storiesiwrite

[storiesiwrite]

Home ☾ Lee Seokmin

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

Word count: 5026

Summary: In which you’re having one of those days when it’s a struggle to be kind to yourself, and Seokmin makes sure you feel appreciated and loved.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Seokmin has a gnawing feeling in his gut that tells him you’re not feeling your best today.

It’s evident in the text messages you leave him throughout the day, in your unusual choice of words. Just a small difference, but a difference all the same, and he knows you too well to miss the signs.

Perhaps it also has something to do with your tendency to hide behind a smile even as you’re buried deep in your struggles. You don’t like the idea of people around you noticing. Seokmin would know; as terrible a habit as it is, it’s one that he and you both share.

Suffice it to say, it isn’t long before he begins losing his concentration at work. Completing the simplest of tasks eventually becomes a challenge, but he can hardly expect anything else when you’re constantly on his mind.

The moment his seven-hour shift is over, he wastes no time packing up his things and clocking out of work. The original—and usual—plan has been to head straight home, but those texts of yours made him change his mind. He decides to make a detour instead, making sure to snag a couple of your favorite desserts along the way.

It begins to drizzle shortly afterwards, the skies painted in shades of midnight blue that signal an impending downpour. Not the most ideal situation, but he doesn’t mind the rain beating down on him as he runs down the streets. Doesn’t see the negative because all that matters to him is that he is coming home to you.

Please, he says in a hopeful whisper, please hang on until I get there.

And by the time he reaches the door to your shared apartment, his clothes have been completely soaked through, and he fights to catch his breath. His keys are somewhere in the depths of his sling bag, but retrieving them with both hands occupied would be a hassle, which is why he resorts to pressing the bell with one side of his knuckle. It doesn’t take long before he hears shuffling on the other side and the door cracks open.

The sight that greets him breaks his heart into slivers.

You’re standing there beyond the threshold, your eyes puffy, the dark circles beneath them more pronounced than ever. Faint blotches of red have spread across your cheeks and nose, as if you’ve spent an ample amount of time rubbing them raw. You’re faring worse than he imagined, yet despite everything, you still manage to smile.

Though said smile falls the moment you take in his drenched state.

“Oh, Seok,” you say, concern etched on your features as you quickly pull him inside and shut the door.

He settles down the desserts on the small side table (thank the heavens they were wrapped in plastic, otherwise they would not have survived the terrible weather). Peeling off his wet jacket, he places it atop a drying rack nearby and watches as you dash towards the bathroom with a frown on your face.

“Did you forget to bring an umbrella?” You call out to him, reappearing mere seconds later with a clean towel in one hand. He can’t help but smile at the gesture, so endearing it warms him despite the cold seeping through his skin.

“Well, um, I was in a hurry this morning, and it completely slipped my mind,” he explains as you take his hand, leading him towards the kitchen. When you tell him to sit on one of the shorter stools there, he simply obliges. Standing there in front of him, your face level with his own, you begin drying his face and neck with the towel.

It’s not that he actually needs your help—he can pat himself dry perfectly well—but he accepts it anyway, sees it as an opportunity to truly look at you.

This should feel comforting. This nearness with you, this form of intimacy he would never want to share with anyone else. And in other cases, he’s certain it would. But never in the two years of your relationship has he had this much trouble gazing at you. Especially like this, up close with your bloodshot eyes and swollen cheeks. It hurts him to acknowledge that he wasn’t there for you when you needed him the most.

And still, he doesn’t look away. He knows he has to say something, has to begin the conversation somehow.

“I’m sorry, love,” he tries. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

With a shake your head, you say, “I know, and you don’t need to apologize for that. But please, promise me you’ll remember to take your umbrella with you next time?” You move on to his wet hair, gently dabbing it dry. “I just don’t want you to get sick, is all.”

He gives you a small smile. You’ve always been so caring of others; it’s one of the many things he adores about you. “I will. Promise.”

“Good.” There it is, a small upward tug of your lips. It’s a start.

“I actually swung by the bakery earlier,” he says, nodding to the table near the door where the desserts lie waiting. “Bought some of those glazed donuts you love.”

You follow his gaze. “Did you?”

“Yeah, and I also brought home some boba.”

Your mouth opens slightly in delighted surprise, your eyes crinkling. “You have to stop spoiling me, Seok! I don’t think I can keep up.”

“Not planning on that any time soon. You’re just going to have to put up with it.”

A soft laugh escapes you. “I guess so.” You push the towel aside when you’re done, running your fingers through his unkempt hair in an attempt to tidy it. “There. Better?”

He leans towards you to kiss you on the lips. “Better. Thank you, love.”

“Don’t mention it.” You cup his face in your hands, and he leans against your touch.

He steals yet another brief kiss from you. “You okay? I haven’t asked you how your day was.”

He feels you tense slightly, though your expression remains neutral. “It was good. Spent the whole day at home today, got to relax a lot. You know how much I like staying in.” You chuckle with a strain that hasn’t escaped his notice. “How was yours?”

“Well, work was more hectic than usual, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m just glad to be back home.”

“So am I, Seok. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, love,” he murmurs. I’m with you now, he wants to add. You can talk to me.

But you say nothing, closing your eyes and leaning your forehead against his. Seokmin’s thoughts begin to wander as he weighs his options: should he be straightforward and ask you outright, or should he wait until you’re ready to talk? He imagines the latter would be the better solution, but he knows you well enough to know that you always try to bottle your feelings up.

He recalls the first time you broke down in tears in front of him; it was early on in the relationship, and you were in your fourth semester in university. You’d been given an assignment, one you were struggling to finish under the pressure of its nearing deadline. Naturally, it made you compare yourself to others who you thought were miles ahead of you.

He remembers having a hard time stringing together the words to console you, because seeing you in such pain wounded him in ways he could never describe.

“You can tell me,” he could only manage back then, his arms wrapped around you as if that alone could shield you from all the pain in the world. He’d take it in your stead if he could. “Whatever it is that’s upsetting you, you can tell me. I promise I won’t laugh. I promise I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, that’s not it, not at all,” you’d replied in between sniffles. “It’s just me overthinking again. I know it’s stupid.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t dismiss how you feel.” He kept repeating these words. But it seemed like nothing he was saying truly left its mark on you.

“You-you’ve also had enough on your plate already, and I wouldn’t want to add to that—”

“It doesn’t matter, love. Even if I do have enough on my plate, I still wouldn’t mind. I’d still want you to come to me.”

Your body shook as you tried and failed to contain your sobs. “I’m so, so sorry, Seok, I didn’t mean to cry but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I... I didn’t mean to ruin the night. I didn’t to be an inconvenience to you.”

Oh, he thought, his heart breaking in two. He never even once saw you that way. He never, not even for a split second, thought you were an inconvenience.

He couldn’t understand why you felt guilty for feelings you had no way of controlling. He couldn’t understand why you felt ashamed of being human. He could only hug you tighter, could only watch like a fool as you fell apart in his arms.

And then he felt it, simmering beneath the surface—anger.

Anger at whomever it was that had the gall to make you believe you were ever an inconvenience. Anger at himself for having failed you so terribly. He’s your boyfriend, for god’s sake. You were supposed to be able to trust with him. And clearly he’d done an awful job at making you realize that he doesn’t mind you crying in front of him.

He doesn’t mind sharing the emotional burden you’ve always insisted upon carrying all by yourself. None of it matters to him if it means that you’ll feel less alone.

And this time, he won’t repeat the same mistakes again.

He pulls away to look at you, and your eyes snap open at the movement, your hands dropping away from his face.

“You sure everything’s alright?” He asks you again. “You don’t sound well at all.”

“Mhm. My nose has been stuffy since this afternoon, I think. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, nothing a few cups of tea won’t fix.” You take a few steps back from him, decidedly avoiding his gaze. “Why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up and then we eat?”

The warmth in your tone from earlier has chipped away, replaced by a stiffness he’s grown all too familiar with. The kind that always tinges your voice whenever you’re dodging the truth. The kind that tells him you’re building your walls back up.

Alright, then, he thinks to himself. Waiting it is.

“I’m gonna get a bath running for you, okay?” You say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to freeze.”

He stands up from the chair so quickly he nearly stumbles. “No, no, that’s alright.” He moves closer to you. “You don’t have to. I’ve got it.”

“No, no. I can do it for you.” You’re still not looking at him in the eye. “You must be tired from all that work.”

His jaw clenches a little. Even as you’re struggling, you try to put everyone else before you. You refuse to let him take care of you.

And finally, after a long silence from his end, he makes himself nod.

“Okay, then. I won’t take long.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

God, you think to yourself, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. What a long, shitty day it has been.

You never knew staying at home the whole day could leave you so emotionally drained. It began the moment you realized you’d nearly missed an important online meeting because you’d thought it was scheduled for tomorrow. In your rush to get yourself prepared for said meeting, you managed to spill coffee all over your work papers, the smudged ink rendering the words illegible.

After the meeting, it took you seemingly-endless hours trying to salvage whatever remains of these papers. Because these papers are the same ones you’ve spent months carefully drafting, writing, and revising after every feedback from your boss. The same ones you’ve spent countless of sleepless nights poring over to see if there is anything you’ve missed, to make sure all the details are in line with the facts.

And for someone who thrives with the help of daily to-do lists, this whole thing stresses you out. Your schedule for the week is already very packed as it is, and the idea of not doing a few tasks that you really wanted to get done today, all because of this stupid, stupid mistake of yours that you could have easily avoided...

You feel like screaming. And you certainly feel like an idiot. What makes you think you could pull off juggling a university major with part-time work?

