st4rlvr

[st4rlvr]

i don’t edit often but i had to do this 😔

[st4rlvr]

Chasing You || CSN

I think the worst part wasn’t watching him fall for someone else.

It was realizing that somewhere along the way, I’d become easy to leave.

San had always been there. The kind of presence that didn’t need announcing. He showed up like sunlight through a window — soft, steady, unnoticed until it was gone. People talked. Said he liked me. Said he had for years. I brushed it off. Not because I didn’t care — I think deep down I knew I did — but because I never let myself think about it too long. I didn’t date. Never had. I always told myself I wasn’t built for all that messy, complicated stuff. But maybe that was just an excuse.

They told him there was no shot. That I’d never feel the same way. And maybe they were right. Maybe I didn’t feel the same.

Maybe I felt something worse.

Something messier.

Something that couldn’t be named until it was too late.

I noticed the shift when he stopped texting first. When “let’s hang out” turned into “I’ll let you know.” When his laugh — the one I knew by heart — was being shared with someone else across the room.

He looked happy. And she looked at him the way I never let myself.

Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know what to do with feelings that sat so quietly in my chest.

When he told me about her, he didn’t say it like it was news. He said it like he was already halfway gone, like he was easing me into the idea that I didn’t matter the same way anymore.

I told him I was happy for him. And maybe some of me was. But most of me was just… tired. Tired of pretending it didn’t sting. Tired of missing him while he was still standing in front of me.

The truth is, I did like him.

I liked the way he always waited for me to finish talking, even when I rambled.

I liked the way he remembered the little things — how I liked my coffee, how I hated thunderstorms, how I hummed when I was nervous.

I liked the way he looked at me, like I was something.

And now, he looks at her like that.

We were never together. Not really. So I don’t know if I have the right to feel like something ended.

But it did.

And I think the saddest part of all is that when he moved on, I didn’t just lose a chance at love.

I lost my best friend.

And I don’t know how to tell him I miss him without making it sound like I want him back.

Even though… maybe I do.

⸻

It had been over ten years.

I was in my late twenties now, living in a different city, with a different kind of life. The kind of life you build slowly and half-heartedly when you’re trying to prove to yourself that you’re over something — or someone — you never really had.

I dated.

I tried.

But nothing was like him.

It wasn’t that they weren’t kind or sweet or handsome. It’s just… none of them made me feel like me the way San used to. None of them looked at me like I was a song they couldn’t stop humming.

I thought I had moved on. Really, I did. I knew San had. He’d been with her for over a decade. Her name was everywhere — tagged in photos, mentioned in mutual friends’ stories, tied to his smile. They were getting married. I saw the post. Simple. Elegant. He asked. She said yes.

I stared at it longer than I should have, then turned my phone off and went to sleep. Or tried to.

So when I got the call from Wooyoung, I didn’t believe it at first.

“San called it off,” he said, like it was just another update.

“What?”

“The wedding. It’s not happening.”

I paused. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

There was silence, but it was loud. Everything in my head started spinning — memories, old regrets, half-buried what-ifs.

I thought about how sure they had seemed. How in love he looked. I thought about all the years that passed, all the chances I didn’t take. And for a split second, I wondered if maybe this was the universe offering me one last chance to make sense of what never did.

But then I stopped myself.

It wasn’t my business. Not anymore. Whatever had happened between them — that was their story. Just because something ended didn’t mean it began again. And even if it did… where would I even begin?

I hung up the phone and sat there for a long time. My apartment was quiet, and so was my heart, but in that aching, tired kind of way. I didn’t cry. I didn’t smile. I just sat.

Because I didn’t know how to feel.

Was I relieved? Sad? Hopeful? Guilty for even feeling anything?

I had spent so long convincing myself that it was over — that he was over — that I didn’t know what to do with the tiniest spark that flickered up in my chest at the thought of maybe.

Maybe he still thought about me.

Maybe he wondered too.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of everything — just the start of something we’d never had the courage to explore.

Or maybe… maybe some people are just meant to haunt each other quietly, forever.

It was a Thursday. Gray skies, light drizzle, the kind of day that already felt too heavy before anything even happened.

I wasn’t expecting anyone — much less him.

But there he was.

San.

On my doorstep.

He looked different, older in the way we all were now — sharper jaw, tired eyes — but still him. Still the boy who used to sit next to me in silence just to be close. Still the boy I never had the guts to love out loud.

I froze. My heart practically stopped.

“How… how did you—?”

“Wooyoung,” he said, breathing hard. “Of course.”

Of course.

I stepped aside, unsure if I should even let him in, but he walked in anyway — like his body moved faster than his thoughts.

He looked around once, like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like he didn’t know whether to cry or scream or both.

“I’m sorry for just showing up,” he said, voice shaking, “but I couldn’t stop thinking, and if I didn’t say it, I was going to lose my mind.”

I swallowed. “Say what?”

He stepped closer, eyes burning into mine. “Do you think of me too? Do you think of me the way I think of you?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Because what do you say to the ghost that never really left?

His jaw clenched. His voice cracked, but his words came hard and fast.

“Y/N, I can’t keep pretending like what happened between us didn’t hurt me.” His fists clenched at his sides. “I love you. I love YOU.”

He shouted it like it hurt to say.

And maybe it did.

Tears welled in his eyes, and I knew the anger wasn’t really anger — it was pain. All of it was. Years of unspoken things, all crashing into one brutal moment.

“You don’t get to do this now,” I finally snapped, voice rising. “You don’t get to show up now and throw that in my face like I didn’t spend years wondering if I made a mistake! You moved on, San. You left.”

“I waited! I waited for something — anything — from you! And all I ever got was silence!”

“Because I was scared!” I shouted, the words cutting my throat on the way out. “I was scared of losing you, of ruining what we had — and I lost you anyway!”

His tears spilled over, mine not far behind. And suddenly we were both yelling. Shouting through ten years of built-up regret, of longing, of missed chances. The kind of yelling that only happens when the silence has lived too long.

“Do you know what it felt like?” he yelled. “Loving you and knowing I was never enough for you to say it back?”

“You were everything to me!” I cried. “And I was too much of a coward to admit it! Don’t you get it? You were it. You were it.”

Silence.

His chest rose and fell like he couldn’t breathe. I could feel the pain radiating off of him like heat, like it was mine too — because it was. It always had been.

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” he said finally, voice barely a whisper. “But I know I never stopped loving you. Not even for a second.”

And I broke. I broke in the way people do when they finally let go of pretending.

I took a step forward, shaky and small.

“I never stopped either.”

His eyes searched mine — wild, red-rimmed, desperate. Before I could say anything else, he grabbed my face like he was afraid I’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And then he kissed me.

Rough. Unfiltered. All emotions and trembling hands.

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t pretty — it was years of love and longing and pain crashing together in one breathless, heartbreaking moment. It was him pouring everything he couldn’t say into that kiss, and me drinking it in like it was the only thing that had ever tasted right.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged, voice shaking.

“Y/N… it was never her.”

I stared at him, lips still parted, eyes wide. My heart felt like it might shatter.

“I wasn’t happy,” he said, chest heaving. “Do you know how often we fought? She knew. She knew it was you. I didn’t have to say it — she saw it in everything I didn’t say.”

His voice cracked, and his hand dropped to my waist like he needed the anchor.

“I proposed because I don’t even fucking know — I thought maybe if I committed, it would stop hurting. I wanted to be done. I wanted to move on from you.”

His voice broke entirely, and he looked at me like he was begging me to understand.

“But I can’t. Not when you’re still here.”

My hands gripped his shirt, knuckles white.

“I’ve always been here, San,” I whispered. “You just stopped looking.”

His eyes slammed shut, and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into me like he needed to fall into something real. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him like I should’ve done ten years ago.

Because after all the pain, all the silence, all the almosts — he was still him.

And I was still his.

Even if we never said it before — our hearts had known all along.

We didn’t get it all back at once.

That first night, we didn’t make some big, sweeping promise. There were no dramatic declarations, no sudden fixes. Just the two of us sitting on my couch, knees touching, hearts still raw. His hand found mine, fingers lacing slowly, like he was asking, Can I still hold you like this?

And I let him.

He stayed the night — not in the way we used to dream about, but in the real way. We fell asleep fully clothed, tangled in old blankets, with the TV playing low and his head resting against my shoulder. It wasn’t romantic. It was comforting. Familiar.

The next morning, we talked. Really talked.

About what happened. About her. About the time we lost. About how love — the kind that sits quietly in the corners of your life — never truly leaves. He told me about the ring he never really wanted to buy. I told him about the nights I cried over the thought of him belonging to someone else.

We both apologized. For the silence. For the fear. For the decade of “maybe.”

And then, we tried again. But slowly.

We didn’t move in together right away. We went on actual dates — movies, museums, late-night drives where the windows were down and the world felt soft again. Sometimes, we argued. Sometimes, we cried. But every time, we chose each other.

This time, we said the things out loud.

Two years later, he proposed. Nothing big. Just him and me, sitting on my old porch swing, the one that creaked too much and leaned a little left.

He handed me a ring and said, “Let’s not waste another ten years.”

We got married in the fall. Nothing fancy. Just people who loved us, leaves turning gold, and vows that felt less like promises and more like truths we’d finally learned how to live.

It wasn’t perfect. Life never is. But it was ours.

And that made it everything.

[st4rlvr]

The winner takes it all ||SUNGHOON

The cold never bothered me. Not when the ice welcomed me like an old friend, and especially not when he was skating beside me.

Sunghoon and I had been working on our duet for months early mornings before the rink opened, late nights when the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and the world outside had gone to sleep. We skated to The Winner Takes It All, the raw ache in the song mirroring every emotion we poured into each movement.

It started as just a performance. Just a piece we were doing for nationals, a chance to show off our chemistry, our precision, our talent. We were partners nothing more, nothing less.

But then came the texts. The way he’d message me after practice, something simple like “You did amazing today.” Or the nights when I’d mention I was tired and a picture of hot chocolate would appear in our chat, followed by “Wish I could bring you one.”

I didn’t realize what it was back then. I thought it was just the bond we’d built, two skaters trusting each other on the ice. Two bodies that moved like one.

But maybe I should have known the moment he started looking at me differently.

Maybe I should’ve seen it in the way he’d linger a second longer during a lift, his fingers pressed softly against my waist. Or when his eyes would stay locked on mine even after the music stopped, his breath syncing with mine like we were still dancing.

I didn’t know he was falling for me.

Not until the night of the performance.

We were backstage, both of us in our costumes mine, a soft blue dress that flowed like water when I spun, his, a sleek black that made him look like he belonged to the ice. He looked at me, his usual confident smirk absent.

“You ready?” I asked, adjusting one of my sleeves.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… try not to look too beautiful out there. I need to focus.”

I laughed, brushing it off like it was a joke, even though my cheeks burned. But there was something different in his voice. Something real.

The music started, and the world faded.

It was just us.

Each glide, each spin, each catch it was like a conversation we weren’t brave enough to have with words. I saw it in his eyes when he lifted me. I felt it in the way he steadied me when I faltered for just a second.

And in that final moment, when the song reached its quiet, aching end, we were nose to nose, his breath ghosting over my lips. The arena erupted into applause, but I didn’t hear it. All I could see was him.

“You were incredible,” he whispered, eyes searching mine.

“So were you,” I said, my voice barely a breath.

And then he smiled not the cocky one, not the one he showed to judges or fans, but the soft one he reserved just for me.

“I think I fell for you somewhere between the triple twist and your laugh.”

My heart stopped.

“You… what?”

“I’ve been falling for you since the first time you skated that opening solo,” he said. “You looked like something out of a dream. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. So I kissed him instead right there on the edge of the rink, with the lights bright and the ice beneath us.

The winner takes it all, the song had said.

But maybe this time, we both won.

[st4rlvr]

Movies || CSN

Every Saturday since I started university, San would come over for movie night. It wasn’t anything we planned ahead or talked about during the week it just sort of happened. The first weekend I came home after moving into the dorms, he showed up at my door with a bag of snacks and two DVDs, acting like it was the most casual thing in the world.

And from that night on, it became our thing.

I’d drag myself home every Friday, exhausted from the week, my bag full of laundry and half finished assignments, and by Saturday evening, San would be knocking on the door like clockwork. He never even texted to say he was coming. He just did.

At first, my parents thought it was sweet. They liked San my mom always offered him dinner, and my dad gave him those stiff, approving nods that were basically a warm welcome coming from him. But eventually, they started getting a little annoyed. “You’re home for two days and spend one of them glued to the TV with San?” my mom would ask. My dad had once muttered, “Guess we’ll see you Sunday night, then.”

Still, they weren’t mad. Not really. San had a way of getting away with things. He was polite, he helped carry in groceries if he saw my mom unloading the car, and he always laughed at my dad’s bad jokes. They liked him, even if they missed me.

This weekend, he brought over Big Hero 6.

“You’ve never seen it?” I asked, mouth half open in shock as he unpacked the snacks onto the coffee table.

He looked kind of sheepish, shrugging. “I know, I know. I just missed it somehow.”

“Well, that’s criminal. We’re fixing that tonight.”

So we did. We curled up on the couch like always San with his spicy chips, me with chocolate and hit play.

Watching him watch it was almost better than watching the movie itself. He laughed so loud at Baymax’s low battery scene that I was genuinely worried my dad might come downstairs to scold us. He got so into the storyline, muttering little reactions under his breath like he was talking to the characters. And when Tadashi’s scene happened, he went quiet like heartbreak had taken him by surprise.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

He nodded, eyes still on the screen. “I didn’t expect to get emotional. This movie’s hitting way harder than I thought.”

