.

Loudly. On speaker. In the middle of the table, right as he was halfway through explaining some physics concept that sounded like witchcraft. He panicked, unplugged his charger wrong, and blew the socket.

And just like that, the lights went out in Baku's room.

Chaos. Swearing. Baku tripping over a dumbbell. You, laughing until your ribs hurt. Gotak apologizing to the socket like it had feelings. Juntae being all flustered while trying to keep the others in check.

Eventually, they both left to 'buy snacks and air out their humiliation.' You were too tired to follow.

And Si-eun didn't leave.

He stayed sitting on the floor, back against Baku’s bed frame, eyes unreadable. You weren’t sure if he didn't move because he was comfortable or because inertia had claimed him.

You sat across from him, the silence sitting with you like a third presence. It wasn't uncomfortable. It just… was.

You cleared your throat. "You always this quiet?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Do you always talk this much?"

Your jaw dropped. "Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No," he said, and blinked, slowly, "I'm saying I wasn't aware human lungs could handle this level of dialogue per minute."

You gawked at him.

He didn’t look smug. Or mean. Just… factual. As if he were reading weather data.

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it with both hands, unimpressed.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," you muttered, curling into a cross-legged huff.

Silence again.

You should’ve let it drop. But something in you always needed to make sense of things. Of people.

"You don't like me, do you?" you asked.

He looked up at that. Not startled. Just puzzled.

"Why would you say that?"

You mentally snorted 'I wonder why."

"I don't know. The gum comment. The lungs comment. The general 'I'm enduring your presence like a particularly inconvenient fire drill' energy."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don’t dislike you."

"But you don't like me."

He looked at you for a moment too long.

"I don’t not like you."

It was the kind of answer that made your brain run into a wall. You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"…Wow," you said. "Poetry."

He frowned faintly, clearly confused why you sounded so sarcastic.

You didn't push it. But when Baku and Gotak returned and flopped dramatically into the room with ice cream and shame, you laughed louder than you meant to.

And you refused to meet Si-eun’s eyes for the rest of the night.

◎⫘◎

4. You were wearing another hoodie.

Not Baku's this time — a different one. Slightly too big. Worn in the elbows. Charcoal gray with a weird bleach stain near the zipper. Not your usual look.

Si-eun noticed it immediately.

He didn't say anything, of course. He just stared.

You were too busy trying to untangle Gotak's wired earphones (how did they still exist?) while sitting on the cafeteria bench, ranting about something inconsequential — probably the school vending machine robbing you again. Baku was making jokes, as usual. Gotak laughed too loudly, as usual. Juntae was swinging his legs adorably like a child waiting for his mother to provide him with candy.

Then a boy walked past. Said your name. Smiled.

You looked up. "Oh—hey. Thanks again for the hoodie."

Si-eun's gaze didn't shift. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You caught it in the twitch of his fingers, the flick of his eyes, the way his entire body went very, very still.

Later, in the hallway, he stopped next to you. Not with you — next to. A detail you couldn’t unfeel.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, tone flat.

You blinked. "Who?"

"The guy. With the hoodie. The one you smiled at like he invented oxygen."

You snorted. "No. He just lent me this when I spilled coffee on my shirt this morning."

He nodded. Slowly. You waited for a follow-up. It didn’t come.

Instead, he walked away with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, that silent wall rising like it always did when he didn't understand what he was feeling.

You stared after him, eyebrows pulled together.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

But still, you wanted to yell down the hallway,

'I would tressure your hoodie, if you ever offered it.'

◎⫘◎

5. It was raining the way it only rains in cities—sideways, rude, unforgiving. You hadn't meant to forget your umbrella. You were just late, and your brain had been full of other things. Like him. Like the hoodie thing. Like the way he hadn't spoken to you in two days. You were treading recklessly on the thin line between friends and strangers who know each other because of their mutual friends. No matter what you tried, attempted at, maybe to bring you both closer and not be strangers or just be his friend- he would always retract. Push you away with words or build walls around his heart that were too big and impossible not to notice.

You were soaked through by the time you reached the courtyard gate. Shoes squeaking, hair clinging to your face, hoodie (not his, not anyone's) weighing you down like a wet dog sweater.

Your heavy wet eyes widened at the sight before you.

Si-eun.

Standing under a small blue umbrella like the sky had personally chosen to leave him untouched.

You stopped. He didn't wave, or smile, or call out. Just lifted the umbrella a little higher.

You stared. Your heart twisted sideways.

"…Are you offering me that?" you asked, cautious.

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't."

You blinked. Walked over. Shoulders tense.

He didn't say anything. Just turned slightly, so the umbrella covered half of your body. His half was still mostly dry. You were dripping.

After a minute, you exhaled. "You didn’t have to wait."

"I know."

"…I thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore."

"I do."

You were quiet.

Then you whispered it. Half a joke, half a plea:

"So this is... pity, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes sharp and unreadable.

You couldn't hold the silence.

You stepped out from under the umbrella. "Forget it. I'm fine."

Rain hit your skin like needles. Cold. Fast. Real.

He didn't follow. You didn't look back. And by the time you got home, soaked to the bone and furious with yourself, it was too late to ask him what he really meant.

◎⫘◎

6. It was late.

Too late to be in the library. Too late for the lights to still hum this way, for the floor to be cold against your knee pits as you sat between shelves with your hoodie bunched up beneath you like a failed pillow.

You weren't crying.

But you were close. That tight-throated silence. That wet weight behind the eyes that made everything feel distant. The kind of sad that didn"t have a name. The kind that didn't explode — just leaked.

He found you anyway.

You didn't ask how.

Si-eun stood there, backpack still on, hair a little rumpled, shirt collar tugged loose like he'd either run or paced in circles before finding you.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just sat beside you. Close, but not close enough to touch.

After a long, long moment, he said, low,

"I'm not good at this."

You blinked. "At what?"

"This. Talking. Reading people. Knowing the right thing to say."

You looked at him, sharp, surprised. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't calm. It was something else — strained. Steady, but brittle at the edges.

He went on, "I don't realize when I'm being too blunt, or too distant. I've… ruined a lot of things that way."

You didn’t speak.

He stared at his hands.

"I used to think it didn’t matter. Not anymore. That being quiet kept things simple. But you—"

He stopped. Swallowed. "You confuse the hell out of me."

Your breath hitched.

"You talk like your words are racing to escape you. You say things I don’t know how to answer. You make me feel like I’m always three steps behind and—and I hate it."

The silence rang.

Then, quieter:

"But I hate it more when you're not around."

You didn't move.

You didn't say anything.

Your brain tripped over itself. Every version of you — the loud one, the jokey one, the brave one — went silent. And in that stretch of hesitation, Si-eun stood.

He didn't look at you.

"I shouldn't have said that," he murmured. "I knew it would come out wrong."

He walked away before you could tell him it didn't.

Later, lying in your bed, face buried in a damp hoodie, you whispered it,

'But it didn’t come out wrong at all.'

◎⫘◎

6. It started with silence.

Not the usual kind — not Si-eun's quiet that felt full of thinking, full of weight. This was emptier. Distant. Clean, like someone had wiped the board.

He'd stopped showing up to group study sessions. Stopped responding to your messages. Left early from lunch. Didn't make eye contact in the hall.

You told yourself he was just busy. That midterms had fried his brain. That he'd drop a deadpan one-liner in your DMs any second now.

He didn't.

When you finally cornered Baku and asked what was going on, he just shrugged — unconvincingly.

And so, armed with indignation and mild sleep deprivation, you found Si-eun after school, outside the campus gates, hoodie up, hands in pockets, looking like a ghost of himself.