By now Seokmin must have already figured things out, despite your earlier efforts to pass it off as nothing more than symptoms of a cold. But there’s no doubt that he knows. He’s too observant to have missed anything.

And the fact that you’ve spent the last thirty minutes or so sequestering yourself in the bathroom isn’t helping your case. Try as you might, you don’t have it in you to face him like this, not when it’s so obvious that you’re frustrated. More frustrated than you probably have the right to feel.

Then there’s a soft knock on the door. It clicks open and Seokmin’s face slides into view. “Hey, love. May I come in?”

You nod, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, of course.” You pretend to pat your hands dry. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He moves closer until he stands right behind you, his hands finding your waist, his chin resting on the crook of your neck. “Just that you’re taking so long in here and I’m starting to miss you.”

A laugh weaves its way out of you—the first genuine one of the day. You’re not surprised; if there’s anyone you know who can lift your sunken spirits in a matter of seconds, it has to be him.

“I miss you too, Seok.” You turn around to properly look at him, putting your arms around his body, his warmth enveloping you as he reciprocates the gesture. “You know, I was actually thinking...”

“Yeah?”

“What about a movie after this? I wanna get all cozy with you and watch something while we eat the snacks you bought earlier.”

His smile is soft as he regards you. “Sounds like a plan. Got anything specific in mind?”

“Not really, no. But I think I want something light-hearted. Like a rom-com? Would that be okay with you?”

“I’m okay with anything you want.” He plants a kiss on your cheek. “Just pick a movie, and I’ll get it up and running in no time.”

“Okay.”

As a comfortable sort of silence takes over, you allow yourself to think you got away with it, to hope that Seokmin would sweep it under the rug this time. But then his smile falls, a graver expression now taking its place, and that hope gutters out as easily as an unsteady flame. You stiffen, already knowing where this is going even before he speaks.

“But first, I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

Of course. You knew he would catch on, but that knowledge doesn’t make this confrontation any easier.

You try to keep your voice from wavering, forcing down the lump on your throat. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong.”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.” His fingers brush the darkened skin under your eyes, run down the side of your blotched cheek, as if to say, I can see right through you. The gesture feels so intimate that you have to look away, only to regret it immediately. It gives you away, leaves you with no choice except to start confessing.

“You knew?” The words escape you in an embarrassed whisper. What a stupid question to ask. Of course he knew. He probably found out the moment he stepped into the apartment, the lingering signs of your frustration clear as day.

“Yeah. When you sent me those texts earlier this morning, I knew something was wrong.”

Oh. And here you thought you were being subtle enough.

Seokmin hesitates for a moment, as if sorting out his thoughts. “I was... I was going to wait until you’re ready to talk,” he says by way of explanation, his brow lined with worry. “But I can’t stand not doing anything when you’ve locked yourself in here for the past half hour. I can’t stand the idea of sitting still when you’re just one door away and it’s clear that you’re not alright.”

You squeeze your eyes shut like you’d just seen a sight that stung.

“You can tell me,” he continues. “You don’t have to keep it from me.”

“I know that, Seok. I just...” you trail off, finding that it keeps getting harder and harder to hold back the emotions threatening to drown you. It takes you some time to muster the courage to look him in the eye again. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me if it upsets you like this. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? What is there to even talk about? Nothing really happened; you spent the whole day just contending with that cruel voice in your head that always tells you you’re not enough. That you’ll never be enough, especially because you manage to mess up even the simplest, most trivial of things. Especially because you let said things ruin your whole day.

It’s embarrassing.

At your silence, Seokmin shifts closer to you. “Talk to me, love. I’m here for you. I won’t judge you, I promise.” His voice is so gentle that for a moment, you’re tempted to just give in and tell him everything.

This isn’t about the lack of trust; it has never been, and even Seokmin himself knows that. And neither is this about worrying what his response would be. If there is anything your past experiences with him can tell you, it’s that he deals with your breakdowns in a loving, gentle way. Every single time.

He’s aware of your mind’s tendency to shove one worst-case scenario upon another until you’ve run out of space and energy to think about anything rational. Admittedly, it’s not the healthiest habit, and you’ve been trying to unlearn it, but sometimes there are days when you simply can’t cope and begin to spiral.

Despite everything, Seokmin always understands. You know he would understand now, but it’s precisely the reason why this is the last thing you would want to talk about. He’s the kind of person who feels deeply, who doesn’t need to try too hard to put himself in other people’s shoes. That act of sympathizing can be so draining, and you’re not willing to subject him to that. His work is exhausting as it is without you having to pile your struggles atop of his own.

All you can offer him now is a tight-lipped smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said it’s not a big deal.”

He shakes his head. “It’s clear to me that it is. And even if it’s not, I’ll still want to hear it all the same.”

The small, knowing tug of his lips tells you he can see what’s running through your mind. You find yourself having to bite back a dry laugh. Ridiculous, really, how you bother trying to hide things from him when he knows you as well as the back of his own hand.

“Even if it’s something I’ve told you many, many times before?” You ask, still giving him the option to move past this.

“Even so. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. We’ll figure it out, the way we always do.”

His kindness leaves a gaping hole in your aching heart. This, you think to yourself, this isn’t something you deserve. You’ve simply been fortunate enough to have crossed paths with him that one fateful night in a certain cafe, that night that changed the trajectory of everything else that came along afterwards.

A tear slips down your cheek. Then another. Disappointed in yourself, you forcefully rub your eyes, only to have him reach out to stop what you’re doing.

He winces a little, as though he were the one on the receiving end of your roughness. “Careful, you’ll hurt yourself like that.” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “Here, let me do it for you.”

And it is at this moment that you finally break, the walls you’ve built to keep your emotions at bay crumbling under his touch as he slowly wipes away your tears. He treats you with the utmost care as you cry on his shoulder, listens to you as you try to recount to him all that has happened today. His attention stays undivided the whole time, even as you stutter or can’t seem to find the words to express how you feel.

“I know it’s the same problem every time,” you sob. You hate the way your voice breaks all over. “I know it may seem like... like I’m not changing at all, but I truly am trying my best, Seok.”

His free hand draws soothing lines down your back. “I know that, love. I have never once doubted you. And I can understand how hard it is to overcome this. But you can. You’ve gotten so much better than you give yourself credit for.”

That reminder that you don’t deserve him flits through your mind yet again, scolding you for not feeling ashamed. But the look on his face shows not even the slightest hint of ridicule or disappointment. Seokmin simply holds you in his arms and whispers in your ear over and over that everything will be alright. You want so badly to believe him.

Sniffing, you pull slightly away to meet his gaze. You don’t care for the redness in your eyes or the tear stains on your cheeks. It’s important that he hears this from you and sees the sincerity behind it. “You’re being so good to me, Seok. Too good to me. You always... you’re always doing so much more than I ever deserve—”

“Don’t say that—”

“And I can only hope that you’re alright with being stuck with me. I know I can be a lot to handle, and I can’t imagine I’m easy to love.”

At that, he stops talking, stares at you as though he has a hard time believing what he’s heard. As though waiting for you to take back your words.

And when you don’t, he asks, his voice low and serious, “Why do you think that way?”

Because you can’t think otherwise. Would he not grow tired of your problems? Would he not grow tired of you? Who wouldn’t when it’s the same shit over and over again?

He takes your silence as a sign to go on. “Do you really think that that’s how I feel about you? That you’re difficult to love because you go through problems sometimes? Because you have feelings like real people do, like I do?”

Pain flashes across his features, along with something else. It takes you a while to recognize it as anger, though you know that anger isn’t directed at you; rather, it’s on your behalf. “I’m so, so sorry that you were made to feel like you have no right to be sad or upset when things are difficult. But I’m here to remind you that whatever it is you feel, it’s valid.”

You say nothing in return, feeling the weight of his words as they sink in.

“I’ve seen the way you treat others,” he continues. “I’ve seen how deeply you appreciate and care for them. You don’t think twice when it comes to helping people, even the ones you barely know. But I’ve never seen even just a shred of that same kindness when it comes to yourself. You constantly beat yourself up for simply being human, and you have no idea how much that breaks my heart.

“And it makes me wish you’d see yourself the way I see you, because maybe then you’d come to learn all the wonderful qualities you have that you always seem to look past.” He lifts your hand to his lips, leaving a trail of kisses along your knuckles. “You’re a student working a part-time job; don’t you realize how impressive that is? Not to mention the fact that you’re getting better and better at not overthinking when it used to be tough for you. All this progress has never escaped my notice or anyone else’s, just your own.”

You’ve calmed down by now, your crying reduced to small sniffles. It’s still hard to keep your eyes open, and it’s even harder to come up with a response. But you’re content with simply hearing what he has to say, and your heart is full of tenderness and warmth. He’s never once failed to make you feel so loved.

“And as for what you said earlier about me being stuck with you”—he pecks your lips softly—“I hope you know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going to love you any less because of your struggles.”

His declaration hits a little too close to home, rubbing at a lifelong wound that has yet to heal. After all, the reason why you hadn’t wanted to get into a relationship before Seokmin came into the picture was fear. Fear that once your partner discovers just how ugly and messy things can get for you, how much emotional baggage you carry, they will leave.

A part of you has always known that confiding in Seokmin would make it hurt less. But a greater, selfish part of you is afraid that he’d grow tired of putting up with you and your constant problems. Maybe you’d never dare to admit it out loud, but the truth is that you would rather struggle alone in silence than lose him altogether due to your honesty.

But Seokmin sees through all that. And instead of leaving, he stands by your side and holds your hand through it. He holds your broken pieces as you try to stitch them back together.

And all the things he’s said about you... you know he truly means every one of them. He’s genuine in everything he says and does. But you can’t wrap your head around the idea of someone great like him can see you that way. It’s a surreal thought, one you never dared to entertain before now.

