fnzktn - Tumblr blog

fnzktn · 3 days ago

Text

MINJI JUST ONE CHANCE PLEASEEEEEE hey siri play migraine by moonstar88💔💔💔

user bombiikki never misses who else is surprised 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

𝖈ross 𝖙he 𝖑ine ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!minji x fem!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you and minji were always just friends—the kind who held hands without thinking, who shared beds without question. but when feelings begin to stir beneath the surface, you’re forced to face the one line you swore you’d never cross.

𝖈ontains : friends to lovers, theyre both oblivious, and also lwk in denial, just a whole lotta fluff with like the smallest smidge of angst (but its only cuz theyre—again—in denial), hanni is in the middle of everything

𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 5.0k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : requested by anon here! when anon requested a minji fic to “feelings” by lauv i fear they cooked with the idea… i tried my best bringing this idea to life and i kinda tweaked like a few things… 😓the ending is also lwk a LILL rushed

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — feelings by lauv

the day started like all the others did, with sunlight spilling lazily through the blinds and minji’s voice in your ear. she was talking about something—maybe breakfast, maybe the dream she had about being chased by a giant toast—but you weren't really listening. not because you didn’t care, but because you knew this version of peace only came with her. it was in the way her laughter curled into the air like steam off morning coffee. it was in the way she reached out, absentmindedly fixing your sleeve like she always did.

you’d been friends for years now, and in that time, you’d become something like a rhythm—so in sync, people hardly bothered asking if you’d show up together anymore. where minji was, you were. it wasn’t planned or forced. it just happened, like gravity.

your friends joked about it constantly. hanni, especially, would nudge minji with a grin and say, “you’re basically married, you know that?” and minji would laugh, the kind that always made your chest feel warm.

“nah,” she’d reply, ruffling your hair. “we’re just close.”

close.

you’d memorised that word by now. tucked it into your heart and let it sit there, heavy and quiet.

some days it was enough. most days, it wasn’t.

like when she called you late at night, her voice soft from sleep, asking if you could come over because her room felt too quiet. and you did, of course you did, every time. and she’d curl up next to you like she belonged there, like your shoulder was made just for her to rest her head on.

or when she texted you just to say she missed you—even if you’d seen her that morning. your heart would skip, flutter, fall. but then she’d send another message right after: “also can u bring snacks i’m starving.” and you’d laugh and tell yourself to get a grip.

because she didn’t mean it like that. she couldn’t.

still, there were moments—tiny, trembling things—that made you wonder.

like the time she fell asleep with her hand in yours on the train, and even after she woke, she didn’t let go. or how she always waited for your reactions first, before anyone else’s, like your opinion meant more. like it mattered most.

and it did, didn’t it?

minji meant everything to you. in the quietest way possible, she’d become the center of your world. and you… you were just doing your best not to drown in the ache of it all.

“hey,” her voice pulled you back. you blinked, looking up at her. she had that look again—gentle, concerned. “where’d you go just now?”

you smiled, shaking your head. “nowhere. just thinking.”

she leaned closer, propping her chin on your shoulder. “thinking about what?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you reached for your drink, pretending not to notice how close her lips were to your cheek.

“you’re weird,” she said, teasing.

“takes one to know one,” you shot back.

she grinned, and your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again. you wished it would stop or at least stop hurting so much.

later that evening, as the sky turned the color of old peach skins, you sat side by side on her bedroom floor, folding laundry while music played low in the background. she hummed along to the melody, not quite in tune but beautiful all the same.

“can i ask you something?” she said suddenly.

“sure.”

“do you think i’m… clingy?”

you looked at her, startled. “what? no. why would you think that?”

“just wondering. hanni said we’re always together. made it sound like i’m too attached.”

you laughed, though something stung beneath it. “we are always together.”

she shrugged. “yeah, but… it doesn’t bother you, right?”

you paused. your hands stilled over a pair of her socks. you looked at her—really looked—and saw that tiny furrow in her brow, the one she got when she was unsure.