"You’re avoiding me," you said.

His eyes flicked up. Then away. "No, I'm not."

"You are." You laughed — humorless. "Jesus, Si-eun, at least lie with conviction."

He was quiet for a beat. He exhaled quietly, "I thought you might want space."

"From you?"

"You looked uncomfortable. Last time. When I said… all that."

You stared. Mouth open. Head buzzing.

"That’s why?" you whispered. “You thought I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. "You didn't say anything. So, I figured I'd made things weird."

You exhaled, slow. Almost a laugh. Almost a scream.

"You idiot," you said, soft.

He flinched — just slightly. Gazing up with his eyes, 'god damn his eyes, were they always this beautiful?'

You looked away before your voice could crack. "You didn't make it weird. I did. I didn't know what to say, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to say something."

He didn't answer.

The wind was cold. The sky was turning gray, like it couldn't make up its mind.

You looked at him again.

"You always do that," you said. "Assume how people feel and then act like it's confirmed data."

"It's easier than asking."

"Well, maybe next time, ask."

He looked at you then.

Like he heard you for the first time.

But still, he didn't move. And neither did you.

The moment passed like a train that didn't stop.

You both walked away feeling like you’d missed something important.

Because you had.

◎◎⫘◎◎

1. It didn't happen at some climactic hour, in some big cinematic way.

There was no rainstorm this time, no bruised hallway lighting, no tension humming between the inches of silence.

Just a classroom. Late. Empty. Gold evening light spilling sideways through the windows, dust drifting in slow motion. The kind of warmth that didn't burn — just sat in your bones like an old memory.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep.

You'd only meant to rest your eyes. Just for a second. But the warmth got to you — the sunlight, the still air, the safety of a quiet room without anyone needing anything from you. You drifted.

When you opened your eyes again, Si-eun was there.

Sitting on a chair beside the desk. Back against the wall. Book in his lap. Head tilted slightly toward you.

Not watching. Just being.

Your first instinct was to speak. Crack a joke. Break the softness with your usual deflection.

But for once, you didn't. You just looked at him. Let the quiet stretch.

He closed the book.

"Bad dream?" he asked, voice like a whisper folded in linen.

You blinked the sleep out of your eyes. "Not really. Just... weird."

A pause.

"Felt like I was floating."

He nodded. Like he understood.

You sat up slowly, wincing a little at the crick in your neck.

He reached into his bag and passed you a water bottle without a word.

You took it. Sipped.

He didn't fill the silence. He didn't shrink from it either. Just sat there with you, like he had nowhere else to be, no one else to become in that moment.

And then—"Thank you," you said.

He looked at you, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "For what?"

"For... not leaving."

It came out so softly you weren't sure it even reached him.

But his eyes held yours, steady.

You took in his eyes, his eyes were a study in contradiction — sharp in thought, but soft in shape, always watching like they were learning you in real time. Slightly wide, dark, and quietly luminous, like they held whole libraries of things left unsaid. They didn’t flicker much when he spoke — they lingered, honest in a way his voice never quite managed.

And when he looked at you, really looked, it felt like standing barefoot in the middle of something sacred.

Like silence could be tender. Like you could finally stop explaining yourself. Those eyes didn’t ask for words. They just understood.

Then he added, not quickly, but like it had been waiting:

"I wasn't going to."

Nothing more. No sudden hand grabs, no confessions, no dizzying declarations. Just that.

For the first time, there was nothing to correct. Nothing to fix.

You both stayed there. In the gold-lit quiet. In the stillness that didn't ask for answers. Just presence.

And this time — finally — you both understood.

◎◎⫘◎◎

2. It was dark by the time the rooftop emptied out.

The others had gone. Baku, Gotak, Juntae— loud footsteps, louder laughter, the crunch of snack wrappers left behind. The kind of after-school chaos that made everything feel alive. But now it was quiet. That dusky, hush-hour kind of quiet, where even the wind didn't bother to speak.

You stayed behind to clean up. He stayed behind for... something else.

Neither of you said it.

Si-eun was leaning against the railing, hood pulled halfway up, hair catching in the breeze. You were stacking drink cans into neat, metallic towers and pretending not to feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

"You always do that," he said.

You blinked. "Do what?"

"Stay behind. Fix things no one notices."

You smiled — crooked, tired. "Someone has to."

Silence again. Not heavy. Just full.

"I used to think I was fine alone," he said. Quiet. Almost to himself. "That being alone meant being safe. That silence meant control."

You straightened. Slowly.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept talking, eyes on the horizon where the sky bled orange into navy.

"But it’s not quiet when you're gone. It's louder. It’s—"

He cut himself off. Bit his lip. Exhaled sharp.

You waited.

"I don't know how to say it right," he admitted.

"You don’t have to."

"I want to," he said. "I—"

He turned then. Finally looked at you.

"I think about you. All the time. In the middle of things that don’t matter. Like math problems and weather reports and the noise in the hallway. You just show up. In my head."

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward — one pace. No more.

"If you asked me what we are," he said, "I don't have the word. But I know what I want it to be."

You didn't breathe.

"-and if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I'll try to not think of it" His voice cracked slightly, "But I don't want to keep pretending this is nothing."

You looked at him.

"I feel it too."

He smiled.

Actually smiled.

Not the polite curl of the corners of his lips he wore in passing, but the real one, the one that came slow and reluctant, like it wasn't used to being let out. It broke across his face like sunlight through fog, fleeting and precious, the kind of thing you only caught if you were paying attention.

Now that it happened, everything softened: the edges of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the guarded quiet in his eyes. It was a smile that felt like a secret, like you’d been trusted with something he didn’t give away easily. A quiet admission that, for a moment, he let himself feel joy — and let you see it.

And in that soft rooftop dark, with cans clinking quietly in your hands and the wind threading through your sleeves, you realized something simple:

There was no misunderstanding anymore.

There was just you.

And him.

And everything you hadn’t said — finally, beautifully heard.

◎◎⫘◎◎

@mournaeve 2025, I don't allow translations or reposting of my work however reblogging is fine :)

[08luvmailz]

★ ﾟ๑ I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you visiting him ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ──⠀ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.

For someone, so bright — her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.

She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses – busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly – anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.

But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldn’t fill, a mouth that wouldn’t smile.

During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.

The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone else’s dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.

She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.

She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.

She heard the rumors.

Kids at her locker thinking she couldn’t hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didn’t understand, lips curling into cruel stories.

She was the shadow stretching long across the hallway’s bright walls – not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.

Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.

She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.

She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.

Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath she’d almost believe everything would be okay again.

But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.

It was easier this way – so people wouldn't come closer anymore.

As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.

Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone else’s story.

Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.

At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.

She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the halls—heads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.

Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that I’m here.

The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.

She was careful now.

Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.

She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.

Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.

She started learning how to ride Suho’s motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like she’d disappear.

It wasn’t easy. Her hands weren’t made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was still—

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.

Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They don’t talk much—just share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.

She doesn’t bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now it’s just her, a quiet chair, and Suho’s breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machine’s been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.

She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when you’re tired.

She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didn’t do—what she should’ve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suho’s expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldn’t have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.

That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.

Oh, how wrong she was.

It was hard to juggle everything—school during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle.

Right. He didn’t study much.

He tried—she remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasn’t built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.

Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.

But the truth was, she wasn’t doing this because it was right.

She was doing it because she didn’t know how else to grieve.

She was doing it to remember that she still lived for him—the only one.

It wasn’t like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parents—they didn’t care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.

That was a lie.

What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.