But maybe he’s right. Maybe you’ve been too hard on yourself. You’re certain that if it were anyone else going through the same, exact motions as you are now, you wouldn’t tell them the hurtful things you hurl at yourself at any given chance. And you’ve always known that progress is never linear, and falling down once or even a dozen times doesn’t eliminate all the previous steps you’ve taken. It doesn’t diminish all that you’ve accomplished, all that you’ve done to be better.

Whatever it was that Seokmin saw in you that one night from two years ago, when he asked you to be his, it doesn’t matter. For the millionth time, you’re so glad you took the leap and trusted that he would catch you.

All these new thoughts running through your head, all these feelings of fondness and love for him coursing through you, yet you can only manage to ask him this: “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Know all the right things to say every time.”

He lets out a small laugh, relieved that you’re no longer as upset as you’ve been before. “Because I’m only saying the truth. Loving you is a commitment, a decision I make every single day. And that decision comes easily, willingly, because you’re so, so easy to love.”

You feel like crying all over again, but for the right reasons this time. God, you really are the luckiest person in the world. “So are you, Seok. I hope you know that, too,” you say as you pull him into a hug.

“Feeling any better?” You may not be able to see him, but you just know that he’s grinning.

“Yeah.” You nestle up against him. You don’t ever want to let go. “Thank you for always hearing me out. For not only accepting me as I am, but also encouraging me to be the best version I can be.”

“I can say the same thing to you, too.” He kisses your brow. “Thank you, love. For all the times you’ve held my hand and kept me grounded and going when it’s so easy to give up. You’ve been there for me in ways I can never explain, and I’m so, so grateful.”

It truly is the least you can do for him. You snuggle your head into his shoulder with a contented sigh. “Thank you for always giving the best hugs.”

He laughs heartily at that. “You can have all the hugs you want, I promise. But I need you to promise me one thing in return. Promise you’ll never hesitate to let me know whenever you’re not feeling okay. I’m here for you, and I don’t want you to go through things alone. I want you to let me take care of you.”

You glance up, your eyes meeting his. “I promise, as long as you do the same and let me take care of you, too.” And when he nods, you add, “I love you.”

He’s beaming so widely that you can’t help but do the same. “I love you, too.”

It’s been true all along: home is not a place but a person, after all.

— ☽ —

author’s note: not so proud of how this fanfic turned out, but i’m still glad i got it done because it truly helped me get through a tough time. i hope that you find comfort reading it as i did writing it. lots of love and take care ♡

[storiesiwrite]

Set-up ☾ Chwe Hansol

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining

Word count: 3864

Summary: In which Hansol gets set up by his friends (Jeonghan, mainly) on a movie-night date with you.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Hansol sets foot in your apartment, two pints of Ben and Jerry’s in his hands, with the genuine expectation that today is going to be a group hangout. 

After all, the plan has been to have a movie night at your place along with Wonwoo, Joshua, Jeonghan, and Minghao. But when an hour has passed and there are no signs of the others—only text messages from them, saying that they all suddenly have other pressing matters to attend to—Hansol begins feeling anxious. 

And when Hansol feels anxious, he can’t stay still.

You’re in the kitchen, fetching plates and putting them on the counter alongside the takeout you ordered earlier, oblivious to the way he’s walking back and forth in the living room. Realization dawns on him, slow and dreadful.

Have the others... have they set him up on a date with you?

Panic seizes him. He tries to remain calm, tries to convince himself that his thoughts can’t be any more wrong. But still, he remains unswayed. And so he proceeds to the restroom, locks the door, and dials the person he suspects orchestrated the whole thing.

It takes only one ring for Jeonghan to pick up the phone, as if he’s been waiting for the call.

“Hello?”

“What’s this?” Hansol hisses. “Has this been the plan all along?”

A chuckle from the other end. “Hello to you, too. Are you in the bathroom right now? You sound so... echoey.”

“What exactly did you mean you can’t come?” He asks, pacing back and forth yet again. “I was at your place literally this morning. You told me to go to her place first and that you’d catch up.”

“I just remembered I have to pick up some letters and deliveries I got over the weekend.”

Hansol stops moving. “It’s Sunday. Post offices are closed.”

A long silence. “Anyway... how is she?”

“Dude, don’t switch the subject.” Closing his eyes, Hansol rubs the bridge of his nose. He somehow has the feeling that Jeonghan’s also dissuaded everyone else from coming, because what are the odds that four people bail on a hangout that has been long planned? 

“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan concedes. “I simply told the others of my plan and they all agreed to it immediately. But shouldn’t you be thanking me, instead? Isn’t this the scenario that you’ve always imagined and wanted realized?” 

Yes, Hansol has to admit. This is the scenario, in which he gets to spend time with you after having maintained a crush on you so great that he feels embarrassed simply thinking about it. He can hear the smugness in his friend’s voice, can visualize the smirk that settles upon his features. 

At times like this, he feels like hurling a pillow at Jeonghan’s face.

He remains silent instead, leaning his head on the wall as Jeonghan continues, nonchalant. “You’ve once hinted that you want to ask her out, but you never know how. So consider this skipping a step.” 

Damn. He hates the way Jeonghan reads him and his feelings like an open book—feelings he tries so hard to hide behind that veneer of calm he always wears. But more than that, he hates the fact that Jeonghan is right.

Hansol isn’t one to be overly expressive of how he feels, but there’s no denying that he really, really likes you. 

He supposes he should feel grateful for ‘skipping a step,’ as Jeonghan put it. Skipping the mustering-the-courage-to-ask-you-out part and plunging straight into the going-on-a-date part. Though perhaps, a little warning would be nice.

Because if this were an actual date—that is to say, one you’d both actually planned beforehand—he would’ve brought along flowers. He remembers accompanying you as you swung by the local florist weeks ago and pointed out facts about the plants that were on display all over the small shop. Jasmine, he remembers, is your favorite kind, for its sweet scent and its white petals that are soft to the touch.

And if this were an actual date, he would’ve dressed up more appropriately. Before going to your place, he spent a long time deciding on what to wear, trying on one sweater just to change to another with a different color; the mess that is his apparels currently still lying strewn across his apartment floor is proof enough. He spent a long time staring at his own reflection in the mirror, worrying about the little flecks on his face that he doesn’t like. 

He wonders now what you think of them. He wonders what you think of him. 

“Is she aware of this?” is all Hansol can say.

“Nope,” Jeonghan replies. And, as if he can sense Hansol’s doubts, he adds, “don’t worry, Sol. You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. Say hi to her for me, would you?” Another voice he recognizes—Minghao’s. Hansol curses. I knew it. 

Jeonghan lets out a laugh. “Now, get out there before she thinks you’re bailing on her, too.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

“Hey,” you call out when Hansol saunters into the living room, your eyes glued to the tv, remote in one hand as you sift through some movies. “The food is ready. I’m thinking that maybe we can eat while watching.”

He doesn’t answer. When you turn back to look at him, your smile falls. “Is everything... is everything okay? You look slightly pale.”

An expression flickers across his face, so briefly you can’t gauge it. Then he gestures to his phone. “It’s just something from work that I need to get done. Nothing to worry about, really.” 

You can’t help the worry that makes its way to your voice. “You sure about that? I’d totally understand. I mean, I know this isn’t exactly what we planned in the group chat, what with the others not showing up.” A nervous laugh as you stand up from the couch where you’ve been sitting. “It’s completely okay if you wanna take a rain check.”

He shakes his head as he moves closer to you, sliding his phone in his back pocket. “No, no. No worries. I actually don’t mind. Do you?”

“Not at all,” you reply, though you can’t seem to drown out your nerves. The fact that you’re alone with Hansol...

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t put too much thought into it. But this is Hansol, and it feels too much like a date. 

It’s stupid, really, the fact that you’ve been into him since the day you met him for the first time. He’s a neighbor who lives only a few streets away from you, but you hadn’t been properly introduced to each other all those months ago; you never had the chance.

That is, until the day you saw him in a supermarket just around your block and mustered the courage to strike up a conversation with him. He immediately recognized you, said you were the girl who always had her purple headphones on, and you’d laughed. 

You’d never been one to fall for someone so quickly, but you felt your heart flutter the way it never had before. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to care about the things you said, how he respectful he was. Or the way he seemed to notice and remember such a trivial thing about you even without knowing who you were.

That marked the beginning of everything. Through him, you met Jeonghan and Joshua, and you introduced him to your closest friends, Wonwoo and Minghao, too. An odd bunch, all of you, but everyone got along really well, and it wasn’t long before you all began keeping your Saturdays free for group get-togethers.

It certainly wasn’t long before this silly, little crush of yours developed into something more. 

You decided Hansol never had to find out. And he never would, if the others always tag along during the meet-ups. But then this happens, and you have the sinking feeling that Jeonghan is behind it. (After all, he was the person who figured out how you feel and asked you outright just to confirm his suspicions. He’s the kind of person who revels in the fact that he’s right, and as much as you hate to admit it, he always is.)

“Cool,” Hansol now says with a shrug, oblivious to what is running through your mind. A smile settles on his face, one so small and private that you can’t help the warmth that spreads across your cheeks as you look away.

Damn.

When you say nothing in return—because how can you, especially when he’s looking at you like that?—he takes it as a sign to continue. “I don’t know what to watch, though. I feel like I’ve seen too many things already. You have any ideas?”

“Um... what about Ghibli films?” You suggest, fiddling with the remote in your hands. “They’re your favorites, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I was thinking of watching your favorites instead. Or something you’ve always wanted to watch but never got around to.”