“Told you it was good.”

He smiled at me without saying anything, but I could tell he meant it. That kind of smile you give when you’re glad you’re right where you are.

The credits started rolling and we didn’t say much for a while. Just sat there in that easy silence that came from years of knowing each other. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Movie nights weren’t fancy. We weren’t doing anything wild or romantic or dramatic. But they were ours. Every Saturday since I left for school, San showed up. No questions asked. Just him, me, and a screen full of stories we’d remember long after they ended.

We didn’t even realize the time.

One minute Baymax was waving goodbye, and the next it was 10pm the kind of late that crept up without warning. The living room was dim except for the soft blue light of the TV screen and the glow of the kitchen nightlight around the corner. I glanced at the clock and let out a quiet sigh.

“You gotta go soon,” I said, not really wanting to say it.

San nodded, slow and reluctant, like he’d already been dreading it. “Yeah.”

My parents didn’t really care how late he stayed they’d long since given up on pretending to monitor us but San never overstayed. He was too polite for that. Too respectful. He’d once left in the middle of a thunderstorm because he didn’t want to be “a bother.”

So I walked him out like I always did, slipping on socks and a hoodie, stepping into the cool night air with him beside me. It was chilly but not freezing, quiet except for the hum of distant crickets and the sound of his keys jangling in his hand.

When we reached his car, he stopped but didn’t open the door right away. I leaned against the mailbox, watching him, waiting for the usual “Thanks for tonight” or “See you next week.” But he didn’t say anything.

He was fidgeting—eyes on the ground, shoulders drawn up a little. Then he muttered something, so soft I barely caught it.

“I… kinda wanna kiss you.”

I blinked. “What?”

He looked up, eyes wide, like he hadn’t meant for me to actually hear. Like maybe he’d been hoping the wind would carry it away.

“I mean—” he cleared his throat, his voice still low, shaky with nerves. “I… I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

My heart was racing. I wasn’t sure what to say, if I was supposed to laugh or play it off or say it back. But I didn’t move. I didn’t joke. I just looked at him, stunned in the best way.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s okay if that’s weird. I didn’t mean to make things—”

“San,” I said, quietly.

He froze.

“I don’t think it’s weird.”

I started fidgeting with my bracelets something I always did when I didn’t know what to say. They clinked softly as I turned them on my wrist, my thumb tracing over the little bead on the blue one San and I had gotten together at a street fair over the summer. Most of the ones I wore were ones we matched on. Not intentionally, at first. But over time, it became a thing unspoken, like a lot of what we did.

San was still quiet. Really quiet. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to shrink into himself. It was rare, seeing him like this. Nervous. Almost timid. He kept glancing at me and then away, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or bolt.

I swallowed hard, heart in my throat, and let the silence stretch just a second too long before I said it.

“Fuck it.”

He barely had time to blink before I stepped closer and cupped his face with both hands, the coolness of his skin meeting the warmth of mine. His breath hitched just a little, lips parting like he was going to say something but I didn’t give him the chance.

I kissed him.

Soft and unsure at first, but real. His face was warm under my palms, his lips still for a moment before they moved against mine, hesitant and gentle like he wasn’t quite convinced this was really happening. One of his hands came up slowly, settling on my waist like he was afraid I might vanish if he moved too fast.

When we pulled back, his eyes were wide, like I’d just short-circuited his entire brain.

“I… wow,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah.”

He blinked. “Did you just say ‘fuck it’ and then kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“…That was kinda hot.”

I laughed, leaning against his chest for a second. His arms wrapped around me easily, naturally, like they’d been waiting to.

And just like that, movie nights would never feel the same again.

[st4rlvr]

Lost Lovers || BCN

The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of my laptop screen. Chan’s face stared back at me, pixelated and exhausted. I could see the bags under his eyes even through the poor connection. It had been weeks since our last fight, but tonight was different. The weight of distance pressed on my chest like a stone I couldn’t shake off.

He was in Australia, miles and miles away, while I was stuck here in America. Time zones weren’t kind, and our conversations had dwindled from hours to mere minutes. I tried to be understanding, to be patient, but loneliness had started creeping into every corner of my life.

“You don’t even care anymore, do you?” The words burst from my mouth before I could stop them.

Chan’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course, I care—”

“No, you don’t! You barely call, and when you do, you’re tired or distracted. I’m tired too, Chan! Tired of being the only one holding this together!” My voice cracked, anger and sadness blending into one overwhelming wave.

He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it, jaw tightening. He just sat there, taking it, as if my words were fists beating against him.

“Say something!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “Fight for us, Chan! Do something!”

Silence.

That was it. I snapped. “Forget it. Just forget it.” I slammed the laptop shut, cutting off his stunned face. My chest heaved as I stood there in the deafening quiet.

I packed his things in a box that night. The letters he’d sent me, the hoodie that still smelled faintly like him, and every little trinket that reminded me of the boy I had once believed was my forever. I left the box in my closet as if by getting rid of it, I could rid myself of the ache in my heart.

But the ache never left.

Years passed, and life moved on. At least, that’s what I told myself. I had a new boyfriend—a nice guy who made me laugh and held my hand in public. But no matter how hard I tried, nothing felt the same. His touch was warm, but it didn’t ignite that spark I once knew. His laugh was pleasant, but it didn’t make my heart race.

I’d smile at him, but deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.

On nights when the world was quiet, I’d sit by my window and pull out the letters Chan had written me. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. His words were messy, scrawled across the pages with ink that had smudged from my tears.

“Hey, Y/N, I miss you. I miss your laugh, the way you always roll your eyes at my dumb jokes. I promise I’ll come back to you soon. Just hold on a little longer, okay? I love you.”

My fingers traced the faded lines as if I could summon him back with the touch. I had tried everything to get over him—new hobbies, new places, even a new love. But nothing filled the void he left behind.

Because the truth was simple: I never stopped loving him.

And maybe I never would.

The weight of missing Chan pressed against my chest like a permanent ache. It was relentless, creeping into every corner of my mind. I’d be at work, folding clothes at the boutique, and suddenly I’d hear his laugh echo in my head. At night, I’d lie in bed staring at the ceiling, imagining the way his hand used to brush against mine, even through a screen. It was everything I could think of, like a wound that never quite healed.

I knew there was no way of reaching out. I’d deleted his contact in a fit of anger the night I packed his things. The memory burned in my mind — my shaking fingers hovering over the delete button, the bitter taste of finality on my tongue as I pressed it. There was no backup, no saved messages. He was gone.

And he was across the world in Australia, so it wasn’t like I could bump into him on the street. He was living a life I knew nothing about now — probably surrounded by people who laughed at his jokes and got to see that shy smile of his every day. Maybe he had someone new, someone who didn’t scream at him or walk away when things got hard.

The thought twisted in my stomach, but I tried to shove it down. I had no right to feel jealous or bitter. I was the one who left.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The years had passed, but I never really moved on. Not in the ways that mattered. My new boyfriend was kind and stable, but he didn’t make my heart race the way Chan did. I never woke up craving his voice the way I craved Chan’s. It wasn’t fair to compare them, but I couldn’t help it.

Late at night, I’d sit by the window with those old letters, my fingers brushing over the crinkled paper. His words felt like a lifeline to a version of myself I wasn’t sure existed anymore. The girl who believed love could conquer distance, time, and even heartache.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I was someone who carried the weight of missing Chan like an invisible scar — one that no one else could see but me. And deep down, I knew that no matter how many years passed, no matter how far apart we were, he would always be a part of me. The love I had for him was etched into my very bones, and no amount of time or distance could change that.

The Australian sun dipped low on the horizon, casting streaks of orange and pink across the sky. It should’ve been beautiful — something worth sitting outside and appreciating. But all I could think about was her.

Y/N.

Her name lived in my chest like a song stuck on repeat. I couldn’t shake it, no matter how many years had passed. I tried. God, I tried. Buried myself in work, spent time with friends, even went on dates when my mates convinced me to. But it was never the same. Nothing was ever the same without her.

She was gone, and I had no one to blame but myself. I’d sat there like an idiot that night, just taking it when she screamed at me. I could still hear her voice, raw and cracking under the weight of her pain.

“Say something! Fight for us, Chan!”

I hadn’t. I froze, too scared to make it worse, too stunned by the hurt in her eyes. And then she was gone.

She deleted my number — I knew because I tried to call after a week of silence, only to hear the automated voice telling me the line was disconnected. I still sent letters for a while, but they went unanswered. Eventually, I stopped trying. What was the point when she didn’t want me in her life anymore?

But I never moved on.

Tonight was one of those nights when the loneliness hit harder than usual. I sat on my bed, staring at the box I couldn’t bring myself to throw away. Inside were the pieces of our story: photos, her handwritten notes, and that bracelet she’d made me when we first started dating. The string was frayed, but I still wore it sometimes, even if it was hidden under my sleeve.

I pulled out one of her letters and unfolded it carefully, the edges soft from how often I’d read it. Her handwriting was messy but full of life, just like her.

“Hey Chan, I miss you. Like, really miss you. But I know we’ll get through this because we’re us. We always do.”

We didn’t get through it, though, did we? I let her slip through my fingers because I was too afraid to speak when it mattered.

I rubbed a hand over my face, frustration bubbling in my chest. I wanted to hear her voice again, to tell her I was sorry — for not fighting harder, for not being enough. But I was half a world away, and she had probably moved on. Maybe she had a new boyfriend who made her laugh the way I used to. The thought made my stomach twist, but I deserved it.

Still, there were nights like this when I wondered if she ever thought of me too. If she ever missed the way things were. If some part of her still loved me the way I loved her.

Because no matter how much time passed, Y/N was still the girl who held my heart. And I wasn’t sure I’d ever get it back.

The tears started slowly, hot and stinging, but then they came all at once, shaking his chest with violent sobs. Chan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to will it all away, but the pain was relentless, clawing at him from the inside. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He missed her. God, he missed her so much it physically hurt.

Before he could think it through, he grabbed a pen and a crumpled notebook from his nightstand. His hand shook as he flipped to a blank page. Words blurred through his tears, but he kept writing, sloppily, desperately.

Y/N,

I don’t even know if this will reach you. I don’t know if you’ll read it or if you even care to hear from me anymore. But I have to try. I need to say this.

The pen wobbled in his grip, but he gritted his teeth and kept going.

I miss you. I miss you so much it’s hard to breathe sometimes. I was stupid, Y/N. I should’ve fought harder for you. I should’ve told you how much I loved you, even when things got hard. But I didn’t, and I’ve regretted it every day since you walked out of my life.

His tears dripped onto the page, smudging the ink, but he didn’t care.

There’s no excuse for how I let us fall apart, and I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from. But I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I think I always will.

His hand faltered, the weight of the words pressing down on him. He let out a shuddering breath and scrawled a final desperate plea.

If there’s even the smallest part of you that misses me too… please write back. Please.

He dropped the pen, his chest heaving with sobs. For a moment, he just sat there, the letter shaking in his hand. Then his eyes darted to the pile of old letters she had sent him years ago. He dug through them frantically until he found an envelope with her handwriting on the front.

Her old address.

He knew it was probably useless. She might’ve moved on, might’ve moved houses, or even changed her whole life. But right now, logic didn’t matter. The ache in his chest was too raw to care about rationality.

Chan folded the letter with trembling hands, slipped it into an envelope, and scribbled her address on the front. His tears blurred the ink, but he pressed on. Sealing it shut, he pressed it against his lips for a moment, his heart racing with a fragile hope.

It was a long shot—a desperate, foolish one. But it was all he had.

And if there was even a chance, however small, that she still thought of him, it was worth it.

The box was sleek and glossy, tied with a satin ribbon that matched my dress. Inside was a necklace, shimmering under the soft candlelight of the restaurant. My boyfriend smiled across the table, waiting for my reaction. It was beautiful, expensive, and thoughtful—everything a gift should be.

But all I could do was muster a weak smile. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

I hated how hollow my voice sounded, but I couldn’t help it. My mind wasn’t here. It was back on the porch, replaying the moment I found it.

The letter.

Chan’s handwriting was scrawled across the envelope, messy and unmistakable. I hadn’t seen it in years, but my heart knew it instantly. For a few seconds, I’d just stood there, frozen, my breath caught in my throat. My boyfriend had been waiting by the car, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

I shoved the letter into my purse, my hands trembling, and later stuffed it deep in my dresser drawer before we left. Out of sight but never out of mind.

Now, as the waiter poured another glass of wine, I stared blankly at the flickering candle between us. My boyfriend was talking about work, some investment deal that had gone well. I nodded, pretending to listen, but the words barely registered.

All I could think about was that letter waiting at home.

What did it say? Why had he written to me after all this time? Did he miss me? Did he still love me? The questions clawed at me, making it impossible to focus.

“You okay?” my boyfriend asked, his brows furrowing in concern. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

It was a lie, and we both knew it. But he didn’t press, probably chalking it up to one of those bad days. He tried to reignite the mood, telling me about a trip he wanted to plan for us, some luxurious getaway to Europe.

It should’ve excited me. It was everything most girls dreamed of—a rich, stable boyfriend who showered me with gifts and fancy dates. But all I could think about was Chan’s letter.

The dinner dragged on, each bite tasteless and heavy in my mouth. I gave short answers, barely contributing to the conversation. My hands trembled in my lap, and I had to clench them to stop the shaking.

By the time we left, I was exhausted—not from the evening, but from the war raging inside me.

As we drove home, my heart raced faster with every passing streetlight. I could barely hear the music playing in the car or my boyfriend’s voice beside me. All I wanted was to be alone, to rip open that envelope and finally see what Chan had written.

Because deep down, I already knew one thing.