“min,” you said softly, “i like being with you. it doesn’t bother me.”

her smile then was slow, sweet. “me too.”

and maybe it didn’t mean anything. maybe it was just a simple exchange between best friends. maybe she’d forget it by tomorrow.

but you wouldn’t. you never did. because every time she said “me too,” it felt like a promise.

and every time, you wished she meant it in the way you did.

the sky outside was painted in soft watercolors—clouds trailing lazy streaks of white over a pale blue canvas. minji sat by the window of your favorite coffee shop, the same one with the peeling brick walls and mismatched mugs, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her cup.

hanni sat across from her, scrolling through her phone, legs crossed, eyes occasionally flicking up with something suspiciously close to amusement.

“you’re fidgeting,” hanni said eventually, not looking up.

“am not.”

“you are,” she said again, sing-song. “like a nervous wreck waiting for their crush.”

minji rolled her eyes. “you’re being ridiculous.”

“and right.” hanni leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “so… what’s the deal with you and y/n?”

minji blinked. “what?”

“don’t play dumb.” hanni gave her a look. “you’re always together. like, always. people joke about it. you're basically conjoined. you do everything together, talk in code, wear each other's clothes—min, come on. if i didn’t know you, i’d think you were dating.”

minji laughed, but there was something off about it—too quick, too sharp. “we’re just close. that’s it. i don’t like her like that.”

hanni’s brow lifted. “you don’t?”

“not in a romantic sense.”

“mhm.”

“and she doesn’t like me like that either,” minji added, as if to make it clearer. “we’re just… we’re good friends. we just get each other.”

hanni tilted her head, unconvinced. “right. so you’re telling me you share your fries, your hoodie, your bed, and your deepest thoughts—but there’s nothing going on?”

minji fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater. “yes.”

hanni sighed. “minji.”

“what?”

hanni sighed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “i love you, but you’re in denial.”

minji scoffed. “you’re reaching.”

“you’re repressing.”

minji scoffed. “i am not.”

“you are,” hanni said gently. “and that’s okay. it’s scary. love always is. but you don’t get to tell me you don’t feel something when it’s all over your face every time y/n’s name comes up.”

minji looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. her coffee had gone cold.

“even if i did,” she murmured, “what’s the point? she doesn’t feel the same. and i’d rather have her in my life like this than lose her completely because i was dumb enough to say something.”

hanni’s expression softened. “have you ever actually asked her?”

minji didn’t answer.

before hanni could push further, the bell above the door chimed, and minji’s head turned instinctively.

you walked in, hair a little wind-blown, hoodie sleeves too long, eyes scanning the café until they landed on her.

“hey,” you said, making your way over. “sorry i’m late. i had to chase down a bus, then realised it wasn’t even the right one.”

minji grinned. “sounds like you.”

“i’m lucky i didn’t get kidnapped,” you added, sliding into the seat beside her.

“you’d probably befriend the kidnapper,” minji teased.

“and ask for snacks,” hanni chimed in, laughing.

you rolled your eyes and leaned on the table, your arm brushing minji’s. she didn’t move away. she never did.

a few minutes passed as they settled into the warmth of each other’s presence.

then a barista approached with their drinks—a new girl, unfamiliar, with a practiced smile. she placed each order down carefully, but when she set minji’s down, she lingered.

“hope you like it,” she said, gaze fixed on minji. ��it’s my favorite.”

“oh?” minji blinked, smiling politely. “thanks!”

the girl smiled wider. “you’ve got great taste.”

with one last glance, she turned and walked away.

hanni raised a brow. “well that wasn’t subtle.”

“what?” minji blinked. “she was just being nice.”

“min,” hanni deadpanned.

you snorted into your cup. “she was basically batting her lashes at you.”

“she was just being nice,” minji said, entirely genuine.

hanni shook her head. “min, you’re hopeless.”

“tell me about it…” you mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed on the foam in your drink.

minji didn’t hear it. but hanni did.

her eyes darted between the two of you. her lips curved into something knowing, something quiet.

the conversation shifted then—something light, something forgettable—but the weight of those earlier words lingered, tucked between sips of coffee and the spaces your fingers nearly touched.

and minji, who didn’t think you looked at her like that—never once noticed the way your eyes refused to look anywhere else.

the sky outside was still bright, though the air had cooled into something gentler. you and hanni stood just outside the coffee shop, the door shutting behind you with a soft chime as minji slipped back inside to grab a pastry for the road.

you hadn’t said anything yet. not really. just shared a long look, the kind that passed between people who both knew what wasn't being said.

hanni was the one who broke the silence first.