You turn to him to answer, only to find that he’s standing mere paces away from you. Your breath catches a little, and as your eyes meet his, you hope Hansol doesn’t see through you. 

He’s so close. So close that for the briefest moment, you let yourself wonder how it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through his dark brown hair. You wonder what his hands would feel like tied to your own, or against your cheeks—

Nope. It’s precisely thoughts like these that drive a friendship to ruin.

“So what do you have in mind?” Hansol prompts again in a quieter voice, that beautiful, timid smile of his never leaving his features.

“I’m... Well, I like rom-coms, which I know aren’t exactly your thing—”

“Hey, I do watch and enjoy rom-coms from time to time,” Hansol says, feigning offense, and you laugh. 

“Wait, wait. I change my mind. I’ve been wanting to watch this new Rian Johnson movie.” You plop down on the couch and, using the remote, click on the search button. “The sequel to ‘Knives Out’. I forgot what it’s called though...”

“Isn’t it called ‘Glass Onion’?” Hansol asks as he sits down right next to you. You try not to think about how close his body is to yours; even just the slightest shift and you’d graze him. You focus on the gleam in his eyes instead, the excitement that takes over him when he talks about movies.

“Yeah! Exactly.” 

“I watched the trailer yesterday,” he says. “It looked good. Let’s go with that one, then.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

It’s only been five minutes into the movie, and Hansol has finished devouring his Chinese takeout already.

“Whoa, slow down there,” you say, smiling. “Someone’s hungry.”

Hansol nods, setting down his takeout box on the table in front of him. “So hungry.”

“Did you not eat lunch?”

“Well... actually, I did.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Swung by McDonalds to grab two double-cheeseburgers and fries. Was that all? Oh yeah, and a vanilla milkshake, too. But my point still stands.”

And there it is, that infectious, broad grin he loves to see. “Hansol!”

“What? I can’t help it.” He leans back against the sofa and adds, in a murmur, “I eat quite a lot.”

“I know. That’s why I ordered extras for you.”

At that, Hansol smiles to himself. It does something to him, the fact that you care and pick up on trivial details like that. Such a small thing, really, but it makes him happy. You make him happy. 

The rest of the movie feels like a blur. At some point, Hansol loses track of its plot and no longer bothers trying to keep up. It’s hard, he realizes, to keep his eyes on the screen when you’re right there, beside him, so much more interesting than any film—or anything in general—can ever be. 

He watches as you make fun of the ridiculous accent that detective, Benoit Blanc, has, smiling as you try (and fail) to imitate it in between fits of laughter. How someone can be so lovely is beyond him.

It’s always been crystal clear to him, the fact that he’s fallen for you, but this—always finding new things about someone that make him fall for them over and over—is new. Foreign. 

And he’s in deep. 

So buried in his thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize you’ve turned to your side, looking at him like you just said something and you’re expecting him to reply. 

“Hm?” He asks.

“Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

He’s quiet, trying to form a response. “I’ve been enjoying the movie.”

“But you always make some sort of commentary whenever you watch movies. I can tell something’s on your mind.” 

True, he wishes he could say. You’re constantly running through my mind, do you know that? 

Before he has the chance to deny it, you continue. “We can watch something else, or even stop watching altogether, if that’s what you prefer. I really don’t mind, Sol.” 

Putting the takeout box on the table, you grab the remote to change the channel. And Hansol, acting on impulse, quickly leans forward and lightly grabs your hand to stop you.

You turn your head, your gaze meeting his. Something inscrutable flickers across your face. He’s never seen it up close; he’s never been this close to you, in fact, and it takes everything in him to remain steady despite his heart beating like a frenzy. You’re so close he can see the beautiful, dark specks in your eyes, so, so close he can easily lean in to kiss you—

Chwe Hansol, you’re an idiot, he thinks, stopping himself in his track of mind. He can feel warmth creeping up his neck, unwelcome. This is highly inappropriate and too intimate for someone who only sees you as a friend. You’ve gone and made her uncomfortable, and now she’s going to think you’re being too forward. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And yet, you stay put, not letting go. He’d like to think that’s an invitation to stay where he is, but he knows better. So he retracts his hand from yours and retreats. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking,” he apologizes profusely, panic throwing his thoughts into disarray. “I probably wasn’t even thinking, and I just grabbed your hand like that and I’m just so sorry—”

But then you reach out and grab his hand, in a move that silences and unravels him bit by bit. “It’s really okay.” 

“It is?”

Your smile is timid. You intertwine your fingers with his, slowly and hesitantly, like you’re not sure if this is what you should be doing. Adorable, how shy you’re being right now; he’s never imagined he would have that sort of effect on you. 

“Is this okay?” It’s your turn to ask. 

The grin on his face is the widest he’s ever had. “It’s more than okay.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

If you’re being honest, none of this turns out the way you expected it would. 

Earlier this evening, when you got texts from everyone else saying they were bailing, you thought the night would fizzle out quickly. You imagined Hansol would grow bored without the other boys and scour for a reason to immediately head home. 

And yet, here you are, watching a movie beside him while holding his hand. Holding his hand. 

It feels surreal, the sensation of his skin against yours. A part of you wishes to believe that this is real, that perhaps your feelings for him aren’t as unrequited as they seem. But another, greater part of you fears that this is just a friendly gesture. Friends hold hands, don’t they?

But not Hansol. You know for a fact that he never gets touchy when he’s with his female friends. He keeps his distance out of respect, allowing only the occasional hug and not much more. 

Perhaps this is a sign that he likes you, too. Or perhaps, this is just his way of saying that he sees you as a friend around whom he can be comfortable. Unfortunately for you, the latter seems more plausible.

Before you let yourself fall into an overanalyzing spiral, you stand up, rather abruptly, from the couch and turn to face him. You miss his touch the moment you let go. “I think it’s time we eat the ice cream. Don’t you?”

He blinks. His eyes flicker to the spot on his hand where yours was. “Uh, um. Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, I’ll be back real quick.” You dart away without waiting for his response.

The kitchen provides some sort of refuge, albeit temporary. Refuge against... whatever it was that led you both to holding hands. The situation feels like traversing across an unfamiliar territory, the lines between the old and the new blurring, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

Do you like the feeling of his touch on your hand? Of course. Does said feeling render you so nervous you feel like combusting at any moment? Absolutely.

Hence, the kitchen. Away from Hansol.

Your hands have gone all clammy. You wipe them on the rough surface of your jeans, trying to focus. What are you supposed to be doing in the kitchen, again? Ah, right. To take the Ben and Jerry’s out of the fridge. Right.

“I’ll grab the spoons.” Hansol’s voice. Soft, and yet you almost jump at the sound of it, the tension increasing tenfold at his presence. 

Perhaps he realizes what’s going on, because he’s looking at you and asks, “Did I startle you?”

He did startle you. Though not as much as this very moment, when he walks towards you and lightly grabs your hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he continues with an apologetic look. Your mind seems to register nothing else but his touch. His thumb, now tracing patterns across the back of your hand. “You alright?” 

All you can do is nod. Hansol stays silent, patiently waiting. He doesn’t seem all that convinced.

“I’m nervous, actually. I’ve never had a boy hold my hand before,” you finally confess with embarrassment.

He looks surprised. “Never?”

“Never. I’ve had crushes before, yes, but I’ve never acted upon them. I just… admire them from afar and wait until the feelings fade.”

“Really? I find that rather hard to believe, coming from someone as amazing as you.”

God. He really has no right saying things like that and expecting you not to blush. “What about you?”

“I think the first and only time I held someone’s hand was when I was in second grade,” Hansol says. “There was this girl who asked me to be her boyfriend. I didn’t know what it all meant, how a relationship worked. I was so clueless I just went with it when she grabbed my hand.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, imagining Hansol at the age of seven. You briefly wonder how he was back then, if much has changed. “Is that really the only time?”

“Yeah, it is.” He shakes his head and smiles at the memory. This is the first time he opens up about his dating life; you’ve only gleaned very few things from the others, but never directly from him. “I never dated anyone. It’s always been clear to me that I wanted time to myself before I start dating someone.”

A pause. “And now?”

He contemplates for a moment before saying, “That’s no longer what I want.”

“No?” 

"No,” he replies, not meeting your eyes. Both of you stay that way, wrapped in comfortable silence that stretches for a moment or two before it breaks.

“Thank you,” Hansol begins, moving closer. He never once lets go of your hand.

Your brow furrows in confusion. “For what?”

“For, um, for tonight.” He sounds so terribly shy, unlike his usual carefree self. “And for letting me hold your hand.”

Your heart warms at that. “Why wouldn’t I let you?”

He offers you a sheepish smile. “I guess… I guess I never thought you liked me like that.” “Like what?” You ask, though you damn well know the answer. And he damn well knows he doesn’t have to explain to you what he means. 

It’s written plainly all over you, in the way your gaze keeps searching for him in a room. In the way you become a nervous mess whenever he’s near, as much as you try to hide it under the semblance of calm and all those foolish, lighthearted jokes. In the way your heart is currently beating so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. 

And when he leans forward, his face a mere breath away from yours, your heart threatens to stop altogether.

“Like this,” Hansol murmurs, tipping your chin up with his fingers. And slowly, his lips meet yours in a kiss.

You’d be outright lying if you said you hadn’t envisioned this scenario many times before; this moment feels like visiting a recurring dream. But you never imagined he would kiss this way, tenderly and softly, his soft yet strong hand caressing your jaw. You’ve barely processed what’s happening when he draws away from you.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” he admits in a low voice, looking at your lips like he longs for them. 

You don’t know how or why; perhaps it’s his confession that drives you onward, gives you the courage to take a plunge and utter these next words. “What took you so long?”