That letter would change everything.

The second I shut the door behind me, I leaned against it, breathless. My heart was racing, and tears already pricked at the corners of my eyes. I could barely hear the sound of my boyfriend’s car driving away over the thundering pulse in my ears.

Chan.

That letter had been burning in the back of my mind all night, and now it was finally just me and it—no distractions, no pretending. My heels clicked against the hardwood as I sprinted to my room, my chest tightening with every step.

I yanked the drawer open and pulled out the envelope with trembling hands. His familiar, messy handwriting was scrawled across the front. Seeing it again shattered something inside me, and the tears spilled over.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my breath hitching as I carefully ripped open the envelope. The card inside was simple, but his handwriting filled the page, uneven and raw. I already knew this wasn’t going to be neat or composed—it was going to be him, every emotion laid bare.

My vision blurred, but I forced myself to focus.

“Y/N,

I don’t even know if this will reach you, but I have to try. I need to say this.

I miss you. I miss you so much that it hurts. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve fought for you, should’ve told you how much I loved you when it mattered. But I didn’t, and I’ve regretted it every day since you walked out of my life.

I don’t know if you’ve moved on. Maybe you have, and I’d understand if you hate me. But I can’t live with myself without telling you this.

I love you.

I always have, and I always will. If there’s even the smallest part of you that misses me too… please write back. Please.

-Chan.”

I pressed the letter to my chest, sobs wracking my body. His words clung to me, filling the cracks I thought had healed but never really did. I tried to tell myself I was over him. I had a new life, a new boyfriend, but none of it ever felt real. Nothing had ever filled the emptiness he left behind.

Tears blurred my vision as I reread the letter over and over, his desperate words echoing in my mind.

He still loved me.

And despite everything—the years, the silence, the heartache—I knew one thing: I still loved him too.

The letters became everything.

Every night, I’d sit by my window with a pen in hand, pouring out everything I had kept locked away for years. It was messy, honest, and raw. And Chan always wrote back. His letters were just as heartfelt, filled with stories about his life, his regrets, and how much he still thought about me.

It was like we had found each other again through ink and paper, slowly stitching back what had been torn apart.

We did this for months. Each envelope that arrived on my porch felt like a lifeline, tethering me to a happiness I thought was long gone. With every letter, my heart softened and opened in ways it hadn’t in years. Chan wasn’t just a memory anymore—he was present, real, and waiting for me.

But my relationship with my boyfriend was crumbling beneath the weight of my truth. The more I wrote to Chan, the more I saw through the cracks in what I had tried to build with someone else. His expensive gifts and polished words no longer dazzled me; they felt hollow.

The breaking point came one night when I told him it was over.

His charming facade shattered into anger. “Is this about him?” he sneered, voice sharp and bitter. “The ex you can’t seem to get over?”

I didn’t flinch. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “It is.”

I thought I’d feel guilty or scared, but I didn’t. There was only relief.

A week later, I found an envelope on the porch, thicker than usual. My heart raced as I tore it open. Inside was a single letter, written in his familiar handwriting.

“Y/N,

I think it’s time.

I can’t go another day without seeing you. I need to hold you, to hear your voice in person, to make up for every second we lost.

Come to me.

I booked you a ticket to Australia. It’s in this envelope. Please say yes.

Love, Chan.”

My breath caught as I pulled out the plane ticket. It was real—one-way, direct to Sydney. My hands shook, tears welling up in my eyes.

He was asking me to come back to him.

And deep down, I knew I would. I had spent years pretending to move on, but my heart had never truly left him.

It was time to go home.

The week flew by in a blur of packing, nerves, and countless restless nights. I could barely think straight as I folded clothes into my suitcase, every item packed with trembling hands. I was really doing this—I was going back to him.

My heart raced as I stood in the airport, the chaos of people moving around me barely registering. The ticket crumpled in my hand, worn from how many times I’d unfolded and checked it. My mind was spinning with questions.

What if this was a mistake?

What if I had built him up in my head all these months, only to find that we were different people now?

And yet, the thought of seeing Chan again tugged at something deep inside me, pulling me forward despite my fears.

The airplane rumbled down the runway, and as it lifted off the ground, my stomach flipped. I pressed my forehead against the window, watching the world shrink below me. My chest was tight with a mix of excitement and dread.

What did he look like now?

Had he changed?

Maybe he’d finally dyed his hair blonde like he always talked about. I smiled faintly at the thought, imagining him with golden locks and that sheepish grin he’d flash whenever he was nervous.

Did his dimples still appear when he smiled brightly? God, I hoped so. Those dimples had always been my undoing.

I wondered if he had found new dreams, new passions. If his laugh had changed or if his voice had deepened. But mostly, I wondered if his heart still beat the same way for me as it had all those years ago.

Mine hadn’t changed. It still raced at the thought of him, just as it always did.

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm. Hours stretched on as clouds drifted past the window, but my thoughts never wavered from Chan.

I was going back to him—back to the boy who had once held my whole world in his hands. And no matter how much time had passed, my heart still belonged to him.

The airport was a blur as I stepped off the plane, my legs feeling like jelly as I grabbed my bag and made my way toward the terminal. The bustling noise of voices and rolling luggage was deafening, but all I could focus on was the fact that I was finally here, standing in a foreign country that felt like home now.

I scanned the crowd anxiously, hoping to spot him. Where was he?

Chan had promised me he’d be waiting, but there were so many faces, so many people—how was I supposed to find him?

I moved forward, my heart pounding harder with every step. I was so close to seeing him, but with every second that passed, the fear crept in. What if he wasn’t here? What if something had gone wrong?

Then, I saw it.

At first, I didn’t recognize him—his hair was blonde now, a color I hadn’t seen on him before. It was the first thing that threw me off. It was lighter, almost sun-kissed, and yet it somehow suited him. But then…

That smile.

There it was. That sheepish, almost nervous grin that always appeared when he was about to do something a little embarrassing, or when he knew I was looking at him and he couldn’t help but smile. His dimples appeared with the smile, and just like that, the whole world seemed to fade away.

I didn’t care that there were people everywhere, that I was in a foreign country, that I probably looked insane. Without thinking, I threw my luggage to the side and sprinted toward him.

“Chan!” I choked out, my voice trembling with emotion.

His eyes locked onto mine in an instant. For a split second, he froze, then everything seemed to click. His expression softened, and before I could even take another step, he was moving toward me too.

I didn’t even realize the tears had started to fall until I reached him. He was right there, standing in front of me, his arms wide open. I collided into him, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed. His arms wrapped around me tightly, pulling me into his warmth, and I buried my face in his chest, crying freely.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, my hands resting on his chest, and I laughed through my tears. “I can’t believe you actually changed your hair.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his newly dyed blonde locks. “You said you liked it, so… I thought I’d give it a shot.”

I shook my head, still laughing and crying all at once. “You look perfect,” I said, my voice thick. “You’re still you.”

Chan smiled again, that same shy, heartfelt smile. “I missed you so much, Y/N.”

The world around us felt like it disappeared. There was no airport, no time zone difference, no past years between us. It was just the two of us, together again. And in that moment, everything was right.

I smiled up at him, feeling a warmth spread through me, but then I noticed it—his eyes, glassy and glistening with unshed tears. Chan, who had always been so composed, was fighting to hold it together, his gaze shifting away from mine as he quickly wiped at his eyes.

“Hey,” I whispered, my hand reaching up to gently touch his cheek, urging him to look at me. “Chan… why are you hiding from me?”

He took a shaky breath, trying to mask the emotions threatening to spill over, but it was clear that they were too strong for him to control. “I… I didn’t think this day would ever come,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think I would get to see you again, not after everything… after everything I put us through.”

I could feel the ache in my chest as he spoke, his pain so raw and vulnerable. The realization that he had been carrying this weight for all these years hit me hard. It wasn’t just me who had suffered—he had too.

“Chan,” I murmured, wiping away the tear that had escaped down his cheek with my thumb. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m here now. That’s all that matters.”

His shoulders trembled as he took another deep breath, fighting to compose himself. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. You have no idea. Every day, I thought about you… about us. And I just… I couldn’t fix it, couldn’t make things right until this moment. I was so scared you’d moved on… that you wouldn’t even remember me.”

I shook my head, my heart aching at his words. “I never moved on, Chan. I couldn’t. I was waiting for you, even when I didn’t know how to wait. And now… I’m here. We’re here.”

He finally looked at me, his eyes full of gratitude and love, but also tinged with the sorrow of lost time. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I should’ve fought harder for you. I should’ve never let you go.”

I leaned in closer, pressing my forehead to his, feeling the steady beat of his heart against mine. “We both made mistakes. But we’re here now,” I whispered back, “and we have time to make it right.”

Chan let out a soft laugh, his hand trembling as it cupped the back of my neck. “I swear, I won’t ever let you go again. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in. In that moment, I felt like everything that had happened, all the years apart, had led to this—us, standing together, tears and all. And no matter what came next, I knew one thing for sure: we would face it together.

[st4rlvr]

By the lake || LFX

The summer of 1943 began like every other. Days of heat shimmered over the endless green lawns of our estate, the hum of cicadas filling the air as I sat on the veranda with my mother, dutifully pretending to care about the guest list for our next garden party. It was the summer before my eighteenth birthday, the one my parents insisted would change everything a season of suitors, family alliances, and preparing for the life they had so carefully planned for me. I thought I knew my future. I thought my days would always be as predictable as the breeze through the magnolia trees.

But then Clara convinced me to go to the drive in theater that night.

We snuck out after dinner, giggling like schoolgirls as we crept past my father’s study and out into the warm summer night. Clara had borrowed her brother’s old truck, and the two of us tumbled into it with whispered promises to be back before anyone noticed.

The theater was on the outskirts of town, tucked away in a dusty lot where the wealthier families rarely ventured. I remember the thrill of it the smell of buttered popcorn, the flickering light of the projector, the low murmur of voices as the audience settled in. It was nothing like the stiff parties and curated perfection of my usual world. It felt alive.

That’s where I saw him.

Felix.

He was leaning against a rusted pickup truck, the kind of vehicle that seemed barely held together by sheer determination. His dirty blonde hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, and his freckles caught the light of the screen above us. But it was his smile that stopped me in my tracks. Wide, boyish, and utterly disarming. He looked so out of place yet so comfortable, as though he belonged to this world in a way I never could.

I didn’t realize I was staring until Clara nudged me.

“Do you know him?” she whispered, her eyes flicking between me and the boy across the lot.

“No,” I said quickly, though my cheeks flushed. “I was just… looking.”

Clara grinned mischievously. “Well, he’s looking at you too.”

And he was.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, the noise of the theater faded away. It was just him, standing there with that easy smile and those impossibly warm brown eyes. He raised a hand in a small, almost shy wave, and I felt my heart stumble in my chest.

Clara, always braver than I, took it upon herself to act. She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me across the lot, weaving between cars and groups of strangers until we were standing right in front of him.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m Clara, and this is Y/N.”

Felix’s gaze shifted to me, and up close, he was even more breathtaking. The freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose were like constellations, and his voice, when he spoke, was soft and deep yet magnetic.

“Hi,” he said, his smile widening. “I’m Felix.”

And just like that, the course of my summer and maybe my life changed forever.

We talked through the entire movie. Clara excused herself at some point, muttering something about not being a third wheel, but I barely noticed. Felix told me about his family, about how he worked at the docks to help his parents make ends meet, about how he dreamed of traveling one day even though he’d never been more than fifty miles from town.

“I’ve always wanted to see the world,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet longing. “But for now, I guess this little corner of it will have to do.”

I didn’t tell him then, but I envied him. His life, though hard, seemed so real compared to the carefully curated existence I’d been raised in. He lived with purpose, with dreams that were his own, not handed to him by someone else.

By the time the credits rolled, I knew I wanted to see him again. And when he asked his voice hesitant, his cheeks pink with nervousness I said yes without a second thought.

That summer, Felix became my secret. Every stolen moment, every whispered conversation under the stars, felt like a rebellion against the life I was supposed to lead. And though I didn’t know what the future held for us, I knew one thing for certain: I’d never forget the boy with dirty blonde hair, freckles, and a smile that could light up even the darkest night.

The moon hung low in the sky that night, its pale glow shimmering over the lake like silver lace. The air was warm, and the soft hum of crickets filled the silence between us as Felix and I walked along the water’s edge. It was late too late for me to be out but I didn’t care. Being with him felt worth the risk.

Felix had brought me here, his secret spot, a place he said he came to when the world felt too heavy. It was quiet and still, the kind of place where the weight of the world seemed to melt away. He’d spread out an old blanket under a willow tree, and we sat side by side, our shoulders brushing as we looked out over the rippling water.

I glanced over at him, watching as the moonlight danced across his face. His dirty blonde hair was slightly messy, the ends curling from the humidity, and his freckles stood out against his sun-kissed skin. He was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache, a way that felt almost unfair.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked softly, breaking the silence.

Felix turned his head toward me, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at me like he was trying to memorize every detail of my face.

“I’m thinking about how lucky I am,” he said finally, his voice low and steady.

I felt my cheeks flush, and I looked away, suddenly nervous under his gaze. “Lucky?”

He nodded, leaning back on his hands as he stared up at the sky. “Yeah. I mean, look at me. I’m just some guy from the wrong side of town, working at the docks to get by. And then there’s you—this incredible, smart, beautiful girl who comes from a world I can’t even imagine.”

“Felix…” I started, but he shook his head, cutting me off gently.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he said, his voice growing softer. “Every time I’m with you, it feels like… like I’m dreaming. Like I’m living a life I don’t deserve.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he deserved everything good in this world, but the words caught in my throat.