She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.

At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieun’s old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engine’s hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.

She’d cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too high—as if standing close was its own kind of risk. She’d force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.

Other days, she’d pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: “Too loud,” he’d said, never bothering to turn around.

So she’d shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forward—deliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.

Most of all, she rode just like Suho used to—late into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.

She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.

She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t a triumphant smile—more like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.

When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paper—too soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.

She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone else’s softness.

She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suho—that bitch.

Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"

She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.

And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.

It didn’t fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.

Even if it was just hair.

Even if it was just for a second.

Then, it started.

The bullying.

The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, cold—so cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.

Not at them.

No, not at them.

At herself.

She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thing—this thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She would’ve been the storm they couldn't handle. She would’ve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.

A year ago, she would have struck first—fists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.

But not now.

Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energy—it felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.

She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.

The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at them—low laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.

They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stung—whispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.

Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look like—if that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didn’t matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.

The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their words—it all burned her. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.

She paused, breath steadying, and Suho’s voice cut through the noise in her head. “If they corner you, don’t let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.” Not her teacher’s drills—Suho’s words, like a lifeline.

She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl who’d cornered her.

Her voice was low, rough from disuse—but clear.

" You done spouting bullshit? "

The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girl’s smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribs—not fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.

The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armor—though it barely clung to her.

“You just keep talking,” she spat. “Saying things you don’t even understand. You’ve got the ego of a man compensating for something small—so small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but you’re nothing more than a coward in a mask.”

Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fast—too fast—reaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.

There was a snap—sharp, sickening.

A breath caught in the girl’s throat.

She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.

And then—silence.

She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet, she isn't done.

They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.

The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lunged—fists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.

The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didn’t see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.

The last girl hesitated.

She could’ve run. Could’ve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.

“Don’t,” she warned, softly. Like mercy.

But pride struck first, than being humble.

She attacked—and in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.

She exhaled.

She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.

“Pick them up,” she said.

No one answered, nor moved.

She exhaled with a look of annoyance.

She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathing—tile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.

“PICKED THEM UP!” she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.

It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.

They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.

But the one who had confronted her—the first to strike, the first to fall—didn’t look away.

She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasn’t fear in her face—it was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.

Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.

She walked toward her—not rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.

“Still holding onto that pride?” she asked, almost gently.

She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.

“No more talking.” She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.

The cigarette went in.

Smoke. Ash. Pained gasped. Burning tongue. Silence.

She watched her chew it—eyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.

She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.

Then she let go.

Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without fury—only finality—she slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.

At the door, she paused.

The air in the bathroom was thick—smoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.

She turned to face them one last time.

“Tell a teacher,” she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. “And it won’t just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.” Her eyes swept over them—each one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.”

A breath.

“I will kill you.”

No screams. No theatrics. Just that promise—quiet and unshakeable.

Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.

She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.

But she remained composed.

Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroom—those faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeat—was already fading into the periphery of her mind.

Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.

She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.

She didn’t need to look back.

She just have to keep moving forward.

Its been a year.

After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.

When she slept, she was impossible to wake—like the world could end outside her window and she’d sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.

Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.

She blinked.

Hospital

Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.

She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. “Hello. Is this Dokja-ssi’s phone?”

Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. “Yes—yes, this is her. I’m Dokja. Why? What’s going on?” she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.

“There’s been a complication,” the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.

For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.

She didn’t respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldn’t remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didn’t change clothes. She didn’t think. She just ran.

She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.

She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.

She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.

She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.

She called and called Suho’s grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.

When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaos—blurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.

A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.

Then everything came too fast— loud shouts, jarring footsteps.

Too real.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.

Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suho’s body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.

She saw the moment his heart flatlined.

The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.

"He's in cardiac arrest!"

Doctors shouted orders she couldn’t understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.

His chest lifted—once, twice—under compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And now—Now he was fighting to stay lit.

Tears clung to her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.

She placed a hand against the glass.

“Suho,” she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldn’t.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.

All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.

Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.

Clear.

His body jolted.

She flinched.

Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room door—desperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.

“Suho,” she choked out, once, then again—until his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.

Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, he’d hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.

She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.

Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, “Please… please don’t go.”

No one answered.

Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.

She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, “If you're here, save him.”

Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suho’s heart slowly found its rhythm again.

She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

“Suho’s stable now,” the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “He’s in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.”

“His vitals are steady. We’ll monitor him, of course.” The nurse’s tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.

The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. “His heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,” he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. He’s strong. He’ll pull through. But it’s too early to say much more.”

She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldn’t quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.

She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. “Can I see him?”

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. “Just for a moment. He’s sedated, but we’ll allow a brief visit.”

As they led her to Suho’s room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of him—his face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitors—was almost too much to bear.

But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.

There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

All she could do was stay. And wait.

"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.

"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadn’t known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."

"You always make me worry, don’t you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.

The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to have—when everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.

"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."

But silence was the loud answer.

Soon, she would hear his voice.

Again.

Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.

She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.

She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher power—she couldn’t contain it any longer.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don’t take him too."

She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.

Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.

Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.

She couldn’t show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.

Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.

She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over.

“Sieun,” his mother’s voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.

Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.

As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of them—those familiar figures from long ago—remained.

She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."

But “stable” felt hollow—an empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.

Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.

In that moment, the corridor’s light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.

When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.

“What happened to Sieun?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didn’t sound as fragile as it felt.

Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?

They met her gaze, each face shifting with something—pity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.

The first met her gaze for an instant—his head shaved close, eyes hard—before he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.

“Who are you?” the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.

Her throat constricted. “I—” She forced the words out. “I’m just asking if he’s okay.”

“Why do you care?” the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.

“I was his friend,” she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. “Please… just tell me.” They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.

“We weren’t there,” the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. “Someone brought him in. He… hasn’t woken up yet.” She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.

The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: “You close to him, then?” She blinked at him, She didn’t know how to answer him. Are you close to him? — the question wasn’t cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It would’ve been easy. Natural.

But they weren’t.

Not anymore.

So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting — the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. “I was,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.

The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.

The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasn’t like they could.

As she neared the hallway where Sieun’s mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved — like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.

She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.

By the time she reached the door — the same one his mother had disappeared through — her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.

She leaned in.

The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.

There he was.

Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.

Her breathe hitched.

Him too?

And she didn't even know.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped — and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.

It hit her like a quiet betrayal.

She used to pride herself on noticing things—on knowing when people were hurting even if they didn’t say it out loud. But this?

She hadn’t known a damn thing.

She didn't know what happened.

There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.

Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.

She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.

Would it have changed anything?

Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?

She didn’t even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didn’t notice him slipping.

She didn’t notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. “What is it?” The woman’s tone was brisk—businesslike, wrapped in steel—but not cruel. Not yet.

And for a moment, she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadn’t seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didn’t know why she was here, only that her feet wouldn’t let her go anywhere else?

But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadn’t wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.

“…What happened to Sieun?” She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.

The woman paused.

Sieun’s mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.

“You...” Sieun’s mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. “You’re the girl who visited us... a year ago?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“I was,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or understanding—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

But at her first question, her jaw tensed — a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head — not dismissive, not angry — just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.

For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.

Then, finally, Sieun’s mother exhaled — low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.

“He’s in a bad state,” she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. “Unconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. They’re doing what they can.”

The ache hit without warning — a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didn’t know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.

She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.

“Do you... want to see him?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.

“Yes.” Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. “Please. I— I need to.” The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.

Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished she’d said.

But ahead… ahead was the hope of seeing him again — and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.

“Are... are you a friend of Sieun’s?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone else’s.