He takes that as a sign to pull you in and kiss you once more, deeper this time. Closing your eyes, you kiss him back, cautiously at first, and then with an eagerness and yearning—the kind that leaves you and your emotions naked, exposed. It’s frightening, really, willingly giving your whole heart to someone who’s stolen fragments of it since the moment you met them.

Yet you’ll learn to realize, in the months to come, that it is in the best way possible, because it’s under Hansol’s touch that you feel safe and grounded. He has a way of making you laugh with his awkwardness and wits, lifting you up during the stormiest of days and the darkest of nights. And, above all else, he appreciates you, makes you feel heard and seen for who you truly are. Loved for who you truly are.

But for now, you try to bask in the feeling of his lips on yours. 

Your back hits the kitchen counter as you gently tug Hansol closer to you, and he snakes his hands behind you to rest them on the tabletop, framing you. Unlike the first time, he now kisses you like he can’t get enough of you, and you kiss him over and over until you’re both breathless.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. And then softly laughs. 

“What?” You ask him.

His voice is hoarse as he says, “I guess we have to thank Jeonghan for this.”

You can’t help grinning at that, your eyes closed. “I guess we do.”

[storiesiwrite]

Muse ☾ Lee Seokmin

Genre: fluff, second chance trope, exes to lovers, mutual pining

Word count: 4470

Summary: It’s been two years since you and Seokmin broke up, but you can’t seem to move on. It turns out he feels the same way.

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

It’s a quarter past three in the morning, and sleep evades Seokmin. 

It’s both baffling and frustrating; he genuinely thought he would collapse on the bed after retreating to his hotel room. Yet he’s been tossing and turning all throughout the night, cheers from the crowd still echoing in his head long past the show. His hands brush the sheets beneath him, as soft as silk yet devoid of familiarity. Devoid of that feeling of home. 

That’s what this job entails, he’s tried to tell himself. Arrive in a city, perform the concert’s setlist, then leave. Moving from one temporary stop to another, not truly belonging to one place. He hasn’t even stepped foot inside his actual home in months, his schedule so packed he barely has time to settle down. 

Days pass by so quickly they coalesce into a blur. And nights feel the longest, the most brutal, because it’s during the darkest hours when loneliness tugs at him, and memories slither in through the cracks of his being.

Visions of a familiar face. Of someone with warm eyes and the most intoxicating laugh. 

He grabs his phone and unlocks it, its light illuminating the darkened room. He hates the fact that this is what has become of his nightly routine.

Opening his gallery, he scrolls up to find the last image of you and him, dated back to two years ago. Autumn, at a carnival. He remembers that evening so clearly. He remembers how packed it was, how loud, how he kept on bumping against people wherever he went. The decorations and lights that festooned the venue, the stalls lined with plush toys you could win in games.

All that beautiful sight, but what caught his attention was you.

Clad in a black trench coat and a cream turtleneck, a stick of swirly cotton candy in one hand, you looked dashing. And Seokmin couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. 

“What? Is something on my face?” You’d asked him then, your fingers searching for stains of the pink confectionery. 

Heat creeped up his neck, embarrassed at having been caught outright staring. It didn’t matter that he’d been dating you for a year; sometimes he’d still get shy whenever you were around. “You’re just... you’re really beautiful.”

Now it was your turn to get flustered, your cheeks running red. It was the cutest thing Seokmin had ever seen. Your eyes struggled to meet his, though he could never understand why. There was nothing you had to hide.

“You make me blush when you say things like that, you know,” you finally admitted.

“But I love it when you do.” He laced your fingers with his. “Especially when I’m the reason why.”

He couldn’t forget the small smile that lit your face afterwards, reserved only for him. It was seared onto the deepest corners of his mind.

He couldn’t forget how lucky he’d been, how happy he’d felt those few months with you. They were the best moments of his life, and he realizes, albeit far too late, that even though he now gets to live his dream and tour across the world, something is still missing, severed from him. A gap, one neither sold-out stadiums not record-breaking albums can ever cover. 

Regrets. They fill him now, but they can’t change the past.

Seokmin continues looking at old pictures and videos, until a heaviness clings to his eyes. Until he is a mess of bittersweet memories and untangled feelings. Tossing the phone to the side, he buries himself under the covers as though they would smother them all.

What a terrible thing, he ponders. His last thought, before sleep drags him under. What a terrible thing, to still miss someone who isn’t longer mine. 

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

Whatever it was that drove you to think this would be a good idea, you’re starting to regret it.

The streets are dark as you make your way towards the stadium, the cold clinging to your skin despite the thick duffle coat wrapped around your body. You were worried you wouldn’t be able to find the venue, but the moment you turn a nearby corner, you see a throng of people already awaiting outside the stadium doors. 

Loud, excited chatters fill the air as you push your way through the crowd, the ticket a crumpled piece of paper in your fingers. It’s difficult to stay calm in a space as suffocating as this, with a lot of fans fighting to claim the best spots at the very front of the stage, though you know it’s not the sole reason you’re feeling anxious tonight.

What were you thinking, agreeing to go to Seokmin’s concert?

“Oh, come on,” Chan had said through the phone, playfulness lacing his words. He’d called you earlier this morning, explaining how he’d bought a ticket months ago but wouldn’t be able to make it. “You’re free tonight, aren’t you? You don’t have to pay; I’ll give it to you for free.” 

“But... I just can’t. It’s Seokmin we’re talking about here, and I just...” you trailed off, but you didn’t have to explain further. You weren’t ready. And it hit you then, the realization weighing down on you, that even though you’d ended things with him two years ago, the wound from the breakup is still startlingly fresh.

That it would take a hell lot longer to move past him.

“I thought... I thought you parted with him on friendly terms?” Chan continued, his confidence shrinking. 

The split was amicable; you and Seokmin simply realized you both had different goals that would be taking you in different directions. Becoming a performing artist means Seokmin would have to travel to places, whereas as a writer, you prefer to stick to one.

The relationship ended amicably, but it’s not as if you remain on speaking terms, either.

You’ve thought about reaching out to him more often than you’d like to admit. Sometimes you’d find yourself searching him up on social media to see what he’s been up to. The photos, videos, and little snippets that he uploads.

You can’t help thinking how you used to be an integral part of his life. And now you’re completely out of the picture—just a stranger, typing messages to him but always leaving them unsent. 

A crackle through the line. When you said nothing, Chan took a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said in all earnestness and remorse, his voice reduced to almost a whisper. “I’m... I’m starting to realize that this is insensitive of me. To ask you, of all people. I just thought...” You could hear Chan fumbling for words. “I’ve asked everyone else. Mingyu, Joshua, Jun. None of them can go. And then I thought of you and I just... I’m really sorry.”

The idea of rejecting the offer flashed through your mind like a constant warning sign. You knew deep down that you’re terrified. You’re terrified to see him, to confront the truth. That perhaps, Seokmin has been better off without you, whereas you still wander down that narrow path of ‘what if’s and wonder what could have been.

And yet, stronger than that fear is an undeniable part of you that longs to see him. A part of you that wishes him well and still considers him a dear friend, despite how everything unfolded. All those promises you made back then, of being there for him every step of the way, of coming to his shows—they’re what still remain. And you realize the least you can do is to honor them.

And so you finally said, “Okay, Chan. I’ll go.”

“You will? You sure about that?” The hesitation was clear in his voice.

“I’m sure.”

But now, standing in the midst of loud strangers in a wide expanse of a darkened concert stadium, you’re not so certain anymore. 

So wrapped up in your thoughts, you’re not sure how much time has passed. You watch as the stage grows brighter and the crowd explodes with a deafening scream. A tall figure enters the stage, and your heart races at the sight.

Seokmin.

With a guitar slung to one side, he walks to the center and stops in front of a mic that has already long stood there. His eyes are like crescents as he beams at the audience before him, waving his hand.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming! Wow, what a cool crowd.” His voice is teeming with delight. You haven’t realized how much you’ve missed hearing it.

So many girls around you begin shouting his name, banners lifted above their heads. You can’t help the pang of jealousy that assails you. 

“Tonight, I’ll be singing songs from my new album, as well as old tracks you may not have heard before. I hope you enjoy!”

The crowd screams in excitement, yet you can still hear the thumping of your own heart, stubborn and relentless. Strong emotions you’ve been trying to bury come barreling toward you. It’s too much all at once, difficult to drown out.

This is a bad idea, your mind keeps telling you. A terrible idea, but for some inexplicable reason, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your eyes trained on nobody else but him. 

Dark hair slicked back, clad in a black shirt underneath that brown suede jacket. A touch of make-up on his eyes which shine under the lights. Seokmin looks so devastatingly beautiful. Happier than ever.

“The first song...” he pauses. A slight change in his tone, one anyone else might have missed, but you’re not just anyone else.

He smoothens out his features so quickly that you think you imagined the shift altogether. “This is a song I wrote years ago, one I’ve never sung in a show before. It’s definitely one I hold close to my heart.” A tight-lipped smile as he looks down and adjusts the guitar. “A love letter to someone who knew how I felt.”

The cheers turn to silence as the soft strumming of his guitar begins. A familiar tune, one you’ve heard many times before, drawing forth a memory from years ago.

You remember being in your apartment, the room dimly lit, noises from the streets below drifting through the open windows. Seokmin was on the couch, playing the guitar as he tried to conjure melodies befitting the chords. You sat beside him, basking it all in. 

It was a rough day, you can still recall, college work piling up on your desk but you couldn’t begin with any of them due to writer’s block. Instead, you’d called your boyfriend over, because you knew his presence would lift your unease.