He leaned closer then, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding ridiculous, but… I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The world seemed to stop. The crickets, the soft rustle of the willow branches, even the gentle lap of the water against the shore—all of it faded into nothing. It was just Felix, sitting there with his messy hair and his wide, hopeful eyes, waiting for me to say something.

My breath hitched, and I looked down at my hands, trying to find the words. When I finally looked up, he was still watching me, his expression open and vulnerable in a way that made my heart ache.

“I think I’m falling in love with you too,” I whispered.

The smile that spread across his face was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was pure, unfiltered joy, and in that moment, I knew I’d do anything to keep that smile on his face.

He reached for my hand then, his fingers intertwining with mine as he pulled me closer. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Y/N,” he said softly. “But I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. To make us work.”

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes as I rested my head on his shoulder. In that moment, under the willow tree with the lake stretching out before us, I felt something I’d never felt before.

Hope.

And for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough.

The weeks that followed my first night with Felix felt like a dream. We stole moments whenever we could, meeting under the willow by the lake, walking hand in hand along the quiet backroads, and talking about everything and nothing until the stars faded into morning. I didn’t care about the risks. All I knew was that with him, I felt alive.

But dreams don’t last forever.

It was late one evening when it all came crashing down. Felix and I had just returned from the lake. He’d walked me as close to the house as he dared, kissing my hand in the shadows before slipping away into the night. I was still floating on the warmth of his touch, his voice echoing in my mind, when I stepped through the back door of the house.

My father was waiting for me.

He stood in the dim light of the hallway, his arms crossed and his expression as hard as stone. My heart sank the moment I saw him.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and cold. “Where have you been?”

I hesitated, trying to come up with an excuse, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t need me to answer. He already knew.

“You’ve been sneaking out,” he continued, his tone sharp as a blade. “With that boy.”

“His name is Felix,” I said quietly, my voice trembling.

My father’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care what his name is. Do you have any idea how reckless you’ve been? How foolish?”

“He’s not foolish,” I shot back, my voice rising despite the lump in my throat. “He’s kind and smart and—”

“And poor,” my father interrupted, his words cutting through mine like a whip. “He works on the docks, Y/N. He has nothing to offer you. No future, no stability, no place in this family.”

My stomach twisted, and I clenched my fists at my sides. “He’s more than that. He’s a better person than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“That may be,” my father said, his voice softening slightly, though his eyes remained cold. “But love isn’t enough, not in the real world. You have a responsibility to this family, to your future. You can’t throw it all away for some boy.”

His words hit me like a blow, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. My father had always been strict, but I’d never seen him like this—so unyielding, so determined to put an end to something he didn’t even understand.

Tears stung my eyes as I finally found my voice. “You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s been through, what he’s capable of. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I didn’t even know I needed.”

My father’s jaw tightened, and he let out a heavy sigh. “You’re young, Y/N. You think this is love, but it’s just a passing infatuation. You’ll see that in time.”

“No,” I said firmly, my voice breaking. “You’re wrong.”

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “This ends tonight. You’re not to see him again.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there in the dim hallway, my heart shattering into pieces.

I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face as his words echoed in my mind. I knew he wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t change his mind. He would do whatever it took to keep Felix and me apart.

But as I sat there, clutching my knees to my chest, I made a silent promise to myself.

This wasn’t over. Not yet.

The days after that night felt like a prison sentence. My father had made good on his threat, confining me to the estate under the guise of “protecting my reputation.” My mother, ever the diplomat, assured me it was only for a short while. “You need time to think, darling,” she had said, as if this was all for my benefit. But I didn’t need time to think. I already knew my heart belonged to Felix, no matter how much my father disapproved.

Weeks passed, each one more unbearable than the last. I spent my days staring out the window, imagining Felix by the lake or at the docks, wondering if he thought I had abandoned him. My father had forbidden any mention of him in the house, and I was too afraid to write to him.

Then Clara came to visit.

She arrived one afternoon, her voice cheerful and bright as she chatted with my mother before finding me in the garden. As soon as we were alone, her expression changed, her playful grin replaced with something softer, more serious.

“I saw him,” she said quietly, her eyes watching me carefully.

I froze, my heart lurching in my chest. “Felix?”

She nodded, sitting down beside me on the stone bench. “He was in town yesterday, near the docks. He looked… different.”

“Different how?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Like he’s been worried,” Clara said gently. “He asked about you, Y/N. Said he hadn’t seen you in weeks and wondered if you were all right.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and I looked away, biting my lip to keep from crying. “He probably thinks I’ve forgotten about him,” I whispered.

Clara reached out and took my hand, squeezing it tightly. “I told him you hadn’t. That your father’s been keeping you here.”

I turned to her, hope sparking in my chest. “What did he say?”

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “He said he misses you. That he’s been waiting for you by the lake every single night, hoping you’d come back.”

My breath caught, and a tear slipped down my cheek. “I don’t know what to do, Clara. My father won’t let me leave, and if he finds out I’ve been seeing Felix…”

“You can’t stay locked up forever,” Clara said firmly. “You love him, don’t you?”

I nodded, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “More than anything.”

Clara’s lips curved into a small, determined smile. “Then I’ll help you. We’ll find a way.”

Her words were like a lifeline, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again. Felix was still there, still waiting, and I knew I couldn’t let him down.

I didn’t know how we’d manage it, how we’d find a way to be together in a world that seemed determined to keep us apart. But one thing was certain: I wasn’t ready to give up on him. Not now, not ever.

The next morning, my father announced we’d be heading into town to pick up more seed for the garden. It was the first time in weeks he’d allowed me to leave the estate, and while the outing was far from exciting, I jumped at the chance. Anything to escape the suffocating walls of home.

The general store was quiet, with only a few familiar faces browsing the aisles. My father headed straight to the counter to discuss the seed order, leaving me to wander aimlessly. I trailed my fingers along the shelves of canned goods, my mind elsewhere, when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

A flash of blonde.

I turned instinctively toward the window, my breath hitching. There he was. Felix.

He stood just outside the store, leaning casually against the frame of the large display window. His dirty blonde hair glowed in the sunlight, and his freckled face was turned toward the glass, scanning the interior. He hadn’t seen me yet, but the sight of him was enough to send my heart racing.

Before I could think, I was moving, my feet carrying me toward the door. The bells above the door jingled as I pushed it open, stepping out into the warm summer air.

“Felix!” I called, my voice louder than I intended.

He turned at the sound of his name, his eyes widening when he saw me. A smile spread across his face, slow and beautiful, the kind of smile that made me forget the rest of the world existed.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice laced with relief and something deeper.

I didn’t stop until I was standing in front of him, so close I could see the faint golden flecks in his brown eyes. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of emotions—relief, joy, and the ache of all the time we’d lost.

“I was hoping I’d see you,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been coming into town more often, just in case… well, just in case you were here.”

My heart clenched, and I reached out, my hand brushing against his. “Felix, I’m so sorry. My father—he won’t let me leave the house. He—”

Felix shook his head, cutting me off gently. “You don’t have to explain, Y/N. Clara told me everything. I just needed to know you were all right.”

“I’ve missed you,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

His smile faltered, his eyes softening as he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve missed you too,” he said quietly. “More than I can say.”

For a moment, the world around us faded away. It was just Felix and me, standing there in the sunlight, his hand warm against mine. But the spell was broken all too quickly by the sound of my father’s voice calling my name from inside the store.

I flinched, glancing over my shoulder toward the door. Felix’s hand tightened around mine.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in his jaw. “No matter how long it takes, Y/N. I’ll be here.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I nodded, squeezing his hand one last time before stepping back. “I’ll find a way,” I promised.

As I walked back into the store, the bells jingling softly above me, I felt my father’s sharp gaze on me. But I didn’t care. Felix was still here, still waiting, and so was I.

The moment I stepped back into the store, I felt my father’s eyes on me. His face was unreadable, but the tight set of his jaw told me everything I needed to know. He had seen us.

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice sharp but low, so no one else in the store could hear.

My heart pounded as I tried to form an answer, but I knew there was no point in lying. “It was Felix,” I said softly.

His expression darkened, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping even further. “I thought I made myself clear, Y/N. You are not to see that boy again.”

I straightened my shoulders, summoning what little courage I had left. “You don’t understand, Father. Felix isn’t some troublemaker or a passing fancy. He’s… he’s important to me.”

“Important?” My father’s voice rose slightly, and a few heads turned in our direction. He took a breath, visibly reining in his temper. “You think your feelings matter more than your future? Than this family’s reputation?”

I clenched my fists at my sides, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Why does it always have to be about reputation? About what other people think? Felix is kind, he’s hardworking, and he loves me for who I am, not for what I have. Isn’t that worth something?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re young, Y/N. You don’t understand what it takes to build a life, to secure a future. Love doesn’t put food on the table or maintain a household. That boy—Felix—he has nothing to offer you.”

“You don’t know him!” I snapped, my voice trembling. “You don’t know anything about him or how he makes me feel. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I won’t give him up just because he doesn’t fit into your perfect little plan.”

For a moment, my father just stared at me, his face a mixture of anger and disbelief. Then, his expression hardened, and his voice turned cold.

“If you insist on defying me, there will be consequences,” he said. “I’ve indulged your foolishness long enough, Y/N. This ends now.”

My heart sank, and panic clawed at my chest. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if you so much as look at that boy again, I’ll make sure he’s out of your life for good,” he said, his tone icy. “Do you understand me?”

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. “You can’t do that,” I whispered.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Watch me.”

I stared at him, my chest heaving with anger and fear. This wasn’t just about Felix anymore—it was about control, about my father’s need to dictate every aspect of my life.

But as I looked into his steely eyes, I made a silent vow. He could try to keep us apart, but he would never break the bond Felix and I shared.

“Are we finished here?” I asked, my voice trembling but steady enough to convey defiance.

My father straightened, giving me a long, hard look before turning away. “Get in the car,” he said.

I followed him out of the store, my mind racing with thoughts of Felix and the promises we’d made to each other. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

As I followed my father out of the store, my heart felt heavy, each step dragging me further away from Felix. The bells on the door jingled again as we stepped outside, the warm summer sun beating down on us. My father marched ahead toward the car, his posture stiff with anger.

But I couldn’t move. Something made me stop, my chest tightening with an inexplicable pull. Slowly, I turned back toward the store.

There he was.

Felix stood across the street, leaning against a wooden post, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn trousers. He wasn’t smiling now, his usual playful expression replaced by something deeper—something sad and longing. His dirty blonde hair caught the sunlight, and even from this distance, I could see the faint freckles scattered across his cheeks.

Our eyes met, and it was like the world around us disappeared. My father’s sharp voice, the bustling of the town, even the sound of my own heartbeat—it all faded into the background.

He took a small step forward, his gaze locked on mine as if silently asking me if I was okay. The worry in his eyes sent a wave of warmth and pain rushing through me. I wanted nothing more than to run to him, to tell him everything, to bury my face in his chest and let him hold me.

But I couldn’t. Not with my father only a few feet away.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself from taking one small step back toward the store, my hand brushing against the doorframe as if it could anchor me to this moment. Felix must have noticed the hesitation in my step because his expression softened, a flicker of hope breaking through the sadness.

“Y/N!” My father’s voice snapped me out of the trance, cold and sharp as ice.

I flinched, my head whipping around to see him standing by the car, glaring at me. “Get in. Now.”

I glanced back at Felix, my heart aching as I saw him straighten up, his jaw tightening. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, but his eyes spoke volumes.

I’ll wait for you, they seemed to say. I always will.

Tears stung my eyes as I nodded ever so slightly, a silent promise passing between us. Then, with every ounce of strength I had, I turned and walked to the car, my father’s disapproving stare burning into my back.

As I climbed into the passenger seat, I caught one last glimpse of Felix through the window. He was still standing there, watching as the car pulled away, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he finally disappeared from view.

I rested my head against the window, tears sliding silently down my cheeks. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

It had been over a year since I last saw Felix. A year of unanswered letters, fleeting memories, and a heavy ache that I couldn’t shake. In that time, I had tried to move forward—tried to immerse myself in the world my father had set out for me. But nothing felt right. No matter how many social events I attended, how many conversations I had, my thoughts always returned to Felix—the way he looked at me, the sound of his voice, the way his smile made me feel alive.

One afternoon, as I walked through the town square, lost in thought, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks. The voice was unmistakable, but it was different, rougher, like time had changed him in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

I turned the corner, and there he was.

Felix stood by the storefront, his back to me, a guitar slung across his shoulder. His dirty blonde hair had grown a little longer, his face still dotted with freckles, but his posture was more slumped now, his clothes worn, the edges frayed. He wasn’t the same boy I had left by the lake, but the core of him was still there—still as magnetic as ever.

And he was singing.

“I know it’s over,” he crooned softly, his voice low and raw, vibrating with every word. The lyrics were drenched in sorrow, an aching kind of melancholy that seemed to echo through the air. “I know it’s over, and it never really began…”

The sound of his voice wrapped around me like a spell, drawing me in, pulling me closer. I stood frozen for a moment, just watching him, my heart pounding in my chest. How had I not found him sooner? Had he been here all this time, singing his heart out on the street, just waiting for me to come back?

He reached the end of the verse, his voice breaking slightly with emotion, and it felt like the world stopped spinning. He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in the music, unaware of my presence. The rawness of his voice, the pain laced within it, made me ache in a way I hadn’t in so long.

The last note lingered in the air, and for a heartbeat, everything was still.

It was then that he finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine, and everything came crashing down. His gaze widened, the flicker of recognition flashing through his expression before he quickly looked away, as though unsure whether he should be relieved or hurt by my presence.