“I used to be his friend,” she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She can’t afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.

The reality of what’s happening hits her—she’s finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything at all.

But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if it’s just in silence.

The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.

It’s hard to look at him—he looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. She’s reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.

His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.

She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.

Silence erupted in the room—not hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.

She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. “The doctor says it wasn’t critical, but his nervous system was affected. He’s been having trouble...” Her voice falters a bit.

“...trouble sleeping.” Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. “Did Sieun tell you this?”

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it’s drowned in the ache of regret. “No, I haven’t talked to him... not since he switched schools.” She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.

A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if she’s been waiting to say this. “The moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.”

She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished she’d done differently.

Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. “Sieun’s always been reserved... He’s never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. That’s how he is... always locking everything inside.” She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.

She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.

“I... I let my pride get in the way,” she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. “I didn’t talk to him when I had the chance... I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be fine—like he always is. I told myself he’d figure it out. But now—” her breath hitched, “now he’s in here, like this. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close.”

Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.

She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.

The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she could’ve closed, but didn’t. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.

If only she’d said something. If only she hadn’t let fear speak louder than her heart.

Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.

Her voice was calm—steady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, not accusing, not dismissive—just honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. “You can’t predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.”

She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.

“Sometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. That’s not on you. You can’t carry that alone.”

The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadn’t let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to this—but maybe... it wasn’t all hers to hold.

Then, softer now, almost like an offering:

“If you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasn’t changed. It’s not too late. He’s been through more than we know, but maybe—just maybe—seeing you now will remind him... that he’s not alone. That someone still cares.”

And in that moment, the she felt something shift—not the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didn’t fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.

She feels a sudden rush of uncertainty—an ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?

Her pride claws at her, whispering that it’s too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeper—something older and softer—fights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.

Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but it’s no longer paralyzing. It’s a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.

She glances at Sieun’s mother, who doesn’t speak—just waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet don’t move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now it’s tethered to something else—resolve.

She can’t go back. She can’t undo the past.

But maybe... she can be here now.

Maybe this is the moment that matters.

For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that she’s here, that she’s trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.

She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.

"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"

The next day felt like a blur.

She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.

She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her day—how the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.

“I saw his mom yesterday,” she continues, her voice softer now. “She said he’s not critical... but his nervous system’s been hit harder than I expected. He’s having trouble... sleeping. I didn’t know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.”

She doesn’t expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.

She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieun’s mother. “She said I wasn’t the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.

Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suho’s side becoming the lullaby she never thought she’d need.

Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suho’s, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. It’s not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary relief—a brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.

And even if it’s just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.

She stirred awake slowly, but didn’t move. The heaviness in her limbs wasn’t from sleep—it was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suho’s.

The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.

The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didn’t open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to see—but she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.

Then, his voice.

“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waiting—for answers, for closure, for him.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.

And then, the second wound.

“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”

It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.

She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride could’ve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.

She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voice—tired but sharp—cut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.

“Took you a year to say that?”

The footsteps paused. Silence stretched—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears.

He froze.

The sound of her voice—raspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably raw—stopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.

A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.

Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. It just held.

“I waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not for an apology. Just… something. Anything.”

Her hand brushed lightly against Suho’s, grounding her. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

“But you disappeared,” she continued. “Like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. “You don’t get to walk in and say sorry like that’s enough.”

She wasn’t yelling.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence hurts the both of them.

She looked at him then, fully—and for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.

Still, her next words weren’t bitter. Just… tired.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Sieun.”

And beneath it all, she meant it.

Do you even know what you left behind?

He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didn’t belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight he’d ever taken.

Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.

Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain.

What could he say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse?

So he just looked at her.

The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suho—as if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.

He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And when I finally did… I wasn’t sure I deserved to.”

She didn’t respond—not right away.

But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"

So he took a step closer.

“I didn’t stop caring,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”

"You think I didn’t notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angry—just tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.

She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.

"I just didn’t want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took it—so much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didn’t even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.

"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have you—you—just disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.

"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. I’d stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. I’d run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isn’t that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didn’t let it fall apart.

"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldn’t walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.

She didn’t cry.

She didn't want to anymore.

"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isn’t a time machine. Sorry doesn’t put things back where they were. Sorry doesn’t tell me why you thought I couldn’t handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.

"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Don’t come back now and act like you were the one hurting."

She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to him—arms still at her side, fists clenched.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.

“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”

Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.

“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”

Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.

She looked at him, hollow-eyed.

“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.

“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”

“I’m not—” he stated.

“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”

That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”

He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.

“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.

“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.

“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”

She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.

“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.

“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.

“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”

She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.

“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”

He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.

“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”

“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”

His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.

And it killed him—

That he was the reason her eyes were wet.

That her sadness wore his name.

She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”

He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”

The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.

Two steps. Three.

She crashed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.

Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.

"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."

Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.

And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.

No more pride.

No more what ifs.

No more sleepless nights.

No more wondering.

No more pretending.

Just them.

The two of them.

And maybe Suho too.

Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.

The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."

She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.

That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.

There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.

Like it still hurt.

“You want to meet them?”

The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.

She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.

He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”

She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.

They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.

Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.

Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.

Jun-tae noticed first.

“Sieun,” he said simply.

Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”

Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”

He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.

Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.

This guy, Baku.

He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.

His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.

“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Sieun blinked.

She blinked.

The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.

Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.

Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.

But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.

“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”

Sieun groaned under his breath.

“It’s not like that.”

She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.

“We’re just close.”

Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.

“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”

She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”

“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”

Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.

No one bothered correcting him again.

The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.

She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.

“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll walk you out.”

The three looked at them, and just let them be.

They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.

Then, from behind them—

“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.

Sieun didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"

Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”

She laughed, quietly.

And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.

The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”

Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”

“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”

The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.

She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.

“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”

“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.

“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”

And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.

Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.

Then she turned.

Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.

From her pocket, she pulled something small.

Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.

A black punch ring.

Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”

And just like that, she turned.

No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.

Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.

Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.

And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.

Not joy. Not hope.

But the kind saying that he was ready.

Ready for her.

Reay to face it all.

After all, he is a hero. A weak one.

♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy @trasshy-artist @cassieeelim @myouiwp @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @rexxiiia @aple-piie @sarangs-world-02 @enhacolor

[0529-jihoon]

You’re Playing a Dangerous Game | Si-eun x Reader ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

gender neutral! | 18+ smut

ᯓ★ summary: Si-eun’s focus never wavers, until you push him too far. One teasing touch too many, and the quiet boy at his desk turns into something dark, hungry, and desperate to ruin you for distracting him.

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 2k +

────────── ୨ৎ───────────

His room is dead quiet, except for the occasional scratch of a pencil against paper and the soft click of a highlighter cap.

You’re on his bed, sprawled on your stomach, watching the back of his neck like it’s your newest obsession.

Si-eun hasn’t looked at you in almost an hour.

He’s been glued to that textbook, surrounded by notes so color-coded it’s like staring into a disciplined rainbow.

And he still hasn’t taken a break.

You prop your chin on your hand

“You’re gonna fry your brain if you keep staring at that,” you say, voice lilting.

“I’m fine” he says flatly.

Another highlight. Another note.

You roll onto your back, stretching. Loudly.

Nothing.

Ugh this guy, he really chose to study over his partner who was on his bed!

Then with a hum you sit up, slide off the bed, and walk over to where he’s seated at his desk, a mischievous plan forming in your head.

“You’ve been studying for three hours.”

You said with a whine

“I need to memorize the entire structure by Friday.”

He replies dismissively, his eyes trained on his notes

“Then I guess I should help you… focus.”