And you were right. The moment the apartment door swung open, he immediately folded his arms around your body, pulling you in. You shut your eyes and let his scent fill your lungs. His tenderness, his care—they coursed through you, kindling a warmth you’d been bereft of when he wasn’t around.

“Hey,” he began, a comforting whisper against the troubled thoughts in your mind. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

You leaned against him, your words so muffled you worried he wouldn’t catch them. “Today just isn’t my day.” 

You couldn’t say more. And you didn’t need to, because he immediately understood.

He always did, in ways you realized nobody else could. Perhaps that is the reason why, after so many dates Chan has put you through these past two years, you can’t seem to let go. And now, as you watch him perform, you realize that you and Seokmin share something that can neither be so easily forged nor so easily cast away. 

And that song, the one he sang for you in your apartment that day, had been a work in progress. An unfinished version of the song he’s now singing on stage in front of the crowd.

The memory of it makes you wonder if he still thinks of you whenever he sings the song. If you ever once cross his mind. 

Chances are, he hasn’t even thought of you these past two years. The breakup must have messed you up more than it did him. Regrets have kept you up late through the night, while he probably has moved on with his life, keeping himself busy with his music career, meeting someone new—

But when the song comes to an end, he scans the crowd and, like a stroke of luck, his gaze lands on yours. And you could have sworn he stiffens at the sight of you, in the same way your heart plummets and you can no longer think straight. 

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

The chaos disappears the moment Seokmin shuts the door behind him. His breath runs ragged, and light sweat sticks to his clothes. He can’t seem to compose himself; there’s only one thought that runs circles in his head.

It was you, he knows for a certainty. You’d been there. 

He recognized you. Of course he did; he’d recognize you anywhere, among any crowd. 

But he can’t help asking himself why. Why you came after everything that went down. 

He spends the next hour in his trailer wondering. Wondering if you enjoyed the show, if you liked the way he sang. Wondering if, after all this time, he haunts your thoughts the way you still haunt his.

None of that should matter, because you’re no longer his, and he is no longer yours. 

The break-up was one of the toughest moments he had to live through. He recalls sitting next to you in his bedroom, tears staining your cheeks and his own. With bloodshot eyes, you asked him, “Are we really doing this?”

“I guess we are.” He had never sounded so resigned. 

“Thank you for everything, for being such a loving, supportive boyfriend and being so much more than I deserve,” you said with a sniffle, and his fingers found your cheek. 

“You deserve the world. You deserve more than I can ever give you.” He tried to put on a smile, tried to be strong. “You’re the better half of me, remember?”

A humorless laugh. “You’re the better half of me.”

He shook his head. “You’re the kindest, most amazing person I know. I’m so lucky to have ever been yours.”

“So am I. I really wish you didn’t have to go.” Your voice was cracking all over.

Guilt lanced through him. Your relationship wouldn’t have had to end if Seokmin had chosen another career path. But performing on the stage was and has always been his passion, and he could never imagine himself doing anything else. You knew this, and yet you chose to stick by his side, and for that he was grateful.

“I’m really, really going to miss you.” He sobbed, pulling you into an embrace for one last time. He held you close, inhaling your scent, reveling in the feel of your body flushed against his.

And when you walked out the door, it was as if you’d taken parts of him with you, the world having lost its color.

Seokmin truly thought letting go would get easier as the seasons march forward, that time would stitch the wounds strewn across his heart. But two years have passed and here he is, still grieving the relationship he lost. Two years have passed and yet, he still keeps coming back to you. 

He hates the way he can’t stifle his emotions, his longing for you practically woven into his every song. At first, he resorted to songwriting because that has always been his way of coping with circumstances he can’t change and feelings he can’t comprehend. 

But now he’s gone and made you his constant, his muse.

It shouldn’t matter, he keeps telling himself. But the fact that you showed up at one of his shows... 

It feels like an opening, a crevice in the invisible wall that stretches between you both. It gives him hope that perhaps, he isn’t the only one struggling with these feelings. It gives him the courage to do what’s next.

He’s going to go and see you.

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

The sky has turned dark beyond the windows, the busy day drawing to a close.

Like any other Sundays, the café was teeming with people, some of them stopping by for brunch or a quick meet-up, while others lingered longer, books splayed out on the coffee table, their faces illuminated by the light coming from their laptop screens. Today was particularly exhausting since one of your work colleagues, Vernon, took a sick leave, which meant you had to handle more workload than usual.

And tonight, you’re in charge of closing the café, the others having left not long ago. You begin wiping off coffee stains on desks, the action so familiar that you can do it without having to think twice. Your eyes are heavy, limbs threaded with fatigue, and the only thing that keeps you going is the fact that you’re almost through with work. 

You’re about to turn off the lights when, suddenly, the doorbell jingles. You frown. It’s beyond closing time.

“We’re about to close—” you call out, but as you look up to see who it is, the words come to a halt, dread running through you.

It’s Seokmin, lingering by the door.

You blink a few times, not quite believing your eyes. But there’s no denying that he is standing there, just a few strides away. The confidence he carried just the night before is now nowhere to be found, and it seems like he’s trying to amass his courage to step through the threshold.

“Hi,” Seokmin starts, his features inscrutable.

You’re unsure how to proceed. Unsure how to address him now when you’d always regarded him as your boyfriend. “Hi. Um, I… we’re about to close.”

A stupid thing to say, but you can’t imagine why he would show up if not for the coffee.

He pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose. “I know. I just… I was nearby and thought that maybe, you still work here. I guess I wanted to come by.” He continues with more certainty. “I wanted to see you.”

Your mind seems to run blank. How can you respond to that?

He misconstrues your silence and begins stammering. “Uh, well, I mean, unless... Unless this isn’t what you want, which I completely get.” He gestures with his hands the way he always did whenever his self-assurance dwindled. “I’m sorry. I can leave if you want me to—”

“No.” The word leaves you in an instant, so full of emotion you curse yourself for it. You move closer to him, striving for a semblance of calm. “What I mean to say is, it’s okay. You can stay.”

“Yeah?” A timid smile on his lips. “You’re about to close the shop, aren’t you? I can help you with things.”

Your heart warms at his words, at his kindness, and you can’t help but smile back. Being an artist hasn’t changed him. “Would that be okay? I’m almost done, actually. I just have to clean the tables and wash some cups before I leave.”

He rolls up his sleeves and grabs a cloth. “Then I’ll help you with it.” 

It doesn’t take long to complete the remaining tasks. You and Seokmin fill the silence by catching up, and you find it comforting how, for a moment in time, you can slip back and pretend as if things are alright. There’s no awkwardness as you banter with him, and he seems genuinely interested to hear how you’ve been. He’s always been a good listener, attentive of even the smallest of details—it’s one of the reasons why you fell for him in the first place.

And before you know it, it’s a little over midnight and you’re locking the doors, about to head home. Seokmin has offered to walk with you despite his early schedule tomorrow, and you’re aware—perhaps too aware—of the way he keeps on glancing at you, like he has something he wishes to say but the words remain unspoken. 

That makes it the two of you, then.

The trees lining the sidewalk sway under the wind as the temperature grows colder into the night. You cross your arms over your body and look over at Seokmin, who isn’t faring any better than you, shivering under the purple sweater he dons. His hair is a ruffled mess, and you find yourself wanting to reach out and rake your fingers through it. 

It takes everything in you to abandon that idea. 

After a while, Seokmin finally breaks the silence. “You were there.” 

Your stomach drops. You know where this is going. 

“The concert last night, I mean,” he says, looking at you, and you don’t know why the sight of him tugs at your heartstrings so. 

You don’t know what to say. You had a feeling earlier that this would come up at some point, but still, you don’t know how to behave when he’s no longer the Seokmin with whom you’d exchange stories and secrets. The Seokmin you’d search for when you had good news to tell or terrible news to break.

At last, you settle for this: “I was. You were amazing out there, Seok. Truly.” The words you’re saying—even though you mean them, they sound so strained. 

A pause, before he asks, “Why did you come?”

“I promised you, remember?” You can’t quite expel the heaviness lodged in your throat. “I promised I’d be there.”

Seokmin doesn’t reply, but the small smile he wears tells you that he remembers.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m… I’m really sorry. For everything that happened between us. For the break-up and all the pain I caused you.” His expression is pained, and it hurts you to see him that way.

“It isn’t entirely your fault. I’m sorry, too.” You try to contain your grief but to no avail. “The break-up was difficult for me. And to be completely honest, it still is.”

You don’t know why you kept on talking. It feels like reopening old wounds that haven’t quite scabbed over, letting him in through the cracks he left.

Seokmin looks like he’s surprised. “It is?”

You nod. “I… I keep coming back to the day we broke up, and whenever I do, I’m overcome with regret. I still wish we’d done things differently.” You can’t put a brake on the words that spill out of your mouth, your pent-up emotions finally coming to light.

“I keep thinking of you,” you continue, your voice wavering. “And often, I wonder if you think of me.”

Tears are beginning to well in your eyes. You don’t realize you and Seokmin are no longer walking, having come to a stop in front of your apartment building. It’s time to part ways, but a part of you is having a hard time saying goodbye.

“I…” he begins. He seems like he’s about to reach out to you, lifting his hand briefly towards you only to drop it to his side. You hold his gaze, his brown eyes so striking yet warm. The bangs that frame his face. That small mole on his cheek that he used to hate but you adore so much you helped him change his mind. The perfect curve of his nose, the faint, crimson tinges on his cheeks.

You try to remember the little details, because you know this will be the last time you’ll ever get to see them. The last time you’ll ever get to see him.