I couldn’t move. I wanted to run to him, to pull him into my arms, but my feet stayed glued to the ground.

After what felt like forever, Felix lowered his guitar, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped his face. “Y/N,” he said, his voice shaky, as if he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things. “I… I didn’t think you’d come back.”

The words hit me like a tidal wave, and I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I didn’t know where you were,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been searching for you, Felix. Every day, wondering… wondering where you went.”

He stared at me, his lips parting slightly, as though he was trying to say something but couldn’t find the words. “I—” he stopped himself, his gaze falling to the ground. “I didn’t want to keep waiting, Y/N. I thought… I thought maybe you had moved on, that I was just a memory to you.”

I stepped forward, my heart pounding, every part of me aching to be near him again. “Felix, you were never just a memory. I’ve thought about you every day since I left.”

He looked up at me then, his face softening, a faint glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. “Really?”

I nodded, taking another step closer. “I’m so sorry I disappeared. I had to leave, but I never stopped caring about you. Never stopped thinking about the life we could have had.”

He let out a breath he’d been holding, his lips curling into a small, bittersweet smile. “I should’ve known you’d come back… but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

We stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other, everything between us unsaid but understood. The years had passed, but it felt like nothing had really changed. The pull between us was still there, as strong as ever, and in that instant, I knew that I hadn’t just come back for the town, for my family, or for anything else.

I had come back for him.

Felix set his guitar down gently on the ground, and without a word, he took a step toward me. “I’m glad you’re here, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I never stopped hoping you’d return.”

And this time, I wasn’t leaving. Not without him.

I took a deep breath, the weight of the past year pressing on my chest. Felix’s words had opened a door I thought I’d locked away for good, but now that I was standing here, face-to-face with him again, everything came rushing back.

“I’ve been looking for a house,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “My parents… they’re moving to a bigger, fancier place soon. They’re leaving the town behind for something even more ‘suitable’ for their status, and I… I can’t go with them, Felix.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re leaving your family?”

I nodded, the truth tasting bitter on my tongue. “I don’t have a choice, really. They want me to go, but I can’t. I’ve been looking for a place on my own, somewhere I can start fresh. A place where I can make my own decisions without their expectations hanging over me.”

Felix stepped closer, his eyes softening with understanding, though there was a flicker of concern in his gaze. “But what about everything you’ve known? Your life, your family…?”

I bit my lip, the uncertainty swirling within me. “I’ve spent my whole life living for them, doing what they wanted. But it’s not my life, Felix. I’ve realized that. I don’t want to keep pretending that it is.”

Felix’s expression softened even more, and I could see the mixture of admiration and sadness in his eyes. He reached out, gently taking my hands in his. “I’m not asking you to leave everything behind, Y/N. But if you need to, if you want to do this… I’m here. I’ll help you.”

A lump formed in my throat as his words hit me harder than I expected. Here he was, offering me everything he had—his support, his love, his understanding—when all I had to give him in return was uncertainty and fear of the future.

“I don’t know where this will lead, Felix,” I said quietly. “But I can’t go back to that life. I can’t be who they want me to be anymore.”

Felix’s thumb traced the back of my hand as he held it, his smile small but steady. “Then let’s figure it out together. I know things aren’t easy, but you don’t have to face them alone.”

I blinked back tears, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. The future was still uncertain, still full of questions, but in that moment, with Felix by my side, I knew I was no longer walking it alone.

“So, you’ve been looking for a house?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes. “Maybe we can find one together, huh?”

I smiled softly, the warmth in my chest spreading. “Maybe. But first… I think I need to hear you sing something else. Something that isn’t so heartbreakingly beautiful.”

Felix laughed, the sound light and carefree, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to laugh with him.

It didn’t take long for Felix and me to find our way back to the lake. It was like the world had conspired to bring us to this place again—where everything had started, where time felt like it had stood still. The lake shimmered in the fading light of the sunset, its surface painted with shades of orange and pink, the air cool and refreshing. It was as though the world had paused just for us, granting us this moment of peace.

Felix sat on the edge of the old wooden dock, his guitar resting on his knee, looking out over the water as the last remnants of daylight dipped below the horizon. I sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence, but not so close that it felt like I was rushing the moment. We had time now. Time to let things unfold at their own pace.

“I used to sing here, you know,” Felix said softly, his eyes distant as if lost in his own thoughts. “Before everything changed. It was just me and this lake. And my guitar. But now… it feels different.”

I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “I know. It’s like everything that’s happened has led us right back here. To this place.”

Felix smiled, a hint of sadness in his expression. “Yeah… I think it’s where I first felt like I could be myself, you know?”

I turned to him, my heart full. “I feel that, too.”

He let out a quiet breath and adjusted his guitar, his fingers resting on the strings. “Well, then… let’s make it our place again. You and me.”

And with that, he began to play, the familiar strumming of his guitar echoing in the stillness. His voice followed soon after, soft but filled with emotion. It was the song that had become his anthem over the past year, the one he’d sung to himself when he felt lost, when he needed to remember who he was.

“Are you lonesome tonight?” he sang, his voice low and rich, the words carrying through the twilight. “Do you miss me tonight? Are you sorry we drifted apart?”

The song, filled with longing and quiet sorrow, floated through the air like a whisper, wrapping around us both. I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me, each note and word feeling like it was written just for us.

Felix’s voice cracked slightly as he reached the bridge of the song, the raw emotion behind it too much to contain. “I never knew that I’d be so lonely… until you left.”

The words lingered in the air, and I could feel the weight of them in my chest, in my heart. Felix had always sung from his soul, but tonight, it was like he was singing directly to me, for me. And as the last notes of the song faded, I felt something in my chest loosen—a tight knot of grief, uncertainty, and longing finally unraveling.

I reached out, resting my hand on his arm. “Felix… I never wanted to be apart from you.”

He stopped playing, his gaze turning toward me, the fading sunlight casting soft shadows across his face. He reached for my hand, his fingers lacing with mine, and for the first time in a long time, I felt truly at peace.

“Then we don’t have to be anymore,” he whispered, his voice steady, sure. “Not ever again.”

The sun finally dipped below the horizon, the sky now a deep shade of indigo, and the stars began to twinkle above us. Felix and I sat there for a while, just holding hands, listening to the night around us. And I realized then that, no matter what the future held, I had everything I needed right here—this moment, this lake, and Felix by my side.

A few weeks had passed since that evening by the lake, and Felix and I had slipped into a comfortable rhythm. We had become inseparable, the bond we shared deepening with every passing day. We had both found a sense of peace, of direction, that we hadn’t known before, and now, we were on a mission: to find a house.

The town had changed a little over the years, but it still felt like home. As we strolled down the cobblestone streets, Felix was walking beside me, holding the local newspaper in one hand and flipping through the housing listings with the other. His brow furrowed slightly as he scanned the columns, muttering under his breath about the prices and locations.

“So,” I began, my voice light and excited as I walked alongside him, “I’ve been thinking about what kind of house I want. Something small but cozy, you know? A place that feels like it belongs to me.”

Felix glanced over at me, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I think that’s what we’re both looking for. Somewhere we can start fresh, make our own space.”

I nodded enthusiastically, my mind racing with ideas. “I want a house with a big front porch, one with a swing where I can sit and drink coffee in the mornings. Maybe a few rose bushes lining the walkway… something that feels like it’s always been mine.”

Felix chuckled, the sound warm and full of affection. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”

“Of course!” I grinned, nudging him lightly with my elbow. “I’ve imagined it for so long. I want it to have a big kitchen, too—somewhere I can bake and cook, and we can sit around the table together. It has to feel like home. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” Felix said, his tone sincere. He glanced back down at the paper, his eyes scanning the listings again. “I like the idea of having a space where we can just be ourselves, where we don’t have to worry about anyone else’s expectations.”

“That’s exactly it,” I agreed. “I don’t want a house that’s just a house. I want it to be ours. A place we can make memories, grow together…”

Felix stopped walking for a moment, pulling my attention away from the paper as I caught his gaze. His eyes were soft, and there was a warmth in them that made my heart flutter.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve never really thought about a house being more than four walls and a roof. But now, with you… I can actually picture it. I can picture us, here, in this town, starting a life together.”

The words hit me like a wave, and I had to take a moment to breathe. There it was—he was talking about a future. A real future. The kind I hadn’t dared to imagine, even after all this time.

Felix cleared his throat, as if suddenly realizing how serious his words had sounded. “But… don’t worry. We’ll find the perfect place, I’m sure of it.”

I smiled, squeezing his hand. “I don’t need the perfect place. I just need it to be with you.”

He grinned, the same Felix I had fallen in love with all those months ago. “Then we’ll make it perfect, together.”

We continued walking, the rhythm of our steps matching, the sun hanging low in the sky as we passed house after house, each one a possibility. Some were too big, some too small, but with every house we passed, we both knew we were getting closer. It wasn’t just about finding a place to live—it was about finding a place to build our lives together, to lay the foundation for a future that felt like it belonged to us.

As we turned the corner, a little cottage at the edge of town caught my eye. It had a white picket fence, a small garden out front, and a porch swing. The windows were wide, the front door welcoming. It wasn’t perfect, but it was everything I had dreamed of.

“That one,” I said, pointing toward the house with a grin. “That’s the one, Felix. I can already see us there.”

Felix looked at the cottage, then back at me, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “You sure? It’s not even listed.”

“I’m sure,” I said, my heart racing. “It feels like home already.”

He squeezed my hand, his eyes bright with affection. “Then let’s go see if we can make it ours.”

And just like that, the dream we had been building began to take shape, one step at a time.

The day we got the house felt like a dream. It wasn’t just the house itself, but the life that came with it—the one Felix and I were about to create together. The little cottage with the white picket fence, the porch swing, the windows that let in just the right amount of sunlight. It was perfect, in a way I hadn’t imagined. It was ours, and that was all that mattered.

The move was a bit overwhelming, though. Coming from my parents�� grand estate, I didn’t have much to bring with me. Most of the furniture, the fine china, the lavish things I’d grown up with, were all left behind. My parents didn’t see it as a loss, of course. They had their new home, their new life, but I… I wanted to make this place feel like mine, like it was truly ours.

Felix and I spent hours sorting through boxes, laughing at the mismatched things we had—an old lamp I found tucked in the attic of the house, a couch that had seen better days, and the few sentimental items I had brought along: some old books, a picture frame from my childhood. I’d gotten the essentials, but we were still building everything else.

But there was one thing I didn’t mention to Felix. I didn’t tell him how I’d secretly used some of my parents’ funds to make the purchase happen. The house was just under what they could afford to give me, and after everything had fallen apart with my family, I knew it would be easier to buy something without them finding out.

I could’ve felt guilty about it, but in that moment, all I felt was relief. It wasn’t as though I was taking from them—it was my own money, after all. But still, the secret weighed on me. I didn’t want Felix to know. I didn’t want him to feel as though I was using something that should’ve been a gift from my family to us. I wanted us to stand on our own two feet, even if that meant starting small.

As we unpacked the last of the boxes and arranged the furniture, Felix looked around the living room, his eyes lighting up. “It feels like home, Y/N. It really does.” His words were simple, but they hit me in the chest, making everything I’d done worth it.

I smiled softly, trying to push the guilt from my mind. “Yeah, it does. I think it’s because we’re here. Together.”

Felix grinned, his hands reaching for mine. “You know, this place doesn’t need to be perfect. As long as we’re here, that’s all that matters. We’ll make it our own, no matter what.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of those words settle over me, reminding me that what really mattered wasn’t how much we had, but the love we shared. And as we stood there in that little house, I knew—no matter how we got here—it was exactly where we were meant to be.

[st4rlvr]

Dead girl walking || HJS

Theater was never supposed to be my thing. Sure, I liked musicals, but I joined this production of Heathers: The Musical almost on a whim. Now, here I was, playing Veronica Sawyer and preparing for one of the most daring numbers in the entire show: Dead Girl Walking.

Jisung, my JD, was pacing across the dimly lit backstage area, occasionally stealing glances at the script he didn’t even need anymore. His phone buzzed in his hand, but he ignored it, biting his lip in concentration. He looked so focused that I almost didn’t want to disturb him. Almost.

“Hey,” I called out softly, walking toward him.

He startled slightly but recovered with a small laugh. “You’re too quiet,” he said, tucking his phone away. “What’s up?”

I shrugged, gripping my water bottle a little tighter than necessary. “Just… you know. Thinking about the scene.”

“The scene.” He nodded knowingly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “The one where we’re supposed to act like we’re on the brink of ripping each other’s clothes off in front of an entire audience?”

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks flushed. “Yeah, that one.”

Jisung chuckled, leaning against the wall. “You’ll be great. You always are.”

I tried to ignore the way his words made my heart flutter. “You think so?”

“Of course. You make it look so effortless. Me? I’m just hoping I don’t trip over my feet or make it weird.”

“You never make it weird,” I said, and I meant it.

He hesitated, then glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. “Okay, confession time. I have a little pre-show ritual that helps.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vape pen, holding it up as if presenting evidence.

“Seriously, Jisung?” I crossed my arms, half-amused and half-incredulous.

“Don’t judge me! It helps me relax. Especially for scenes like… tonight’s.”

I sighed, glancing at the clock. We had a few minutes before places were called. “Fine. But if you forget your lines or miss a cue, I’m throwing you under the bus.”

He grinned, taking a quick hit and exhaling a faint cloud of vapor. “I never miss a cue,” he said, his voice softening as the tension seemed to melt from his body.