You said with a sly grin, sauntering toward him with a spark of mischief in your eyes—each step part of a plan you knew he wouldn’t like.

That gets a reaction. A small pause in his hand, barely a flicker. But you see it.

You lean down behind him, gently wrapping your arms around his neck, lips grazing his ear while your chest tantalizingly pressed against his back.

“Or would that be too distracting?”

His back stiffens — not fully, just enough to let you know you’ve hit the target.

“Yes,” he says, still staring at his notes.

“Oh no,” you cooed mockingly, “am I ruining your perfect concentration?”

Your fingers trail down his collar bone— light. Lazy.

His jaw tenses.

Still, he says nothing.

Jeez, he’s stubborn.

So you slide onto his lap.

He doesn’t stop you — but he doesn’t look at you either. Just freezes beneath you, breath caught, eyes closed and a deep sigh escaping his lips.

You knew you where slowly getting under his skin

“I’m bored,” you pout, rocking slightly. “Can’t you take a small break at least?”

He grips the edge of the desk tighter.

You lean close again, voice low and teasing.

“You’re really gonna pretend you’re not hard right now?”

That’s it.

The lead in his mechanical pencil snaps against the paper after he pushes down too hard.

He still doesn’t look at you.

But something inside him snaps, the next second, he’s gripping your waist pulling you closer, pressing your body down against his — and yeah, you were right. He’s hard. Painfully.

“You think this is a game?” he growls quietly, but rough, and nothing like his usual flat tone.

Your smirk fades just a little.

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks. Walking around like you don’t know what you’re doing to me. Saying things like that in my ear—”

His hands grip on your waist now slipping beneath the fabric, grounding, almost shaking.

“—and you expect me to just sit here and study?”

He finally looks at you.

His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. A little glassy, a little desperate. Like he’s starving.

“Si-eun—”

~smut starts here~

“Shut up.”

You gasp softly as he pulls you into a rough kiss — not angry, but hungry. His lips move over yours like he’s trying to make up for every second he held back.

Si-eun's lips move demandingly against yours, his tongue pushing past your parted lips to claim your mouth. It's not gentle, but it's not cruel either. It's urgent, desperate, a silent plea for release from the constant torment of wanting.

His hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he opens your legs wider and pulls you closer, pressing your core harder against the thick ridge of his erection straining against his pants.

He breaks the kiss abruptly, his chest heaving as he stares at you with eyes that burn into yours.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "To see me like this? To make me lose control?"

His hips flex upward, grinding his hard length against your aching center. The friction makes you gasp, your head falling back.

"Because this is what you're doing to me, y/n. You're driving me crazy."

His hands slide up your sides, pushing your shirt out of the way to expose your chest. His palms cover them, thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks.

"I can't think straight. I can't focus. All I can think about is you. touching you. tasting you."

He leans in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks, his breath hot against your flesh.

"Isn't this enough of a break for you?" he asks, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "Aren't you satisfied with how much you've affected me?"

His fingers pinch your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. His hips grind against yours, the ache between your legs growing with each movement.

"Tell me, y/n," he says, his voice a low, demanding growl. "Tell me you want this too. That you need this as much as I do."

With uneven, ragged breaths, you let out a shaky plea.

“I need you, Si-eun… I want you,” you whispered, voice thick with desire.

Your body trembled beneath his touch, arousal pooling hot and heavy beneath your underwear as he continued to tease—fingers skillfully toying with your hardened nipples, drawing out soft, helpless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

Si-euns eyes darkened further at your breathless admission, his grip tightening on your waist. A shudder ran through his lean frame at your words, his control fraying by the second.

In a flash, he stood, easily lifting you with him. He swept the books and papers off his desk with one arm, not caring where they fell. Then he gently laid you down on the edge, stepping between your parted thighs.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants and underwear, with one sharp tug, he yanked them down your legs and off.

He drank in the sight of you, sprawled out before him, your chest heaving and your skin flushed. His gaze was hungry, almost feral, as it raked over your naked body.

"y/n..." he breathed, his voice rough with need. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He leaned down, his lips brushing over your stomach, your ribs, the mound of your chest. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, tracing the curves of your body like he was mapping out every inch of you.

His fingers slid higher, teasing along the inside of your thigh, tracing the delicate skin there. Higher and higher, until his thumb brushed over your private area, making you jolt and gasp.

He looked up at you then, his eyes blazing into yours. "I'm going to make you feel so good, y/n," he promised, his voice low and intense. “I'm going to give you everything you've been teasing me for."

And with that, he leaned down and put his mouth on you, his tongue sucking and licking your wet private part, twisting and teasing, driving you wild with pleasure. His fingers on the other hand pumped inside you, curling and thrusting, stroking all the right spots.

He didn't hold back. He gave you everything, just like he'd promised. And as your cries of ecstasy filled the room, he just kept going, determined to make keep his word.

Si-eun felt your body tense, heard the hitch in your breath, and knew you were close. He doubled his efforts, his tongue swirling around your private part, sucking hard as his fingers pumped faster, deeper, driving you towards your peak.

When your climax hit, it was with a cry of his name, your voice echoing off the walls of his bedroom. Your body convulsed, your inner walls clenching tight around his fingers as your sweet nectar gushed out, coating his lips and chin.

Si-eun didn't pull away. He kept licking, kept suckling, helping you ride out the intense waves of your orgasm. He savored the taste of you, the feel of your body trembling against him, your pleasure a headier drug than any study could ever be.

Only when your trembling subsided did he finally pull back, his eyes lifting to meet yours. They were dark and satisfied, a small, smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth, glistening with your essence.

"Si-eun..." you gasped out, still trying to catch your breath. "That was... incredible..."

He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked down at you, his gaze intense and hungry, his pants still straining obscenely.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, his voice a low, seductive promise. "That was just the beginning."

He reached for the button of his pants, popping it open and unzipping his fly. He shoved his pants and underwear down, freeing his aching cock. It sprang out, long and hard and thick, the head an angry red.

Si-eun took himself in hand, stroking it slowly against your cunt as he looked down at you. "I'm going to take you now, y/n," he said, his voice a low, intense growl. "I'm going to make you mine in every way possible."

waa part 2 will be out maybe tmr maybe 😭🫶 I’m having brain fog + I need to study for a exams wml 🥲🥲

[c4shm0neyxxx]

“Only I Hurt You”

Oneshot were seong je finds reader in his bed after he was out handling a couple of guys who had fought her while walking home in an alley way (he told her to go home but she went to his house instead)

The front door creaked when he opened it.

Blood still clung to his knuckles, dried into the creases of his fingers. His hoodie was soaked with someone else’s sweat, maybe some of his own, and the adrenaline hadn’t fully left his bloodstream yet. It rarely did.

They’d laid hands on you. That was enough to make him see red. Enough to make him track them down like dogs.

But the house was too quiet now.

Geum Seong-je kicked off his boots and headed down the dim hallway. The rain hadn’t stopped — he could still hear it hammering against the windows. He told you to go home. Told you to listen.

You never listened.

And when he stepped into his bedroom, there you were.

Curled in his bed, soaking wet, blood streaked down one arm, your lip split and trembling. His sheets were damp. Your clothes were stuck to your skin like a second layer. Your shoes were still on.

“You walked here?” His voice came out low. Barely controlled.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t answer.

He crossed the room in two steps.

“You walked here. In the rain. After they touched you?”

You blinked. He could see the shiver you tried to suppress, your body reacting before your pride could hide it. The blood on your shirt wasn’t all dried. Some of it was still fresh.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” you whispered.