Seokmin says nothing in return. He just looks at you, his face inscrutable, and you curse yourself for having let yourself be vulnerable. For putting him in a more uncomfortable position. It’s embarrassing, how you yearn for him when he clearly doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“I’m… I’m really sorry for having said all that. I was speaking nonsense, really. I just… I think my brain’s all muddled after today’s shift and all.” Your courage wanes, and you wish you could disappear right now. Fishing out the apartment keys, you gesture towards the door, not stopping even as Seokmin looks like he’s about to say something.

“Thank you for walking me home, Seok. It’s really good seeing you,” you utter quickly, unable to face him. It’s too much.

“Wait—”

But you don’t, walking away from him with tears in your eyes. It’s embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing—

“I’m still in love with you!”

You stop in your tracks. You can’t believe your ears.

Are those words meant for me? You turn around to see him gazing at you, something like longing and desperation in his eyes.

“I’m still in love with you,” he repeats, quieter this time. 

This time, you’re the one who’s speechless.

“You said you wonder if I think of you.” He continues, slowly closing the distance between you both. “There’s not a second that I don’t. My music, all those lyrics I’ve written—they’ve always been about you. You’ve always been my muse.”

He stops moving when he’s within arm’s reach. “I’ve tried to move on, but I can never seem to let you go. I can never forget how happy and complete I felt when I was with you, and there is never a moment that I don’t regret breaking up with you.” His voice breaks, but he goes on. “I promised myself that if I ever get the chance some day, I’d try to make things right. And when I saw you during the concert, I thought it as a sign.”

What he’s saying is so hard to believe that you have to ask him again. You have to make sure.

“Are you saying that you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped.” 

You can’t help the smile that slowly spreads across your face. “I’ve never stopped loving you too, Seok.” 

He lets out a laugh of relief, lifting his hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Even after all this time?”

You don’t answer, closing the gap between you both. Touching your forehead to his, you shut your eyes to revel in the moment. The midnight sky above you, millions of stars strewn across it. The rustling of the wind that moves the trees. The person you love right in front of you. It’s too good to be true.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs, his breath fanning your cheeks.

“Yes,” you reply immediately. “God, yes.”

And then his lips meet yours, soft as ever. His fingers graze your chin, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss, and your arms find his sides in a way that reminds you how familiar this is. 

This, you realize, tucked in Seokmin’s gentle embrace. This feels so much like coming home. 

[storiesiwrite]

Romeo ☾ Lee Seokmin

Genre: fluff, college!au, friends to lovers, mutual pining

Word count: 4672

Summary: In which you and Seokmin are cast as the leads in the Romeo and Juliet musical, and he’s got a huge crush on you.

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

When Seokmin is cast as the lead in the Romeo and Juliet musical, he can’t quite believe his luck.

An opportunity like this is rare to come by after all, and during the audition, he wasn’t sure he was going to snag the role. The other candidates were convincing, and that fact alone made him so nervous that he didn’t deliver his lines as well as he’d wanted to.

He went home that day, shoulders slumped in defeat, his hopes guttering out like a flame. He supposed he should be grateful to have had the chance to audition at all.

And so imagine his surprise when he goes to theater class this morning and someone calls out his name from across the room. It’s his friend, Mingyu, beckoning to him, standing in front of a bulletin board along with their other classmates. Realization sinks in as Seokmin approaches them, followed swiftly by panic and dread. Because pinned on the board is a list of chosen actors and their respective roles for the play.

Seokmin knows he messed up the audition. He’s told himself ever since not to expect anything, but a part of him still clings to the hope of getting picked, of performing this play on a stage. With mixed feelings, he scans the paper, steeling himself for disappointment.

But it never comes.

On top of the list, he finds his name written in bold letters. Lee Seokmin as Romeo Montague.

He stares at it, slack-jawed. All breath rushes out of his lungs.

He got it. The role he’s wanted for months now. He recalls losing sleep to memorize the script. The frustration he felt when he didn’t get the emotion for certain scenes right. The joy when, after lots and lots of practice, he finally did.

All that struggle to get the part. And now that he actually got it, he can’t wrap his head around the fact that this is real.

Pushing aside his astonishment, he continues skimming through the names on the list, a grin tugging on his lips. It broadens when he spots Mingyu’s as well as his other classmates’, but his eyes stop on one that roots him to the ground.

Yours. It turns out you’ll be playing Juliet Capulet. His character’s love interest.

Oh, Seokmin thinks. Oh.

His friends are around him, congratulating him with a pat on the shoulder, but the words blur together into background noise. He can’t keep his eyes off your name, his mind fixed on the idea that you’re going to be his theater partner for the next few months.

Which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the matter that he has a huge crush on you.

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

It’d be an outright lie to say that Seokmin hasn’t considered asking you out.

The thought crosses his mind more often than he’d like to admit. But the thing is, when he’s around you, he gets very awkward.

A memory springs easily to mind. One from a few weeks ago, when he was working at the self-serve frozen yogurt shop a few blocks away from uni.

The afternoon shift had just begun. Seokmin was counting money in the cash drawer while his friend and co-worker, Mingyu, wiped the tables strewn across the parlor. The doorbell chimed and in you came, recognition in your eyes as you looked at them both. A wave and a friendly smile, and then you made your way towards the array of frozen yogurt machines on the side of the room.

Seokmin fiddled with his work apron and avoided the knowing look Mingyu cast his way. Even back then, it was no secret that you’re the girl Seokmin has always liked from afar. Although you both attend the same theater class at uni, he’d never spoken much to you before.

And now that the opportunity presented itself, his mind went blank, his confidence dissipating. He didn’t even realize Mingyu was back and standing beside him until the latter spoke.

“Don’t just stare. Talk to her.”

Seokmin winced and averted his eyes. Mingyu was being so unnecessarily loud. “We’re at work. And I’m not staring.”

“Right. So why is your face red all over?”

“Dude, drop it.” His voice was laced with frustration, but if anything, it was directed to himself.

His friends had been teasing him for weeks on end, and he’d reached the point where he didn’t even bother trying to refute them. He couldn’t refute them, not when his cheeks heated up every time you merely glanced his way. Not when his heart leapt at the prospect of seeing you in theater class.

He liked you a lot. It was ridiculous he hadn’t acted upon it.

“Talk to her,” Mingyu said again, this time giving him a light nudge and a supportive smile. All the teasing had fled from his words. “You’ll do great. She’s kind and lovely to be around, and so are you.”

Seokmin turned to look at Mingyu. “I know she is, but what should I even say to her?”

His friend didn’t reply, his gaze snagged on whatever was behind Seokmin. An expression flickered across his face as he retrieved something out of his pocket. His phone.

“I have to take this.” Mingyu quickly swiveled around and headed to the storage area at the back, the device hanging from his fingers. Its screen was blank.

Seokmin’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “But nobody’s even calling you—”

“Hi, Seokmin.” A voice, one he’d recognize anywhere. Understanding kicked in as he turned to face you. You were holding a cup full of hazelnut-flavored yogurt topped with bits of cookies.

There was no call on Mingyu’s phone. That boy left to set you both up.

Seokmin loves Mingyu with all his heart; he really does. But at that moment, he wished he could playfully lunge at his friend.

“Hi,” Seokmin replied with a smile, striving for a semblance of composure. He took the yogurt cup from your fingers and placed it on a weighing scale. Silence stretched across the room as he contemplated on what to say.

It felt strange because he wasn’t usually like this. When he was with Mingyu or his other friends, he was always trying to come up with jokes to lighten the mood. And when he stood on the stage, singing or reciting his lines, he exuded the confidence of a seasoned actor. But when it came to you, he was reduced to a bashful mess who fumbled for words.

That said, he knew Mingyu was right. Perhaps he could talk to you. Perhaps he could ask you if you had a lot of uni assignments and how you were holding up. Perhaps he could mention the upcoming Romeo and Juliet play and—

“How are you?” You asked, beating him to it. “You weren’t in theater class last week. Was everything alright?”

For a while, he was stunned into silence, his heart stuttering at the fact that you’d noticed. Your concern seemed so genuine that he wondered if he was reading too much into it. 

He probably was. He couldn’t imagine you liking him like that.

“I had a little fever last week, but I’m much better now.” A bashful smile as he ran the transaction through the cash register. “Thank you for asking, though. It’s very kind of you. How are you?”

And with that, the conversation ran its course and his nervousness slowly began to wane, though the awkwardness lingered in the way he behaved and the words he spoke.

He didn’t want to mess things up, especially not with you.

And maybe he didn’t after all, because you stepped out of the frozen-yogurt parlor with his number and he, hours later when the shift was over, with yours.

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

It’s two in the afternoon when the doorbell to your apartment rings. Seokmin’s right on time, you think, checking your appearance briefly in the mirror before heading towards the door.

A few weeks have passed since the actors of the Romeo and Juliet play were announced, and the plan for today is to run through the scenes you share with Seokmin. It was you who offered to do it at your place, and you can’t help but smile, recalling the way he made sure you were okay with that. The way he made sure he wouldn’t be a hassle to you.

He’s never a hassle to you. On the contrary, you really enjoy his company.

Lately, you’ve been spending a lot of time with the cast members, grabbing lunch with them because theater class ends around midday. Out of everyone in the group, you’ve grown the closest to Seokmin. You’d like to say it’s because you both share a lot of scenes and, therefore, have to rehearse with each other often, but even if that weren’t the case, you reckon you’d still gravitate towards him. 

There’s just something about him that makes you feel comfortable. Perhaps the way he tries to cheer people up when the rehearsal on that particular day is tough. His laughter, so infectious you always laugh along with him even when nothing is especially funny. The way he always treats you with respect, and the way he remembers the trivial things you’ve said to him in passing. He once brought you your favorite brownies when you were stuck trying to memorize your lines. 