“so,” she said, sipping her drink, “how long have you been in love with her?”

you choked on your straw. “hanni.”

“what?” she shrugged, lips twitching. “someone had to say it.”

you looked away, your fingers tightening around the cold plastic of your cup. the words came out without much thought, raw and slow and aching.

“she gives me whiplash,” you said, voice low. “she’ll hold my hand like it’s nothing. she’ll fall asleep on me like i’m the safest place in the world. and then she flirts with someone else like it’s just air.”

hanni didn’t look surprised. she just leaned back against the wall and stared at you like she was finally seeing what had been obvious all along.

“she’s clearly into you,” she said.

you scoffed, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “if she is, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“you don’t see it, but she’s always looking at you,” hanni said, matter-of-fact. “like she wants something but doesn’t think she deserves it.”

you blinked. your chest felt too tight. “she told me she doesn’t believe in love. that it always ends in a mess.”

“what if she’s scared?”

“then why does she keep holding me like she’s not?”

hanni didn’t answer. instead, she reached into her bag, pulled out a pen, and started doodling on a napkin she’d saved. something small, a flower maybe. a heart cracked down the middle.

then she asked, voice soft and sure:

“do you love her?”

you froze.

you hadn’t said that word yet. not even to yourself.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe. probably. it feels like—like it’s in my bones already. like it’s been there for a while and i’m only just now realising it.”

hanni didn’t tease. didn’t grin or poke fun. she just nodded, slow and understanding. it was like she knew the feeling too well.

“you should tell her.”

you shook your head. “she’ll run. she’ll say we’re better off as friends. and then i’ll lose her.”

“but aren’t you already kind of losing her, every time she looks at someone else?”

your eyes dropped to your cup, where condensation had pooled like tiny rivers. you hated how true it felt.

the thing was, you could’ve lived with the friendship. you really could’ve.

but only if the lines were clearer. if she didn’t brush your hair back like she was memorising your face. if she didn’t text you goodnight with little hearts when she was tipsy. if she didn’t make you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was something unsaid between every touch, every lingering glance.

you didn’t mind loving her quietly. you just didn’t know how long you could survive the confusion.

“you think she really feels the same?” you asked, almost a whisper.

“i think she’s trying really hard not to,” hanni said. “but feelings are like fog. you can’t run from them forever.”

you sighed. the ache in your chest felt old and familiar by now.

“you think she’ll ever see it?”

“she already does,” hanni said. “she’s just scared to say it out loud.”

you stood in silence after that. not a heavy one, but soft and slow. a silence that wrapped around the both of you like a blanket.

then the door creaked open, and minji stepped out with a grin and a paper bag in hand. the top was folded neatly, and on it, scrawled in thick black marker, was a phone number.

hanni squinted. “is that a number?”

minji looked down, and her smile widened, sheepish and amused. “yeah. the barista. she, uh… she gave it to me.”

you blinked, words catching in your throat.

“so she was flirting,” hanni said, elbowing her. “what happened to ‘she’s just being nice’?”

“okay, okay,” minji laughed, lifting the bag in defense. “i didn’t know at the time! i’m just—i don’t know. i’m oblivious, apparently.”

hanni arched a brow, clearly holding something back. her eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to minji.

minji met her gaze, then shot her a look—playful but pointed. like she was saying see? i don’t like y/n without having to say it out loud.

“you’re hopeless,” hanni muttered under her breath.

minji slung an arm over your shoulder casually, like she always did, like it was second nature.

“come on,” she said. “let’s go eat this before it gets cold.”

you forced a smile and nudged her side. “wow, getting phone numbers and pastries. who even are you?”

“minji the irresistible,” she said, with a grin that made your heart twist.

and as the three of you walked down the street together, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could pretend the ache inside you was just part of being friends.

minji arrived at your door like she always did—without warning, without needing to ask.

“i bring gifts,” she announced, holding up a plastic bag full of snacks like some wandering hero returning from battle.

“behold. ramen, choco pies, your favorite seaweed chips, and,” she paused for dramatic effect, “one overpriced convenience store cheesecake.”

you leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. “you trying to win my heart or rot my teeth?”