That cracked something in him.

Geum Seong-je didn’t speak for a long moment. He just stood there, fists clenched, chest rising slowly. Then, without a word, he knelt at the edge of the bed and started untying your soaked laces. You flinched when his knuckles brushed your ankle.

“I told you to go home,” he muttered. “But you came here, instead.”

Your voice was barely audible. “This is home.”

He froze. Just for a second.

Then he yanked your shoes off with more force than necessary and peeled your jacket away from your shoulders. It clung, resisting, your blood and the rainwater mixing into a mess that stained his fingers.

You tried to sit up, but his hand landed on your thigh — firm, grounding.

“Stay still.”

You didn’t dare disobey.

He left for a moment. You heard drawers open, the faucet running. When he came back, he had a towel, gauze, ointment, and one of his oversized shirts.

“Take the top off.” His tone left no room for argument.

You moved slowly, the sting in your ribs sharper now that the adrenaline was fading. He watched you, eyes narrow, jaw tight, like he was memorizing every bruise so he could repay them tenfold.

He cleaned the cut on your arm with terrifying gentleness, fingertips brushing over your skin like you were something fragile, breakable.

“You should’ve called me,” he murmured.

“You told me to leave.”

“You should’ve still called.”

Your eyes flicked up. “Would you have come?”

He paused.

Then leaned in.

“I’m always coming for you.”

The silence between you tightened, thick with something you didn’t know how to name. You winced when he pressed antiseptic to your split lip. He cupped your jaw to steady you, his thumb brushing your cheek, rough with callouses and blood.

“I handled it,” he said. “They won’t touch you again. They won’t touch anyone again.”

A beat.

“Did you kill them?”

His eyes didn’t flinch. “No. But I made them wish I had.”

The room went still.

“You scare me sometimes,” you admitted.

He brushed damp hair from your face. Then leaned forward and kissed your forehead — barely a whisper of contact.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m the only one who’s allowed to hurt you.”

You didn’t know whether to cry or kiss him.

So instead, you let him pull his shirt over your head, let him dry your hair with the towel like he’d done this a hundred times before. And when he climbed into bed behind you, one arm sliding under your neck and the other over your waist, pulling you close, you didn’t fight it.

You just let yourself be held. By the boy who broke bones with his fists and still handled you like porcelain.

Because somehow, in all this cold, bleeding chaos —

Geum Seong-je was the only warmth you had left.

[almostwisegalaxy]

Hey, hello!! I just read your story of si-eun and I fell in love with it. Could you write something similar again? But with a more emotionally dependent si-eun? I loved your writing🙇🏻‍♀️❤️

I just wanted to exist in your eyes

Yeon Sieun x fem!reader

..................................................................................

The hospital smelled of detergent mixed with blood. The kind of place where pain lurked in the walls, silent, constant. Yet, that day, between the sterile corridors, Si-eun was laughing. A raw, scraped, but sincere escape. His ribs ached, his eyebrow was split, and a purplish mark covered his cheekbone. He looked like a living disaster. His friends weren't in much better shape: Humin, always the loudest, had a split lip and laughed as if pain was fuel. Jun-tae had his arm in a sling, and Gotak wore a crude bandage on his temple. They had fought for something. For someone. For pride, perhaps. They had won.

She entered the room silently.

Y/N.

She wore the nurse's uniform with the rigor of habit, her eyes half-closed, focused on her tablet. She didn't look at them right away. Too many wounded, too many battered faces. She approached Si-eun, took his hand with mechanical delicacy, brushing his skin as if she wanted to avoid any contact.

"Have you seen your head?" she said, without looking up. "It looks like you jumped off the roof."

Gotak sneered. Humin raised his hands, falsely innocent.

"It's not our fault if we attract trouble," said Humin.

Y/N briefly glared at them, then returned to her tablet. Her tone remained neutral, almost cold.

"It's not a badge of honor, you know."

But Si-eun wasn't listening to her. He was watching her.

He had looked up as soon as she approached. He observed the slightest movement of her fingers, the discreet fold of her mouth, the eyelashes that trembled when she frowned. She had this way of holding herself, as if she was trying to be invisible. But he only saw her.

She finally felt it.

She slowly raised her head, met his gaze, stared at him. A silence. Dense. Charged. She tilted her head, smiled slightly.

"Are you going to eat me with your eyes?"

The others laughed. Si-eun said nothing. He didn't smile. His gaze didn't waver. He wanted to engrave this moment. Every breath, every blink.

"Nuna" he said in a hoarse voice.

She raised an eyebrow. There was something in this "nuna." A need that crawled under the skin. Not a provocation. Not flattery. A silent plea.

"I didn't give you anything to call me that," she replied.

"I know."

His voice trembled a little. Almost imperceptibly. She resumed cleaning his wound, her gestures slower, troubled perhaps.

After that night, Si-eun didn't really sleep anymore. He wandered. Near the hospital. By "chance." His steps always led him to the entrance, where he stopped. Thirty seconds. A minute. Sometimes longer.

She noticed him.

Once, she came out at the same time as he was passing by.

"Do you get lost often, don't you?" she asked, arms crossed.

He stared at her. Always that gaze that burned, without warmth. Like a raw wound.

"Maybe."

"Or are you hoping to meet a certain nurse?"

He didn't answer. But he approached. One step. Then another. Too close. She lowered her eyes.

"Nuna."

She sighed, turning her head away. She found him annoying. Endearing. Distractedly dangerous.

"You do this with all women, huh? The big sad eyes and the dramatic silence?"

He nodded.

"No. Just you."

A shiver ran through her. She laughed, uncomfortably. "You're a kid."

He had the look of a man who wasn't joking. He looked at her like one looks at water after days of thirst. As if she was all he could have of sweetness in a world full of blows and walls.

But Y/N was elsewhere. Always a little disconnected. She got lost in her thoughts, her responsibilities, the patients who screamed, the alarms that rang. She didn't want to believe that this silent and wounded boy could see her so clearly.

She teased him, sometimes. Brushed him with her gaze. Smiled at him, just a little, then ignored him for days. It made him sick.

At night, he thought of her. Of the words she had said. Of the words she had not said. He remembered the grain of her voice, the way she pursed her lips when she was concentrated.

It was an obsession that lacerated his chest. Not a sweet addiction. A fever. A need to touch her, to feel her presence. He wanted her to see him. Not as a kid covered in blood. Not as a body to be treated. But as someone. Someone who exists. Really.

***

He started fighting again. Looking for opportunities. He wanted to come back, covered in bruises. He wanted her to treat him again. To touch him again. To look at him, even to reprimand him.

One day, she said to him: "Are you looking for excuses to come here?"

"Yes."

She looked at him for a long time.

"Why me, Si-eun?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He would have liked to scream, but everything remained stuck in his throat. So he simply murmured:

"Because you're here."

She touched him that night. Not with gentleness. Not with love. But with a glove. A compress. A trembling hand.

He closed his eyes. Just for an instant. Just to engrave.

She thought he would move on. That it was a whim. A distraction. But he came back. Always. And each time, he seemed a little more damaged. Not physically. But inside.

He wanted to love her. He wanted to bite her, take her, destroy her just so she could feel what he felt.

But he did nothing. He stayed there. Sitting in the hallway. His hands clasped. His gaze riveted towards the door where she disappeared.

One night, she came to him. For no reason. Without a uniform.

"You can't keep doing this, Si-eun. You can't... come every day."

He stared at her. And said, softly:

"I know."

She sat next to him. The silence was heavy.

"You want me to see you, huh?"

He nodded. Slowly.