The stage manager’s voice crackled through the speakers, calling the cast to their places. My heart pounded as I adjusted my costume, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Jisung joined me in the wings, his presence warm and steady beside me.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, though his eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer than necessary. There was something in his gaze I couldn’t quite place—something that sent a shiver down my spine.

The overture began, and the world around us seemed to fade. This was it.

When the music for Dead Girl Walking started, I was fully in character. My frustration, anger, and defiance flowed effortlessly as I belted out the opening lines.

And then Jisung entered.

From the moment he stepped on stage, something was different. His usual nervousness was gone, replaced by an intensity that took my breath away. His eyes locked onto mine, and it was like the rest of the world disappeared.

As the song progressed, the scene became more physical, more intimate. Jisung dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands resting on the sides of my thighs. The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of my costume, grounding me and electrifying me all at once.

When he looked up at me, his eyes dark with emotion, I nearly lost my place. It wasn’t just acting anymore. There was something raw in his gaze, something real.

I felt my cheeks flush as I sang my lines, my voice trembling slightly. His hands tightened on my thighs, grounding me, but also sending sparks through my entire body. I could feel the audience’s eyes on us, but for a moment, it was just him and me.

As the music built to its climax, Jisung stood, pulling me closer. Our faces were inches apart, our breathing synchronized. My heart raced as I sang the final line, and the lights dimmed, leaving us in shadow.

The audience erupted into applause, but I barely heard it. My heart was still pounding, my skin still tingling from where his hands had been.

Backstage was a flurry of activity as the cast and crew congratulated each other, but I couldn’t focus. My mind was still replaying the scene—his touch, his gaze, the way he made me feel like the only person in the room.

“Hey.”

I turned to find Jisung standing behind me, his expression a mix of nervousness and something else—something I couldn’t quite place.

“You were amazing,” he said, his voice low.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You too.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I said, though my heart was pounding again.

“During the scene…” He hesitated, biting his lip. “Did you feel it too? Or was I just getting too caught up in the moment?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. How could I possibly explain what I’d felt without sounding ridiculous?

“I felt it,” I finally admitted, my voice trembling.

His eyes softened, and he took a small step closer. “So what do we do about it?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken possibilities.

“I… I don’t know,” I said honestly.

Jisung smiled, his expression warm and earnest. “Maybe we figure it out together?”

Before I could respond, someone called for him, breaking the moment. He gave me one last look, his eyes lingering on mine, before disappearing into the crowd.

As I stood there, my heart still racing, I realized one thing: whatever had started between us tonight wasn’t just about the show. It was something real, something I wasn’t ready to let go of.

[st4rlvr]

Felix at Shiz || LFX WICKED AU

The sunlight spilled into the common room at Shiz, casting a warm glow over the polished floors and the elegantly upholstered furniture. You sat by the window, the morning light catching on your quill as it scratched across your Sorcery notes. The day was already perfect, as it always should be—bright, orderly, and completely under your control.

“Good morning, Glinda.”

You glanced up from your notes, your quill pausing midair. Felix stood a few steps away, clutching a small stack of books. His silver hair caught the light in a way that made it gleam, and there was a shy, lopsided smile on his face. He looked like he was trying to act casual, but the faint nervous energy in his posture gave him away.

“Felix,” you said, with a polite but distant smile. He was harmless, after all. “What brings you here so early? Don’t tell me you’ve taken a sudden interest in studying.”

His laugh was soft, self-deprecating. “Caught me. I was just passing through and… well, you looked like you might need some company.”

“Company?” you repeated, arching a brow. “I can assure you, I don’t need company. I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“Of course you are,” Felix said, quickly sitting in the chair across from you. “But even the most dazzling people could use a little conversation now and then.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your lips twitched in amusement. He wasn’t like the others at Shiz, the ones who swarmed around you, eager to curry favor. Felix was… different. He wasn’t trying too hard. He just sat there, calm and unbothered, like he was genuinely happy just to be near you.

“So,” he said, nodding toward your notes. “Big project? Let me guess—you’re planning to knock the professors off their feet with your brilliance?”

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Naturally. Though, to be fair, it doesn’t take much effort.”

He laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and for a moment, you felt caught off guard. You weren’t used to this. Most people fawned over you or tried to impress you. Felix just… sat there, watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the room, but not in a way that felt suffocating.

“You know,” he said after a pause, leaning forward just slightly, “you make it look so easy. Being… well, you. It’s kind of incredible.”

You blinked, your quill still hovering midair. His words weren’t the same kind of flattery you were used to. They weren’t calculated or shallow. They felt real—almost too real—and you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Well,” you said, recovering with a practiced air of confidence, “it is a talent. One not everyone can manage, of course.”

“I believe it,” Felix said with a soft grin. He glanced at the books in his hands, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “I should probably let you get back to work. Wouldn’t want to distract you.”

You tilted your head, watching him as he stood. “You’re not as much of a distraction as you think, Felix.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As he turned to leave, something made you call after him. “Felix?”

He stopped and looked back at you, his expression curious and a little hopeful.

“You’re not… completely insufferable,” you said, letting the words hang in the air.

His grin widened, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw a hint of pink on his cheeks. “Thanks, Glinda. I’ll take that as a win.”

You watched him disappear down the hall, your quill forgotten as you stared after him. He wasn’t like Fiyero, with his careless charm and easy confidence. Felix was something else entirely—kind, genuine, and maybe just a little too endearing for his own good. You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you turned back to your notes.

[st4rlvr]

(changbin as a dad just some thoughts…)

Changbin stood frozen, staring at the tiny bundle in your arms. His eyes widened as he took in every detail—the delicate fingers, the soft rise and fall of your child’s chest. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly as if to convince himself he wasn’t tearing up.

“I-Isn’t this the part where you cry?” you teased gently, nudging him.

“No,” he lied, his voice cracking as he forced a laugh. But his composure didn’t last. The moment the baby let out a soft coo, Changbin’s resolve shattered. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks faster than he could stop them.

“Changbin, are you crying?” you asked, amused but tender.

“No,” he sniffed, wiping at his face furiously, but it was no use. The dam had broken.

Setting the baby down gently in the bassinet, you reached for his face, cupping his cheeks and brushing your thumbs over the tracks of his tears. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your smile soft and warm. “You don’t have to hold it back.”

That did him in. His shoulders shook as he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your neck. “I don’t know why I’m like this,” he mumbled through his tears, his voice muffled and raw.

You laughed softly, your hands stroking his back. “It’s because you care so much. It’s why you’re going to be the best dad.”

Later, you found yourself watching him as he cradled the baby in his arms, his tears leaving faint stains on his shirt. You snapped a picture—his tear-streaked face, his uncontainable smile, and the way he held the baby like the most precious thing in the world.

The final straw came that night. Changbin had fallen asleep in the recliner, shirtless, with the baby nestled on his chest. You stared at the scene, your heart breaking and swelling at the same time. You didn’t even bother holding back the tears as you whispered to yourself, “This man is everything.”

The thought of telling him you were already thinking about baby number two almost made you laugh. But seeing the way he looked at your child, you knew you wouldn’t have to say much to convince him.

(suddenly i’m not taking my birth control AAGHAFAHSH)

[st4rlvr]

The sweet smell || LMH

The snow was falling in thick, lazy flakes, blanketing the world outside in soft white. It was almost Christmas, and the warmth of the apartment was a sharp contrast to the icy chill beyond the windows. Lee Know and I had decided to spend the day indoors, baking for our families—a festive little tradition we’d started since getting together.

The kitchen was already a mess. Flour dusted the counters, a few sticky smears of icing were on the cabinets, and there was a faint smell of cinnamon in the air. Lee Know, who had insisted on wearing an apron that said “I Bake, You Clean”, was rolling out the dough for the cinnamon rolls with the kind of precision that made me feel like I was being judged.

“Not bad,” he said, glancing at my attempt to roll out a perfect rectangle.

I huffed, trying to ignore his smug grin. “Not everyone’s a perfectionist like you.”

He leaned over, pretending to inspect my work. “It’s okay. They’ll taste the same… probably.”

The cats, of course, were not helping. Soonie and Doongie were perched on the kitchen stools, watching us with wide eyes, while Dori pawed at the counter as if he could help himself to the ingredients. My cat, Tami, was curled up in the corner, her tail flicking lazily as if she were supervising.

Lee Know suddenly straightened up. “Wait,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We should make mini cinnamon rolls.”

I blinked at him. “Why?”

“For the cats,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I gave him a flat look. “You know they can’t eat them.”

He shrugged, already cutting smaller circles out of the dough. “Yeah, but they can pretend. And then I’ll eat them.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

As we worked, the apartment filled with the cozy smell of baking cinnamon and sugar. Lee Know was humming under his breath, occasionally leaning down to scratch behind Soonie’s ears or nudge Dori off the counter. When we finally pulled the trays out of the oven, the rolls were golden brown, their swirls perfectly defined.

“Not bad for amateurs,” he said, grinning as he brushed melted butter over the tops.

I rolled my eyes. “Speak for yourself. Mine are perfect.”

He handed me one of the tiny rolls he’d made, still warm from the oven. “Try it. Tell me it’s not the best thing you’ve ever had.”

I bit into it, the soft, gooey sweetness melting on my tongue. “Okay, fine,” I admitted. “You win this round.”

The cats gathered around us as we finished icing the rolls, their noses twitching at the sweet smell. Lee Know knelt down, holding one of the tiny rolls in front of Dori. “This is for you,” he said solemnly, as if Dori would actually eat it.

I laughed, pulling out my phone to snap a picture. “You’re ridiculous.”

He stood up, brushing flour off his hands. “Maybe. But admit it, you’re having fun.”

I glanced around the warm, messy kitchen, at the snow falling softly outside, and at the four cats staring up at us like we were the most fascinating people in the world. Lee Know was smirking, but there was a softness in his expression that made my heart feel a little too full.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I am.”

And in that moment, with cinnamon rolls cooling on the counter and laughter still lingering in the air, everything felt perfect.

[st4rlvr]

But it’s freezing || CSN

“Let’s get ice cream,” he said suddenly, his tone light, like he hadn’t just suggested the most ridiculous thing.

I stopped walking, raising an eyebrow at him. “Ice cream? Now? It’s freezing.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Exactly. No one’s going to be there. Plus, it’s the perfect time—ice cream doesn’t melt in the cold.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his logic. “San, your brain is a strange, wonderful place.”

He grinned wider, taking that as my agreement. Before I could argue further, he was already pulling me by the hand toward the little ice cream shop at the corner of the street. The sign outside swayed gently in the wind, and the warm lights inside promised refuge from the icy air.

The shop was empty, just as San predicted. The owner gave us a bemused smile as we walked in, shaking snow from our coats. San ordered first, of course—something ridiculous like a triple-scoop cone. I settled for a smaller cup, shaking my head at his enthusiasm.

Outside again, the cold hit us instantly, but San didn’t seem to care. He took a huge bite of his ice cream, his cheeks turning a rosy red as he shivered.

“See?” he said through a mouthful, clearly enjoying himself. “This was a great idea.”

I watched him, trying to suppress a laugh. His nose was pink, and he looked like he was moments away from becoming an ice sculpture, but his eyes sparkled with that unmistakable San energy. He was freezing, obviously, but there was no mistaking how much fun he was having.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, taking a small spoonful of my own ice cream. The cold bite was a strange contrast to the snowy air, but oddly enough, it tasted better this way.

“And yet, you’re still here with me,” he teased, sticking his tongue out.

I rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. Despite the chill, despite the utter absurdity of eating ice cream in the middle of winter, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

We walked through the quiet town, snow crunching under our boots, laughing and shivering together as we ate. San’s cheeks stayed flushed, and I knew he’d be complaining about how cold he was later. But in that moment, he looked perfectly content, the picture of joy in the middle of the snowy day.

And honestly, so was I.

[st4rlvr]

Dancing queen || LMH

The waves crash gently against the shore, the sound mingling with the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. From my spot on the wraparound porch, I can see the sunlight glinting off the ocean, the water sparkling like scattered diamonds. The breeze carries the scent of salt and sunscreen, lifting the edges of my linen dress as I lean against the wooden railing, a glass of iced tea in hand.

“You’re daydreaming again,” Lee Know teases, his voice warm as he steps out of the house, barefoot and dressed in a loose white shirt and khaki shorts. He always looks so effortlessly put together, like he belongs on the cover of a coastal living magazine.

“I can’t help it,” I reply, turning to him with a smile. “It’s too beautiful today.”

He walks over to me, his presence commanding but soft, and places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s always beautiful here,” he says, looking out at the horizon. His gaze lingers on the waves, but I know he’s not really watching them—he’s thinking about something, like he always does.

We’ve been together for three years now, living in this seaside mansion that feels more like a sanctuary than a house. It’s all white walls, airy rooms, and wide-open windows that let the ocean breeze flow through. It’s the kind of place I dreamed about when I was a little girl, flipping through magazines and watching old movies about summer romance and endless freedom.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask, setting my glass down on the railing.

He shrugs but doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. “You,” he finally says, his voice low. “And how lucky I am to have you.”

I laugh softly, burying my face in his chest. “Says the guy who practically owns half this beach.”

“And yet,” he replies, tilting my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes, “it wouldn’t mean anything without you.”

His words catch me off guard, but they shouldn’t. Lee Know has always been like this—honest, thoughtful, and with a knack for saying things that make my heart ache in the best way.

The sun is starting to dip lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and peach. The warm light makes his features even more striking, his sharp jawline and soft eyes almost too perfect to be real.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says suddenly, grabbing my hand before I can protest.