“both,” she said easily, brushing past you with a smug grin. “multitasking.”

you closed the door behind her and watched her kick her shoes off like she lived there, like this was just her other home. she knew where everything was—where you kept the extra pillows, the charger cable tangled behind the couch, the specific mug you used when drinking tea.

and it never stopped being strange, how something so ordinary could feel so intimate.

“pick a movie,” you said as she dropped onto the couch, legs sprawled out like a cat basking in the last bit of daylight. “but no crying tonight, please. my heart’s too tired to carry your emotional baggage through another sad indie flick.”

minji gasped dramatically. “i’ll have you know my taste is refined. cultured, even.”

“traumatic,” you muttered, grabbing the remote and handing it to her anyway.

she stuck her tongue out at you, then began scrolling. “fine. something light. maybe that dumb rom-com with the guy who keeps falling over everything?”

you smirked. “so, you mean the story of your life? got it.”

she swatted your arm, giggling. “rude.”

you made popcorn in the kitchen while she set up the film, the scent buttery and warm and almost enough to distract you from the way your heart clenched every time she laughed like that—freely, without walls.

when you returned, she was already nestled into your couch, blanket pulled over her lap and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“your spot’s waiting,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.

you sat down, close enough that your knees touched.

“you know,” she said, not looking at you, “if people saw us like this, they’d probably think we were together.”

your heart did a somersault. but you didn’t let it show.

“yeah,” you said softly. “they’d be wrong though… right?”

minji turned to you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “yeah,” she echoed. “very wrong.”

but she didn’t move away.

and when the movie started, her head found your shoulder, slow and gentle, like maybe it was exactly where it wanted to be.

“you comfy?” you asked.

she hummed. “too comfy. might fall asleep and drool on your hoodie.”

“it’s your hoodie,” you said.

“borrowed. indefinitely.”

you didn’t reply. your hand moved on its own, fingers brushing through her hair like a habit you’d picked up from another life.

and minji didn’t stop you.

halfway through the film, you looked down at her, her cheek pressed against your arm, her lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering with sleep.

she looked so small in that moment. so breakable.

you wondered if she ever looked at you the way you looked at her—like she was some kind of miracle.

your chest ached with the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

“you okay?” she murmured, half-asleep.

you forced a smile. “yeah.”

she blinked slowly. “you’re quiet.”

“just thinking.”

“dangerous.”

you chuckled softly. “probably.”

the movie played on, but you couldn’t focus. not with the warmth of her pressed beside you, not with the way she sighed in her sleep like she belonged here, in this exact moment, with you.

and when it ended, you stayed there, neither of you moving, the silence stretching between you like a secret.

eventually, she stood and stretched, yawning. “sleepover?”

you nodded. “duh.”

“you say that like it’s not a privilege.”

“it’s not. you’ve basically moved in.”

“you love it.”

you didn’t deny it.

minji changed into one of your old t-shirts and a pair of shorts she left in your drawer weeks ago. you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, laughing when you accidentally spit toothpaste on your own shirt.

and then, just like always, you ended up in bed—her on one side, you on the other, back to back but close enough that your feet touched beneath the blanket.

“goodnight,” she whispered.

“night, min.”

but neither of you slept. not right away.

you could feel her breathing. you could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady beat of her heart.

and somewhere in the silence, her fingers reached for yours under the blanket—just a brush, a moment, a whisper.

you didn’t pull away. you never did.

you closed your eyes and let yourself pretend, just for tonight, that she was yours.

and she let you.

the morning light slipped in soft and golden, brushing across the bed like a quiet apology for interrupting the peace.

you woke before her.

you always did when she stayed over.

minji was still curled beneath the blankets, one arm flung across your pillow, her hair messy and tangled like the petals of a dream left half-bloomed. her face was calm, softer than she ever let the world see. her lips parted slightly, breaths falling slow and even.

you propped yourself up on one elbow and watched her, heart caught somewhere between awe and ache.

how was it possible that someone could look like this—so warm, so close—and not know what they did to you?

her presence filled the room like music with no lyrics. and you? you listened.

you thought about how easy it was, this rhythm you shared. the laughter, the sleepovers, the way her clothes hung in your closet like they belonged. the way she stole your hoodies and your blankets and, without meaning to, your heart.

she shifted in her sleep, brow furrowing slightly as if something troubled her even in dreams. instinctively, you reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers light, careful.

your chest tightened.

god, you wanted her to wake up and see you. really see you.

you slipped out of bed gently, as quietly as you could, but the moment your feet touched the floor—

“don’t go,” she mumbled.

you froze.

minji’s voice was thick with sleep, eyes still closed as she reached out blindly and caught your wrist.