"I see you."

He closed his eyes. No joy. No relief. Just... a respite.

And she, in her shyness, her world, thought that she had never been looked at like that.

But she didn't yet know what it meant to be loved by someone who no longer knows how to breathe without you.

---

The day after that silent night on the hospital bench, Y/N had changed. Not in her uniform, not in her professional gestures, but in the look she cast upon him: more cautious, more distant. She understood this wasn't mere teenage affection. She had seen the shadow of something larger, heavier, behind his eyes.

And she was afraid.

A week later, she pulled him aside, without even checking his blood pressure or applying a bandage. No smile, no sarcasm.

"Si-eun. We need to talk."

He felt his stomach clench, as if his body knew before him what was coming. She closed the door behind them. An empty break room. Harsh lighting. The smell of cold coffee and antiseptic. Y/N stood straight, arms crossed, as if every inch between them was vital.

"I think you're idealizing me. That you need to cling to someone to survive what you're going through. And it just happened to be me. But I'm not an emergency exit, Si-eun. I'm not a refuge."

He said nothing. He looked at her as always: as if she was the only real thing in a world of noise. As if she was the only light.

"You call me nuna, but you don't listen when I speak. You want me to see you, but you refuse to see that this thing isn't healthy. It's not love, it's an obsession. Do you understand? You're hurting yourself. You scare me."

He absorbed it. Slowly. Like a blade sliding under the skin.

Then she left.

And he, he collapsed. Not physically. Not yet. But something inside him crumbled. He remained there, alone, in that empty room, staring at a white wall, unable to cry. Just a vast emptiness.

That's when he decided to "heal himself." He had understood, or at least, he forced himself to believe that he had to get out of it. Because she was scared. Because she said he was hurting her.

He looked for a psychologist. The first appointment, he said nothing. Just crossed his arms, hard gaze, heavy silence. The second, he stammered: "There's someone... I can't get out of my head."

The therapist nodded, patient. "And what do you feel for this person?"

He laughed, nervously. "Like she's under my skin. Like, without her, I'm floating in a void."

In the following weeks, he kept a journal. A spiral notebook, with scribbled pages, sometimes torn. He wrote down the hours he thought about her (almost all of them), the dreams he had of her (always blurry, always intense), the words he wished he could tell her. He wrote:

"I see her everywhere. Even when she's not there."

"I want her. Not for me. For the peace she gives me."

"I hate myself for not being enough."

He made promises to himself. No longer walk past the hospital. No longer check her schedule. No longer fight to come back to her, bleeding.

He held on. Two days. Three. A week. Then he saw Y/N laughing with a colleague. She hadn't seen him. She hadn't even felt him. And he remained frozen, jaw clenched, heart trampled.

That night, he went home, opened his notebook, and wrote in large letters:

"I DON'T MATTER."

He needed her to see him again. To touch him. To acknowledge him. He never wanted to hurt her. Never. But he wanted to exist in her world, even in pain.

So... he hurt himself.

Not a cut. Not a staged act. He hit a wall. Again. Again. Until he felt the bone in his wrist crack. He continued, with the other hand. He fell. Voluntarily. A staircase. Five steps. Hematoma on his hip. A cut lip. A mild concussion.

He didn't even scream. Just waited. Called emergency services. Gave the hospital's name. Y/N's.

When she entered the examination room and saw him, Y/N's heart stopped for a moment. Si-eun, pale, injured, his eyes moist. And he was crying. Not spectacularly. Not loudly. Small, silent tears, flowing incessantly.

"Nuna..." he whispered.

She approached, her hands trembling. She had never seen this boy cry. Not like this. Not with that pain in his eyes.

"What happened to you?"

"I fell."

She didn't ask further. She couldn't. She felt that if she dug deeper, she would break something. She cleaned his wounds, applied compresses, bandages. He didn't take his eyes off her. Not for a moment.

"You shouldn't be here," she said weakly.

He nodded.

"I know."

She avoided his gaze, but her hands trembled. She felt guilty. For rejecting him. For saying he was just a burden. And now, he was there, hurt, broken, and she couldn't help but feel that painful warmth in her chest. He was in love. With her. And it was true. Too true.

He gently took her hand. She didn't withdraw it right away.

"I just wanted you to see me again."

His voice broke. A dry sob shook his chest. He cried like a child, uninhibited. Not to manipulate. Not to convince. Because he couldn't take it anymore. Because love was a cage and she held the key.

Y/N leaned in, touched his cheek. "I see you, Si-eun. Okay? I see you."

But even those words were no longer enough. For he wanted her to feel it. He wanted her to love him with the same intensity. He wanted her to be obsessed. To lose sleep because of him. To feel the emptiness when he wasn't there.

He knew it wasn't healthy. He knew it was too much. But it was all he had. Her.

And she, despite her fear, began to understand that this boy, that gaze, that presence, would not easily fade. She had become the oxygen for a bleeding heart.

And he was still bleeding.

In the following days, she spoke to him more gently. Stayed a little longer. He clung to every word, every look. He was improving. Outwardly. But deep down, he was still waiting. For the gesture. The word. The tipping point.

For Si-eun wasn't just in love. He was consumed.

And Y/N didn't yet know that some flames don't seek light. They seek to burn everything they touch. And she was already turning to ashes.

---

The room was empty. Y/N had just finished Si-eun’s dressing. He had left, as always, silently, a little too quickly. And that’s when, on the chair by the bed, she saw it. A notebook.

An old spiral-bound notebook, worn, with dog-eared pages. She hesitated. Truly. But she recognized her name inside. "Y/N." Not once. Not twice. Everywhere. So she read.

And what she discovered inside wasn't obsession. Not a teenage whim. It was love, in its rawest, most brutal, most beautiful form. A truth he had never told her, but which he wrote to her every day. Sentences scribbled in shaky ink:

"I don't want her to love me. I just want her to see me. To know I'm still here, even when she's not looking."

"I'm healing for her. Because when she tells me to hold on, I feel like the world gets a little less heavy."

"I love her like one loves fire: I know I'll get burned, but I can't stay away."

Y/N’s hands trembled. She put the notebook down, her heart ablaze, her eyes blurry.

***

The next day, she searched. She asked around, feigned an administrative task, until she found Si-eun’s therapy session schedule. She didn't have the right to. She knew it. But she waited behind the one-way glass, in the dark hallway, her badge slipped under her blouse.

Si-eun was sitting, hunched over. The therapist's voice was soft, distant. Then he spoke. Silences. Hesitant words. And Y/N felt a tear roll down without her being able to stop it.

"She thinks I'm obsessed. Maybe I was. But not anymore. I just want her to breathe without fear when I'm around. I want her to know I can make her happy. Not scare her."

His eyes were shining. He wasn't really crying. He looked like a child torn from the inside.

"I'm trying. I walk past the hospital, and I keep going. I no longer try to run into her. I wait. For her to come. For her to see me. But I'm afraid she'll never come."

"And what does she represent to you?" the therapist asked.

He took a long time to answer.

"She's... she's the only thing that doesn't hurt me when I look at her."

A sob rose in Y/N's throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Si-eun’s eyes had welled up.

"One day she laughed. At a silly joke I made... I kept that laugh in my memory for 3 days. I wanted to tell her 'Keep it,' 'Keep me.'"

A silence followed before he continued.

"I know I shouldn't hope. But I wish she knew that I don't love her like a sick person clings to a nurse. It's stronger than that. It's... it's like my body recognized her before my mind."

"Do you want her to love you?"

He shook his head.

"I want her to live. And in that life, there to be a place, even a tiny one, where I can stay."