We make our way down to the beach, the sand cool beneath our feet. The waves lap at our ankles as we walk, and he squeezes my hand every time I stumble on a rock or a shell. The world feels impossibly big and small at the same time, like it’s just the two of us here and nothing else matters.

“I was thinking,” he says after a while, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “We should host a party. Something simple, just a few friends, good food, music.”

“Simple,” I echo with a laugh. “Do you even know what that word means? Our idea of ‘simple’ always turns into a full-blown event.”

He grins, his smile lopsided and mischievous. “Okay, maybe not simple. But it’s summer, and we should celebrate. Besides, I like seeing you happy.”

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Fine. But only if you help me set up.”

“Deal.”

As we turn back toward the house, the sky darkens into shades of lavender and deep blue. The lights from our home spill onto the sand, warm and inviting, a beacon in the growing dusk.

Lee Know pulls me closer, his arm slipping around my waist. “You know,” he says softly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves, “every time I look at you, I’m reminded why I love it here so much.”

I lean into him, my heart full as I look up at the house we’ve made into a home, the life we’ve built together. “It’s not the place,” I whisper. “It’s you.”

The house was alive with energy. Warm lights spill from every window, casting a soft glow on the sand below. The once-calm evening now hums with laughter, music, and the occasional clink of glasses. The air smells of salt, citrus, and something faintly sweet—maybe the crème brûlée Felix insisted on bringing.

In the main room, where the windows are flung wide open to let in the ocean breeze, a record player blasts Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” The music weaves seamlessly with the sound of the waves outside, creating a rhythm that feels timeless.

Chan, ever the unofficial party leader, stands near the kitchen, animatedly discussing something with Hyunjin and Jisung. Hyunjin’s wearing a silk shirt that billows every time he moves, while Jisung has his signature mischievous grin as he mimics Chan’s hand gestures, making everyone laugh.

“Where’s the champagne?” Felix’s voice calls out as he appears from the kitchen, holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres. He’s wearing an apron over his outfit—a crisp button-down and linen trousers—and looks so at ease that it’s hard to believe he’s not actually staff at some luxury restaurant.

“I thought you were handling that,” Seungmin replies from the couch, raising an eyebrow. He’s seated with Jeongin, who’s scrolling through his phone but occasionally looks up to chuckle at something on Seungmin’s playlist critique.

“Don’t worry,” I say, stepping into the room with a freshly opened bottle. Lee Know is right behind me, carrying an ice bucket. “We’ve got it covered.”

“That’s our girl,” Chan says with a tipsy grin, raising his glass in salute.

The room cheers as I pour, everyone holding out their glasses—some already half-full with other drinks, but no one seems to care. Once everyone has a glass in hand, Lee Know raises his.

“To friends, summer, and the best nights of our lives,” he says. His voice is steady, but his eyes are on me, and for a moment, the bustling room fades into the background.

The clinking of glasses brings me back, and soon the energy shifts again. Hyunjin drags Chan into the middle of the room, where the furniture has been pushed aside to create a makeshift dance floor. Fleetwood Mac fades into Abba’s “Dancing Queen,” and Hyunjin is immediately spinning one of Chan’s arms in a dramatic flourish.

“Come on, Y/N!” Jisung calls, reaching out a hand to me.

I shake my head, laughing. “Not until I’ve eaten something!”

“You’re missing out!” he replies before twirling Felix, who bursts into laughter mid-spin.

The table by the kitchen is a feast of indulgence. There’s caviar, oysters on ice, and lobster rolls arranged alongside bowls of fresh fruit and delicate pastries. Lee Know, ever the perfectionist, made sure everything was curated to match the vibe: luxurious yet relaxed.

“You outdid yourself,” I say to him as I grab a lobster roll.

“I know,” he replies with mock smugness, earning a playful shove.

Out on the deck, Changbin and Jeongin are taking turns snapping Polaroids of each other against the backdrop of the ocean. The girlfriends and a few other friends lounge on the outdoor sofas, sipping their drinks and talking about everything and nothing. One of them gets up to adjust the record player, switching it back to Rumours.

The night continues like this, a blur of laughter, music, and easy conversations. At some point, I end up on the dance floor, pulled in by Hyunjin and Felix. Lee Know joins too, his usual reserved demeanor melting away as he spins me in a clumsy but endearing waltz.

“You’re terrible at this,” I tease.

“Only because I’m distracted,” he shoots back, his gaze lingering on me.

The party starts winding down just as the moonlight takes over the sky, casting silvery streaks across the sand. Some of our friends have moved to the beach, sitting around a makeshift bonfire that Felix and Jisung somehow managed to create.

I stand at the edge of the deck, looking out at the scene: Chan strumming a guitar, Jeongin and Seungmin bickering over marshmallows, Hyunjin serenading no one in particular, and Lee Know standing beside me, his hand warm in mine.

“Think we’ll ever get tired of this?” I ask softly.

“Of our friends? Of Fleetwood Mac? Of you?” He pauses, pretending to consider. “Never.”

I laugh, leaning my head against his shoulder as the music drifts over us. In that moment, with the waves crashing softly in the distance and the world humming with life, everything feels infinite.

[st4rlvr]

Home sweet chaos || BCN

The apartment was quiet except for the muffled sounds of cardboard being ripped open and metal tools clinking against each other. Sunlight filtered through the half-assembled blinds, illuminating the chaos scattered across the living room floor: screws, wood panels, and instruction sheets that might as well have been in another language.

“Are you sure it’s supposed to look like that?” Y/N asked, brow furrowed as they squinted at the lopsided bookshelf Chan had been working on for the past hour.

Chan sat cross-legged on the floor, tool in hand, staring at the bookshelf as though it had personally betrayed him. His curls were already falling into his eyes, and there was a smudge of something—probably grease—on his cheek. “Of course! It’s all part of the process, Y/N. Trust me, I’ve got this.”

“You said that an hour ago, and yet…” Y/N trailed off, giving the uneven bookshelf another pointed look.

Chan sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the carpet with a thud. “Okay, fine. Maybe I don’t ‘got this.’” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breathless laugh. “Building furniture is harder than I thought.”

Y/N chuckled, setting down the screwdriver they’d been holding. “So you’re telling me you’re a music producer, you can layer a hundred sounds and beats into a perfect track, but you can’t build a shelf?”

Chan groaned, covering his face. “Why are you attacking me in my own home?”

“Our home,” Y/N corrected with a grin. They crawled over to sit beside him on the floor, nudging his shoulder gently. “We’ll figure it out. Together. That’s kind of the whole point of this, right?”

He peeked through his fingers at them, his smile softening as he dropped his hands. “Yeah. Together.”

The two of them eventually managed to get the bookshelf upright—though they agreed it was safest to leave it in the corner where no one could touch it—and decided to abandon the idea of building the rest of the furniture for the day. Exhausted and covered in sweat, they both sat in the middle of the empty living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes.

“I’ll go grab food,” Chan said suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. “You stay here and relax. I’ll be quick.”

Before Y/N could argue, Chan was already halfway out the door, leaving them alone in the midst of the semi-unpacked apartment. They flopped back onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh, marveling at how surreal it felt to call this place home.

When Chan returned, he was carrying two plastic bags of takeout, the smell wafting through the room instantly. “I come bearing gifts!” he announced triumphantly.

Y/N sat up eagerly, their stomach rumbling at the thought of food. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Chan replied with a grin, settling onto the floor beside them. They spread out the food between them—containers of rice, noodles, and some dumplings that Chan had declared were “non-negotiable.”

Neither of them bothered with plates. Instead, they ate straight from the containers, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor, laughing about how this would be a core memory one day.

“It’s kind of perfect, though,” Y/N said between bites. “Even if the bookshelf is wonky and we’re eating on the floor.”

Chan smiled at them, chopsticks paused midair. “Yeah. It’s ours. That’s all that matters.”

There was something about the way he said it—simple and soft, but filled with meaning. The boxes and unfinished furniture didn’t matter. Neither did the mess or the chaos. It was theirs.

Chan nudged Y/N’s knee playfully. “Hey, next weekend, we’ll actually finish the rest of the furniture.”

“Or you’ll just give up halfway through again,” Y/N teased, earning a playful glare from him.

“Hey! I’m learning. Give me a break,” Chan laughed, shaking his head.

They both fell into a comfortable silence after that, the food slowly disappearing between them as the last bit of sunlight faded outside. The apartment still didn’t feel quite like home—yet. But sitting there, side by side on the floor, laughing over bad furniture-building skills and sharing takeout, Y/N realized it didn’t matter.

It already felt like home because Chan was there.

[st4rlvr]

Christmas kisses || KSM

The air was thick with the familiar warmth of the holiday season. The smell of cinnamon and roasting vegetables wafted from the kitchen as soft Christmas music played in the background. Laughter echoed through the room, mingling with the sounds of Felix’s groans and Jeongin’s triumphant cheers as they raced each other in Mario Kart.

You sat tucked into the corner of Jeongin’s couch, a knitted blanket wrapped snugly around you as you cradled a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The whipped cream had melted into the drink, leaving a sweet foam that stuck to your lips when you sipped. Beside you, Seungmin was unusually quiet, his shoulder brushing against yours as he leaned back, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

It was your first Christmas together, and while Seungmin wasn’t the overly affectionate type—at least not when others were around—there was something undeniably soft about him tonight. Maybe it was the twinkling string lights reflecting in his eyes or the way the quiet hum of holiday joy seemed to settle into him like a second skin.

“You’re really bad at this, Felix,” Seungmin teased, watching as Jeongin claimed yet another first-place finish.

“I’m not bad! I just—my controller is broken,” Felix shot back, his brows furrowed and mouth in a pout.

“Sure,” Seungmin replied with a smirk. His hand found yours absentmindedly beneath the blanket, his thumb brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that sent butterflies to your stomach.

You couldn’t help but glance at him, a small smile curling at your lips. He caught your gaze, his own softening just enough to make you wonder what was on his mind. Before you could ask, Seungmin leaned in slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. It happened so quickly, so naturally, that you almost didn’t register it.

But then you froze. And so did he.

From the kitchen, you could hear the clatter of pots and the sound of Jeongin’s brothers laughing with their mom. Felix and Jeongin were still engrossed in their game, shouting something about banana peels and shells. No one had noticed.

Seungmin pulled back just slightly, the tips of his ears turning red. He blinked at you like he was only now realizing what he’d done, and for a moment, he looked as though he was about to pull away completely.

“You’re blushing,” you whispered, grinning at him as you tightened your hold on his hand.

“I am not,” he mumbled, clearing his throat, though the flush on his face gave him away.

“It’s okay,” you teased softly. “I liked it.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted in that shy, boyish smile you loved. Seungmin didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he adjusted the blanket, tucking it further around both of you like he was shielding you from the rest of the world.

Jeongin’s triumphant yell broke the moment. “First place again! Felix, you owe me hot chocolate.”

Felix groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “This is rigged. I’m taking your controller next time.”

Seungmin shook his head, his demeanor falling back into its usual calm composure as he chuckled under his breath. But when his fingers squeezed yours just a little tighter, you couldn’t help but look at him again.

Even if Seungmin wasn’t big on public affection, tonight felt like an exception—a secret shared between just the two of you, wrapped up in the quiet magic of the holidays.

And maybe that was what made this Christmas, your first Christmas together, so special.

Dinner was a warm, lively affair. Jeongin’s mom and brothers had outdone themselves—the table was filled with steaming dishes, from roasted vegetables to perfectly golden rolls. The smell of the feast alone could have been a Christmas miracle. The room was full of chatter and laughter, with Jeongin acting as the unofficial host, making sure everyone had enough food while Felix animatedly recounted a story from practice, using exaggerated gestures that made everyone laugh.

Seungmin sat beside you, subtly refilling your glass of water and quietly ensuring you had your favorite dishes without making a big deal of it. It was just him—thoughtful without needing recognition. Every so often, his hand would brush against yours under the table, and you’d exchange soft smiles.

By the time dinner was finished, everyone was full and content. Jeongin stood up dramatically, stretching his arms overhead. “That was amazing, Mom. I’m going to need a food coma nap.”

“Not so fast,” his mom replied with a teasing tone. “You and Seungmin are on clean-up duty.”

Jeongin groaned but didn’t fight it, waving Seungmin toward the kitchen. “Come on, loser. Let’s do this.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes and got up, trailing after Jeongin. Before he left, he shot you a quick look—just a small glance, but one that lingered longer than usual. You felt your cheeks heat up.

Felix flopped onto the couch beside you with an exaggerated sigh, resting his head on the back of the cushion. “Jeongin’s family is elite at Christmas dinners. I don’t think I can move for an hour.”

You laughed. “Agreed. I don’t think I’ve ever been so full.”

“Jeongin’s mom needs to write a cookbook,” Felix said, turning to you. “We need to make it happen.”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jeongin turned to Seungmin, who was drying dishes with practiced efficiency. Jeongin had a mischievous glint in his eye as he wiped a plate. “So…”

Seungmin didn’t look up. “So what?”

Jeongin grinned. “Don’t play dumb. I saw you kiss Y/N’s cheek earlier.”

The dish Seungmin was holding nearly slipped out of his hands, but he caught it just in time. “What?” he muttered, feigning innocence.

Jeongin leaned against the counter, grinning wider now that he had the upper hand. “You heard me. You kissed Y/N. Right there. On the cheek. In front of everyone.”

“No one saw that,” Seungmin replied quickly, his voice a little higher than usual.

“I did,” Jeongin sing-songed. “I knew it! Seungmin, the ice prince himself, getting all soft? I can’t believe my eyes.”

Seungmin turned sharply to glare at him, his face quickly turning red. “It’s not a big deal. Drop it.”