“stay,” she said, tugging you back toward the bed.

you turned, heart stuttering. “minji, i was just gonna—”

“five more minutes,” she whispered.

you hesitated. “we’ll waste the whole day.”

“then let’s waste it together.”

you didn’t argue after that.

you let her pull you back beneath the covers, her arms loosely wrapping around your waist as if this was the most natural thing in the world. her head found your chest, and your hands found her back.

the world outside the window didn’t exist. just this bed, just this moment, just her.

you stayed like that for longer than five minutes. who knows how long.

eventually, the hunger crept in.

you both stretched and stumbled your way out of bed like a pair of old souls in a new morning, brushing teeth in sync, bumping shoulders, sharing sleepy smiles.

minji pulled your sweatshirt over her head. “i’m stealing this again.”

“not stealing if i let you,” you said.

“so you admit you like it.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“but you meant it.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a smile.

the kitchen smelled of warmth and the weekend as you flipped pancakes in your old pan, minji perched on the counter like a queen in her kingdom, watching you.

“you know,” she said slowly, swinging her legs, “i agreed to go on a date next week.”

the spatula paused in your hand.

you turned, heart dropping like a stone.

“what?”

“mm.” she nodded. “you remember the barista? she asked me out yesterday and i figured… why not?”

you tried to keep your face still, tried not to let the hurt show in your eyes.

“but,” you said quietly, “weren’t you the one who said love always ended in a mess?”

she shrugged, looking away. “maybe i just said that to sound smart. maybe i was scared.”

you forced a laugh, but it came out flat. “so what changed?”

minji smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“i guess i thought it was time to try. open myself up a little. and i needed to prove hanni wrong”

the pancakes were starting to burn. you didn’t care.

“prove her wrong on what?” you questioned.

minji shrugged as she muttered a “nevermind” and picked up her phone from the edge of the counter.

you turned back to the stove, trying to hide the way your hands trembled.

you wanted to ask her—why not me? why not us? but you didn’t. you just flipped the pancake and said nothing at all.

behind you, minji swung her legs and stared at the floor. her voice was quiet when she said, “you’re not mad, right?”

“mad at you?” you smiled softly like your heart wasn’t shattering.

“never.”

you got there just after noon, letting yourself in with the spare key minji gave you months ago. her place was warm with the scent of citrus shampoo and fabric softener, a quiet kind of chaos unfolding in every corner—clothes thrown across the bed, curling iron plugged in, a half-bitten apple forgotten on the counter. it looked like her. it felt like her.

and in the middle of it all stood minji, hair half-dried and shirtless save for the sports bra she always wore when she was trying on outfits. she turned to you like you were her last hope.

“thank god,” she said. “i was two seconds away from cancelling just out of wardrobe-related stress.”

you laughed, not quite because it was funny, but because it was her. “you’re the one who wanted to give dating a shot.”

“yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rifling through a pile of neatly folded shirts and then promptly unfolding them. “remind me again why i thought that was a good idea?”

you stepped in and gently swatted her hand away from the shirts, holding up a few options yourself. “because you said it was time to be open. and that you wanted to ‘prove hanni wrong’ or whatever. ”

she groaned. “ugh. me and my big ideas.”

but she took the shirt you held out—a dark navy button-up that brought out the depth of her eyes—and disappeared into her closet to change.

you stood in the center of her room, surrounded by the familiar. her polaroids pinned to the wall. a hair tie left on her nightstand. the book she was halfway through with your bookmark inside it.

“okay,” she said, stepping out, “how’s this?”

you turned—and felt your heart skip.

she looked beautiful. not done-up or overly fancy. just her, in that natural, easy way that always knocked the air out of your lungs.

“you look good,” you said.