Y/N bit her lip. Her stomach twisted with emotion. She had seen him as a lost boy. She had forgotten that he was capable of such profound love that it would have been enough to reconcile anyone with life.

***

Since then, she looked at him differently. A little longer. With slower gestures. Si-eun felt it. But said nothing.

He, too, proved it silently. He came by more often, but not to complain. He left chocolates for the other nurses. He cleaned her chair. He sometimes left a note: "Thanks for yesterday," with a small rabbit drawing.

And then one day, she slipped her hand against his, in silence. He didn't pull back. He even intertwined his fingers. Si-eun, the boy who couldn't stand contact, had just accepted it.

Not by force. By choice.

That same evening, she wanted to joke. She said to him, a little too quickly:

"I'll have to introduce you to a friend, one day."

He froze. It turns pale then red then turns pale again. His gaze darkened.

"You want to set me up?"

She genuinely laughed. Then, on a whim, she gave him a quick, almost playful kiss on the cheek.

He literally froze. His cheeks burning. His eyes wide open. He looked at her as if she had just given him the air he had always sought.

"Nuna..."

That word. Again. That word he said with tenderness. But which, each time, tightened Y/N's heart. Like a barrier between them.

One evening, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Si-eun..."

He looked up. She was there, standing before him, her eyes shining.

"Stop calling me nuna."

He blinked.

"Why?"

She stepped closer. Her voice trembled.

"Because I feel like by saying that, you're placing me too far away. As if I couldn't be loved. Truly. Like a woman. Not just a comforting figure. Do you understand?"

He looked lost. Sad. He nodded.

She moved closer still. Her forehead brushed his.

"Is it so hard to love me without barriers, Si-eun?"

And at that moment, he understood. That it was no longer her who was afraid. It was him. Afraid to love wrong. To lose her again. But she had just opened the door. Broken that "nuna" to say: I am yours, if you choose me, I would be yours . Without a mask.

He didn't answer. He just took her face in his hands, awkwardly, like a gesture he had never dared. She closed her eyes. She shivered. She would love him, this broken, clumsy boy, but so pure he made silence weep.

***

A few days later, she invited him to eat.

"Ramyeon, outside. With me."

He looked up, surprised.

"A... date?"

She blushed violently.

"No! I mean... yes, if you want... Oh, damn."

And for the first time, he laughed. A real laugh. Warm. Spontaneous. Almost childish. It took her breath away. She had never heard that sound. It was so beautiful that she thought she would cry.

They ate in a small restaurant on the corner of an alley. Boiling ramyeon, shy smiles. He looked at her, for a long time. Without speaking. And she felt her heart tighten and relax, as if she had fallen in love. For real.

***

Since then, they loved each other. Not loudly. Not with grand speeches. But every gesture said "I love you." When he held an umbrella for her without saying anything. When she touched his hair when his head was down. When their fingers lingered linked for a second too long.

And most of all, when he no longer said "nuna."

But "Y/N."

Like a prayer.

Like a promise.

A love so raw, so deep, that it would reconcile even the hardest hearts with life.

..................................................................................

New Geum Seong-je fanfictions

New Ahn Su-ho fanfictions

Gotak fanfictions

Si-eun x Sister reader

@mariii-0001 @iiwsmr @mizxuqii @cupidsonly @nadloves

[sknyuz]

Can you please do the prompt "three words. just say the three words." With Na Baek-Jin but make it enemies to lovers and full of yearning😭😭💗

prompt — “three words. just say the three words.” pairing — academic rival!na baekjin x reader genre — academic rivals to lovers, highschool, mutual pining, soft angst cw — academic pressure, tension, one kiss, just that type of yearning where you almost hate both of them for it wc — ~700 notes: i wrote this on someone else's laptop so sorry if the layout or my writing is a lil wonky ToT this was pretty rushed/not proofread

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you and baekjin have been neck and neck for as long as you can remember. same grade, same extracurriculars, same perfectly neat handwriting across test papers the teachers always returned with that look, the one that silently said, again? you two?

he always rolled his eyes when they called your names together, like it was a curse, and you did the same.

still, somehow, every quiz bee, every debate tournament, every single research camp—you ended up beside him. not by choice. just... fate, or bad luck, or the fact that your scores matched to the decimal.

you told yourself you hated him. but sometimes, you caught him looking. there are stolen moments that you two share. like that one time, late night in the library, when you both reached for the same textbook and your hands brushed—and neither of you moved away.

or the time you caught him staring at you mid-question during the final round of an academic bee, and he looked so focused, like he was memorizing your face instead of the answer.

and then there was that out-of-province regional thing last fall—when they messed up the room assignments and you two were forced to share a bed in some tiny guesthouse. the silence was thick. your backs were to each other. but sometime in the middle of the night, you woke up and he was facing you, but neither of you moved.

and now, senior year. your last nationals together. you’ve both just won it all—a team victory, but the only hand you felt trembling slightly against yours was his. his knuckles brushed yours during the final round, and you should’ve pulled away. but you didn’t, your fingers intertwined as you bowed together, closing off your championship run.

later, when the noise dies and the cameras are gone, you find each other alone behind the auditorium. he’s still in his blazer, medal heavy around his neck. the low light hits his profile just right—jaw clenched, throat bobbing.

"you didn’t have to stay back," you say quietly, as you organized the notes in your bag. “everyone’s at that hot pot place by now.”

"i know," he replies, just as quiet. "but... i knew you would."

you scoff. “of course you do.”

he studies you in that quiet, calculating way he does before a competition—except now, there’s no scoreboard, just the way his eyes soften like he’s tired of pretending.

"you know, bakejin, i kinda hate this," you whisper. it slips out. too raw, too real.

"what?"

"this thing between us." your voice wavers. "i mean, do we really still see each other as rivals, or is this just an excuse to keep whatever this is going?" you say, motioning between you and him. “we’re seniors now, baekjin. not kids.” a few months from now you won’t be winning competitions with him, sneaking glances at him while you studied for the next—hell, you might never even see baekjin again.

but baekjin takes a step closer, and your heart starts counting every second like it’s timed.

"then say it," he murmurs.

you blink. "say what?"

"three words," he says. "just say the three words."

your heart stutters.

"i hate you?" you offer, shaky.

he exhales—sharp, almost annoyed. not at you, but at the space between what you’re saying and what you mean. “no.”

you pause.

you know what he means. you know exactly what he means.

but you’ve spent so long pretending you didn’t.

he speaks first, his voice is quieter now. more raw than you’ve ever heard it.

"i love you."

the words land heavy. like a confession and an accusation all at once. and god, the way he looks at you after—like he’s bracing for the moment you walk away. like he already expects you to run.

but you don’t.

you step in, closing the distance. you let your fingers graze his—not by accident like earlier onstage, but deliberately.

"then i love you too," you say, as your other hand reaches up to curl your fingers around his tie, pulling him into a chaste kiss. you were both winners, after all.

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3

note: i accidentally posted this while doing last minute edits lol so i edited it some more and decided to let it stay up instead of reuploading. ig i offer this as a token of my appreciation for the love surrounding my weak hero class works <3

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[juliettejwnewinesa]

masterlist🔥

seongjae:

dont speak

mine after

burnout

burn all down

lean on me

NSFW alphabet

like fire

first taste

second place

not innocent

the way you laugh

dont tap out

say that again

quiet temptations,part2

i can carry you

youve been holding out

safe word

cherries and cigs

gift-wrapped

ink and bruises

silent protection

everything im not

in your corner

angels like you

small hands big heart

you were gonna hide these?