“Not a big deal? You’re blushing,” Jeongin teased, pointing at him. “Seungmin, you’re like a tomato right now.”

Seungmin shot him a look that could have frozen over an entire lake, but the effect was ruined by the unmistakable flush spreading to his ears. “Jeongin, I swear—”

“Relax, hyung,” Jeongin laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’s cute. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Seungmin groaned, focusing intensely on the dishes to avoid Jeongin’s smug grin. “You’re the worst.”

Back in the living room, you and Felix were mid-conversation when you heard Jeongin’s laugh echo from the kitchen. Felix paused, looking in that direction with a smirk. “Sounds like Jeongin’s stirring something up.”

You raised a brow. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Felix said with a chuckle. “But I’m guessing Seungmin’s on the receiving end. Jeongin’s like that. He loves messing with people he cares about.”

You smiled softly. “Seungmin can handle it.”

Felix tilted his head with a knowing look. “You guys are cute, you know that?”

You felt heat rush to your face. “I—Felix, stop.”

“What? It’s true!” Felix grinned, nudging your arm. “I’ve never seen Seungmin so… I don’t know, soft around someone. You’re good for him.”

Before you could respond, Jeongin appeared in the doorway, dramatically wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Felix, come on, you’re next to do dishes. I need someone to witness Seungmin’s embarrassment.”

Felix laughed and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he told you before disappearing into the kitchen.

Not long after, Seungmin reappeared, his cheeks still faintly pink. He avoided Jeongin’s triumphant look as he crossed the room to sit back beside you on the couch. You smiled at him softly, noticing the way he let out a small sigh of relief now that the teasing was over.

“What was that about?” you asked playfully.

Seungmin shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Jeongin thinks he’s funny.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re still blushing, you know.”

He shot you a look, though there was no real edge to it—just a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Seungmin took your hand again, intertwining your fingers. This time, there was no hesitance, no second-guessing.

“You’re worth the embarrassment,” he said quietly, his voice just for you.

And that, more than anything, made your heart flutter.

[st4rlvr]

Morning warmth || CSN

The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moonlight spilling through the sheer curtains. San lay beside you, his back turned, his breathing steady and deep. The sound of it filled the quiet room like a gentle lullaby. Yet, despite his closeness, a shiver danced across your skin. The air was cool, and the blanket draped over you wasn’t enough to chase away the chill.

You stared at his back, the curve of his shoulder peeking out from the blanket. San always radiated warmth, like his body carried the sun within. Unable to resist, you inched closer, pressing yourself to his back. The heat he exuded enveloped you immediately, soothing and comforting. You tucked your knees up, curling around him like he was the hearth of a fire.

San stirred slightly at your touch, his head turning just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his profile, peaceful and soft in sleep. His hair was slightly mussed, and his lips parted just the tiniest bit as he let out a contented sigh. You felt his warmth seep into you, chasing away the chill entirely. Your arms instinctively slid around his waist, holding him close, and you buried your face against his shoulder blade. He smelled like cedarwood and something uniquely him—an intoxicating mix that instantly calmed you.

“Cold?” he murmured sleepily, his voice a low rasp in the quiet.

“A little,” you admitted, your words muffled against his back.

Without a word, San shifted slightly, adjusting himself to let you snuggle even closer. His hand reached behind to gently pat your arm, a lazy gesture of affection before he drifted back into sleep. You smiled against him, closing your eyes as the warmth of his body wrapped around you like a cocoon.

The next morning, you awoke to the faint sound of San moving about. The bed dipped slightly as he leaned over to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and soft.

“I have to go,” he whispered. His voice was laced with regret, and you hummed in acknowledgment, too sleepy to fully respond.

By the time you stirred again, he was gone. The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the world waking up outside. Yet his presence lingered. The sheets smelled of him—woodsy and familiar, tinged with the faintest hint of his cologne. The warmth of the bed still clung to you, as if he had only just left moments ago.

You sighed, sinking further into the mattress. Reaching over to the bedside table, you grabbed the book you’d been reading the night before. The words on the page were engaging, but your mind kept drifting back to him—the sound of his voice, the way his warmth had cradled you through the night.

Time passed unnoticed as you remained cocooned in the sanctuary of the bed, surrounded by the remnants of him. Even in his absence, he was everywhere, and the thought made you smile.

[st4rlvr]

Swingsets || HJS

Jisung had always been the boy next door—quiet but kind, the kind of person who made your day better with just a small smile. Living in the same neighborhood for years meant you had shared countless summer evenings and idle conversations, yet you were never quite as close as you wanted to be. That was until tonight.

The soft buzz of your phone broke the stillness of the evening.

“Meet me at the park. Can’t sleep.”

It was a text from Jisung. You smirked as you grabbed your jacket and quietly slipped out the door, the night air cool and crisp against your skin.

The park was only a few blocks away, empty except for the faint glow of the streetlights and the wind rustling through the trees. Jisung was already there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he kicked at the gravel beneath his feet. When he spotted you, he smiled wide.

“Thought you wouldn’t come,” he teased.

“And miss your late-night antics? Never.”

You both wandered through the park for a while, the silence comfortable as the breeze wrapped around you. Then you spotted it—the playground. Without thinking twice, you ran toward it like you were five again. Jisung’s laugh—bright and boyish—broke through the night as you clumsily climbed onto the monkey bars.

“What are you doing?” he asked, doubled over and breathless from laughter.

“Living my best life,” you shot back, your voice muffled as you struggled to balance.

Jisung shook his head, still grinning as he followed you onto the playground. He sat down on a swing, the chains creaking softly. You dropped down on the swing next to his, the energy between you shifting into something quieter.

“You’re weird,” he said fondly.

“Thank you. I try,” you replied, a hint of teasing still in your tone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The cool wind swayed the swings gently, your shoes scuffing against the dirt as you looked up at the moon. Then Jisung’s voice broke the silence, soft but firm.

“I need to tell you something.”

You glanced over, the seriousness in his tone pulling you out of your playful mood. “What’s up?”

He looked straight ahead, his fingers gripping the chains of the swing. “I’m leaving soon. Moving back to Korea.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What?”

Jisung finally looked at you, his expression carefully guarded. “I have to go back for my career. The idol training, everything… it’s time.”

You blinked at him, processing what he had just said. “And you’re telling me this now?” Your voice cracked, the hurt unmistakable.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“You could’ve just told me, Jisung!” you said, frustration bubbling up. “I mean, you’re leaving—soon—and you’re just now saying something?”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I know. I messed up. I didn’t want to… hurt you, I guess.”

“Well, congratulations. You did.”

The tension hung thick in the air, but then Jisung stood up, walking over to you. Without a word, he grabbed your hand, his touch warm despite the chill in the air. Your eyes met his, and suddenly, the wind didn’t feel as cold.

“I’ll be back for you,” he said softly, his voice steady, leaving no room for doubt.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“I do,” he said, his gaze holding yours. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

The way he looked at you then—serious, vulnerable, and a little desperate—made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t explain. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the air between you heavy with unspoken words and lingering emotions.

Jisung squeezed your hand gently. “You’re going to wait for me, right?”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you whispered, “Yeah.”

The corners of his lips tugged into a small smile, a bittersweet one that you knew you’d remember long after he left.

“Good,” he said softly.

And as you sat there, side by side on the swings beneath the starry sky, it felt like time stood still, even if you both knew it wouldn’t.

Jisung’s hand lingered in yours for a moment longer before he let go, a faint smile still playing on his lips. The tension hung there for just a breath before he broke it, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“Come on,” he said, a playful lilt returning to his voice. “We’re not gonna sit here all night, are we?”

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to do then, genius?”

He glanced back at the playground, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Race you to the slide.”

“What?”

But Jisung was already running, his laughter ringing out through the quiet park as he sprinted toward the playground. Without hesitation, you shot up from the swing and chased after him, your sneakers skidding against the dirt as you tried to catch up.

By the time you reached the slide, Jisung was already sitting at the top, grinning down at you like a little kid. “Too slow!”

“Unfair start,” you huffed, breathless, as you climbed up to join him.

For the next hour, you both acted like you were kids again, running up the steps of the jungle gym, racing each other across the monkey bars, and daring each other to jump off the swings at the highest point. Jisung couldn’t stop laughing, his carefree joy contagious as he watched you struggle to balance on the seesaw by yourself.

“I can’t believe this is how we’re spending my last night here,” he teased, leaning against the jungle gym, his hair tousled by the breeze.

You shot him a look, hands on your hips. “You love it. Admit it.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I do.”

Eventually, you both ended up lying on the merry-go-round, staring up at the sky as you spun slowly, the stars above blurring slightly. The wind had picked up, but neither of you cared; the night felt endless, like something you could hold onto for just a little longer.

“Tell me something,” you said quietly, turning your head to look at Jisung. “What’s been your favorite part of being here?”

He hummed thoughtfully, folding his arms behind his head. “I guess… everything’s felt a little simpler here. Back home, everything’s so intense—practicing, performing, expectations. But here… I got to be just Jisung. I could goof around, hang out, just be a regular kid.”

“You are just a regular kid,” you pointed out softly.

He chuckled, glancing at you. “Not for much longer.”

The weight of his words settled between you, but before you could respond, Jisung sat up suddenly. “But you know what I’ll miss the most?”

“What?”

“You.”

The word was simple, but it hit you square in the chest. He smiled, something soft and sincere in his expression that made your heart tighten.

“That’s cheesy,” you muttered, trying to play it off.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, still smiling. “But it’s true.”

You pushed yourself up to sit beside him, the two of you perched on the edge of the merry-go-round. “Well… what if I told you I’ll miss you too?”

Jisung turned to you, eyes searching yours in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Really?”

“Of course,” you admitted quietly. “I mean, you’re—” You stopped yourself, the words catching in your throat.

“I’m what?” he prompted, tilting his head slightly.

You looked away, your face suddenly warm. “You’re important to me, okay?”

Jisung didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he reached for your hand again, his touch gentle as his fingers laced with yours. The cool breeze swirled around you, but all you could feel was him.

“I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice steady. “I promise. And when I do, we’re coming back here, to this park. You, me, and the swings.”

You couldn’t help but smile, despite the ache building in your chest. “You’d better keep that promise, Jisung.”

“I will,” he said, squeezing your hand. “You’ll see.”

The two of you stayed like that, sitting close together as the night stretched on, sharing stories about his time in America—his first awkward attempts at ordering fast food, the way he got lost downtown that one time, the neighbors who brought him cookies when he moved in.

And somewhere between his laughter and the gentle silence that followed, you realized that this night—this moment—would stay with you forever, no matter how far away he went.

Eventually, Jisung sighed, leaning his head against your shoulder. “We should probably go back before we get caught.”

You nodded reluctantly, neither of you wanting to leave just yet. As you stood to leave, his hand slipped into yours one last time.

“You’ll wait for me, right?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him, your heart pounding as you whispered, “Yeah, I will.”

Jisung smiled, and for a moment, the night didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

[st4rlvr]

Leather jacket || KHJ

The summer of 1986 felt like something out of a movie. Neon signs buzzed over dim sidewalks, music blared from passing cars, and the small-town heat clung to every corner. For you, most days were spent behind the counter at Scoops, the local ice cream shop just off Main Street. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid enough for gas money, a few cassette tapes, and the occasional night out with friends.

What you didn’t expect, though, was Hongjoong.

The first time he came in, you barely noticed him. He wore a worn leather jacket despite the heat, his hair styled just messy enough to look cool. He ordered a vanilla cone, paid in crumpled bills, and lingered a little too long by the counter.

“You work here all summer?” he’d asked, leaning casually against the glass freezer.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied, not looking up as you wiped down the counter.

“Cool. Guess I’ll be back,” he said with a crooked grin, walking out before you could even respond.

And true to his word, he did come back.

The second time, he ordered a root beer float. The third, a banana split—though you noticed he barely touched it. By the fifth visit, you started to catch on.

“You know, you’ve tried almost every flavor we have,” you said one afternoon, raising an eyebrow as you handed him his change. “Are you sure you don’t have a favorite yet?”

Hongjoong shrugged, leaning forward slightly. “Maybe I’m not here for the ice cream.”

His confidence caught you off guard, and your cheeks burned as you turned away to help the next customer.

From then on, he made it his mission to come in every day. Sometimes he’d bring friends who sat in the corner booth, flipping quarters onto the table while he stayed at the counter, talking to you. Other times, he’d show up alone, humming along to the songs playing faintly over the speakers.

One day, as you were restocking the napkins, you felt a shadow fall over you.

“You’re not gonna avoid me forever, are you?”

You looked up to find Hongjoong grinning down at you, his elbows resting on the counter.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself.

“Then go out with me,” he said, straight to the point.

“Why should I?”

His grin widened. “Because I’ve spent enough on ice cream this summer to pay your rent, and you owe me a date.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but I’m persistent,” he shot back, his tone teasing but warm. “And, you know, I’m pretty fun. You might even enjoy yourself.”

You leaned on the counter, narrowing your eyes. “What makes you think I’ll say yes?”

He tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Because I’ll keep coming back until you do. You can’t get rid of me.”

It was bold, annoyingly charming, and a little sweet all at once. You couldn’t help but laugh, and for a moment, the air between you felt lighter, like the summer heat had lifted just slightly.

“Fine,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “One date.”

Hongjoong lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Seriously?”

“But don’t think this means you can keep loitering here,” you added, pointing a finger at him.

“No promises,” he replied with a wink.

That night, as you closed up the shop, you found yourself smiling at the thought of him. Maybe the summer wasn’t just about work after all.

And as the music from a passing car drifted through the open door, the night felt full of possibility—like this was just the beginning of something neither of you could see coming.