“just good?”

you smiled. “you always look good.”

she smiled back, that soft, pleased kind of smile, the one that made her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. you wished it meant more than it did.

she sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging on socks, and you knelt beside her to tie her laces. she didn’t ask you to—you just always did. it was one of those little things. one of a hundred tiny acts that built a life together without either of you saying so.

“you’re too good to me,” she said, watching you double-knot the shoes.

you didn’t answer. just looked up at her and gave a lopsided smile. “i know.”

she laughed and nudged your shoulder. “cocky.”

you stood up, brushing your hands on your jeans. “you nervous?”

“terrified,” she admitted. “but… kind of excited too. she seemed nice at the coffee shop. funny.”

“that’s good,” you said, voice steady though your stomach twisted.

you didn’t know why this moment felt like a countdown. like something irreversible was about to happen.

she walked over to the mirror and started fussing with her hair. “do you think she’ll like me?”

you shrugged, fingers playing with the edge of her pillowcase. “what’s not to like?”

and you meant it. but it hurt, saying those words like you weren’t the one holding every soft piece of her in your hands.

you wanted to be the one she was getting ready for.

you watched her in the mirror. the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. the way she adjusted her necklace and tilted her head to the side to check her angles.

and something in your chest clicked. or cracked. or maybe it had been cracked for a while now, and you were just now noticing the pieces.

you didn’t want her to go.

you wanted to be the one she dressed up for. the one she texted when she got home safe. the one who’d sit beside her on the subway ride back, legs pressed close and hands brushing just barely in the dark.

you wanted to tell her.

she turned around with a grin. “okay. i’m almost ready.”

you nodded slowly.

and maybe it was time for you to be ready too. ready to cross that line you both danced around.

minji stood before the mirror, fingers lightly tugging at the collar of her navy shirt, smoothing down wrinkles she wasn’t sure were even there. through the glass, her eyes caught yours—eyes that didn’t look quite like themselves tonight. they were distant, caught in a quiet storm you hadn’t seen before.

you sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded loosely in your lap, the weight of something unspoken pulling your gaze away from her reflection. when minji turned, her smile was quick and easy, but there was an undercurrent of concern hidden beneath.

“hey,” she said softly, ruffling your hair with that familiar, teasing touch, “are you missing me already? what’s up with the look?”

you tried for a smile, one that might reach the corners of your eyes, but it faltered, a fragile flicker in the dim light. “me? miss you? in your dreams.”

minji didn’t brush it off. she tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully but with a seriousness you couldn’t ignore.

“you okay?” she pressed gently.

“i’m okay,” you whispered, voice steady but quiet, like you were afraid to break the fragile moment.

minji shrugged, a small, uncertain movement. “if you say so.”

she stepped back toward the door, ready to leave for her date. the air hung thick with all the words you didn’t say.

but then you moved. slipping from the bed, your hand found her wrist, holding it softly but firmly—an unspoken question, an invitation. your grip was gentle, offering freedom and restraint all at once.

minji didn’t pull away.

she turned back to you, a nervous grin curling her lips. “hey, what’s this? you know, if you want food from my fridge while i’m gone, you don’t have to ask. just take care of my place.”

her joke floated between you, but it landed nowhere.

you met her eyes, vulnerability laid bare in your own. “minji... stay.”

the words were soft, fragile, like a whispered prayer.

“stay,” you repeated, voice breaking just a little, “don’t go on that date.”

minji’s brow furrowed, confusion and something deeper flickering in her gaze. “why?”

you took a breath, heart pounding loud enough to fill the silent room.

“because i can’t keep pretending this isn’t love. because i’m tired of waiting for maybe’s and almosts. because i want to be the one you look at like you’re home. and if that scares you, i’ll wait. but i don’t want to lose you tonight.”

her eyes softened, and the walls she built around herself started to crumble like morning mist.

“then,” she said quietly, “maybe we don’t have to go anywhere.”

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

and with a small, shy smile, she stepped closer—closing the space between almost and forever.

there, in the quiet flicker of her bedroom light, love was no longer a question or a fear. it was simply everything.

#minji x reader #bombiikki #nahihilo nalilito #asan ba ako sayo #aasa ba ako sayo😞

226 notes · View notes