“I was just passing by the bakery, and it reminded me of you,” he simply said with a sheepish smile, like it was no big deal. That gesture had you grinning like an idiot for days. 

It also made you realize you were falling hard for him.

Now, you try to push away the memory and focus. Opening the door to your apartment, you’re greeted by the sight of him, a smile adorning his face, black glasses framing his eyes. Your heart races. He looks so, so lovely.

So much for trying to focus.

“Hi,” he begins.

“Hi, Seok. Come in,” you reply with a smile of your own. “You’re very punctual. Are you that excited to see me?”

“I’ll have you know that I take rehearsals very seriously,” he says half-jokingly as he enters the apartment. He shrugs off his coat and places it on the hanger nearby. “Thank you for having invited me.”

You shut the door behind you. Even though you both have gotten so close and frequently joke around, he doesn’t shed his politeness. It’s one of the many things you like about him.

“Of course. I love having you around.”

He stops to look at you. “You mean that?”

It takes you a while to realize what you’ve just said, and a blush creeps up your neck. Probably not the most auspicious thing to say to your crush. 

You shyly nod and immediately look away, but you don’t miss the way his lips quirk. 

“Have you had lunch?” He asks, and you’re grateful he’s changing the subject.

“I haven’t. Have you?”

“Me neither. Should we order some takeout?”

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

It’s proving to be rather hard to rehearse. 

It’s not because of Seokmin; if anything, you’re grateful he’s your acting partner. You can never understand how someone so goddamned gifted can be so patient and understanding, even though you’ve messed up a lot in the past hour. A lot.

You break character yet again, and your hands fly up to cover the frustration on your features. But the gesture isn’t lost on Seokmin, who is now looking at you with concern.

“Are you exhausted?” He asks, reaching out his hands for yours, guiding them away from your face. His touch is gentle, but it sends your heart running wildly. “Should we take a break? We’ve been at it for an hour.”

You thought you’d get the scene right by now. But it’s difficult to concentrate when he’s Romeo and you’re Juliet, and he’s waiting for you to say your next line with longing in his eyes. Longing you wish weren’t reserved for your character, but for you. 

“I’m really sorry. I can’t seem to remember the lines.” You lace your fingers into his. You’re standing so close to him, your bodies mere inches away. “I promise you that I’m taking this seriously. I’m sorry for being so unprofessional—”

He shakes his head in denial. “No, no. Not at all. You don’t have to apologize.” He gestures to the sofa. “Maybe we should take a break? I’ll grab you a glass of water.”

You don’t trust your words, so all you do is nod. Despite what he said, he stands still, and it takes you a moment to realize that your fingers are still tightly intertwined with his, keeping him in place. You let them go and sit down, closing your eyes as he retreats to the kitchen.

All of this is pure acting—the yearning, the closeness, the brush of his fingers on your cheek and your jaw. All of this is for the play and nothing more. You know that, but it still feels so real. Your emotions for him are practically bleeding into Juliet’s lines, and you wonder if he’s figured them out.

The possibility of that is unsettling. Like you said, you want to be professional. Besides, you don’t want to jeopardize your friendship with him; you know he doesn’t like you that way and you respect that.

“Here you go.” Your eyes snap open and you find Seokmin offering you a glass. 

“Thank you, Seok.” You mumble before taking a mouthful. 

“Are you okay?” He sits beside you, genuine worry threaded in his voice. “You look slightly pale.”

You set down the glass on a low table. 

I’m just so nervous because I really, really, really like you and we’re so close so I got carried away and—

“I do?” The calmness of your voice belies the thoughts in your mind.

He nods. 

“I think it’s because I didn’t sleep enough last night.” It’s the truth. You were so nervous of today’s run-through with him that you spent your sleeping hours memorizing the script instead, hoping to impress him.

It didn’t work out in the end, did it? 

“Should I... Should I leave you to rest?”

“No.” The word leaves you in a rush. “No, I just mean... it’s alright. You don’t have to leave. I’m okay, really.” 

“Are you sure? I can leave if you want me to.”

But I don’t want you to.

“I’m sure.”

The way he’s looking at you makes you go soft. “Okay. But promise me you’ll take care of yourself? Promise me you’ll get enough sleep tonight?”

“I promise.” Your fingers meet his. “It’s just... I feel a lot of pressure playing Juliet. It’s a huge responsibility, and I wanna make sure I do it right.”

Which you can’t possibly do if you let your feelings meddle in the acting.

He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “I understand where you’re coming from. But I think you’re doing great.”

A smile breaks your face. It means the world hearing those words from someone of his talent and caliber. “Really? You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do.” He grins back.

“Even though the past hour has proven my lack of skills?”

His smile falls. “Please don’t say that. You’re giving yourself less credit than you deserve, you know.”

At that, you fall silent. You know he means every word he says, but you can’t bring yourself to believe them. But hearing him speak calms you down, and you don’t want him to stop. “Don’t you feel pressured portraying Romeo?”

He leans back against the sofa, cradling a pillow in his arms. “I do, actually. I didn’t expect much out of the audition because I messed up some lines.” He giggles at your surprise; it’s difficult to imagine Seokmin ever messing up anything. “I’m grateful for being given the opportunity; I really am. But sometimes, I do think it can be overwhelming. The play is beloved by many, and I want to do Romeo justice.”

He will. 

“That said, I’d like think that the judges...” he trails off, and it seems he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I’d like to think they wouldn’t have picked me if they hadn’t thought I could do it. And the same can be said about you, too.”

You let his words sink in. It’s hard to believe that pairing you up with someone as exceptional as Seokmin isn’t a mistake, but what he’s saying does make sense.

“I hope I didn’t come across as conceited,” he adds as an afterthought, and you can’t help but smile and lean back against the couch. You shift your body to face him, and he does the same. 

You’ve seen the way he criticizes himself when he sings. Or the way he’s never satisfied with his performance on stage even though it always blows you away. 

He has every right to believe he can do it. He has every right to be confident in himself. 

“You’re giving yourself less credit than you deserve, you know.” You whisper, quoting what he said to you before. He laughs, like he finds it hard to believe.

You promise yourself you’ll help change his mind.

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

The dress rehearsal is going smoothly so far. 

For the very first time, after months and months of practice, all of the actors of the musical are dressed up in performance attire. The play is being run through uninterrupted and you’re standing on a corner backstage, fidgeting with the slightly-flared cuffs of your costume. 

Clad in a light blue, jeweled Renaissance dress with a tight-fitting bodice, its train trailing along the ground, you look... regal. The make-up artist and hairstylist did a wonderful job; you can’t stop staring at your reflection every time you pass by a mirror. 

You can’t stop staring at Seokmin, either.

He’s now walking through the black curtain and into the backstage area with Mingyu beside him, a cheeky grin on the latter’s face. They’ve just finished singing a number from the masquerade ball scene. You watch as they go separate ways, your eyes never leaving Seokmin.

He looks like he’d walked straight out of Shakespeare’s play, wearing breeches and a velvet doublet embroidered with gold. Debonair, befitting a nobleman.

Even if you tried, you couldn’t picture a better Romeo. 

Seokmin seems to be scouring the area for something. Perhaps a familiar face in a crowd of crew members and personnel. When his gaze meets yours, he beams and makes his way towards you. 

His voice is soft as he murmurs, “hi.”

“Hi.” You take a hold of his hand—a habit you’ve developed recently. He laces them together—a habit he’s developed recently. “You were amazing out there.”

“You think so?”

You smile, nodding. “Like a pro.”

He laughs, and you treasure the sound like one would a gem. “I was so nervous my legs were shaking.” 

“Really? But you didn’t sound nervous at all; you nailed the song as per usual.”

He gives your hand a squeeze as a sign of gratitude. “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. Do I look nervous?”

“You look beautiful.”

It’s your turn to laugh. “It’s just the make-up, really. They did an exceptional job giving me a make-over.” A strand of hair goes loose, and Seokmin reaches out to tuck it behind your ear.

“I can assure you,” he says, his hand still hovering near the shell of your ear, “it’s not just the make-up.”

You imagine your cheeks are alight. He’s standing so close, and you know you should let go. There are people around you. But for an instant, it seems like the world has narrowed down to you both. 

Someone calls out both of your names, and you and Seokmin jump back from each other in surprise, whipping your heads to see the call girl approaching.

“You’re on in two minutes,” she alerts, then leaves you both hurriedly to find the other actors expected on the stage.

Seokmin turns to face you, his dark brown hair glinting in the light. 

“Are you ready?” He’s referring to the next scene. The scene in which Romeo and Juliet meet for the first time and kiss. You’re so wrapped up in the elegance of the costumes that you forgot, and now your heart beats erratically at the thought of sharing a kissing scene with him.

You recall the way Seokmin always checked up on you regarding sequences in the play that are rather intimate. “You don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable,” he’d assured you many times. “I can ask them to omit the scene from the script if that’s what you want.”

At that, your heart dissolved into a puddle of goo. He’s always been so caring.

In truth, you don’t mind doing the scenes at all. You don’t mind because it’s Seokmin and not anybody else, and you’ve grown so at ease around him. 

You trust him wholeheartedly. You’d told him as much, and you’d tell him again.

“I’m ready,” you reply now. “Are you?”

His hand touches yours. “I’m ready.”

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

Seokmin can’t think straight. 

Not when you’re dancing with him at the masquerade ball, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other grasping his own. And certainly not when you’re kissing him. 

The only thing that keeps him from being carried away is the fact that this is nothing but a performance. The fact that you’re just playing a part, and so is he.

But as he enters his dressing room after the rehearsal, his mind drags him back to the moments he shared with you on stage. The way you’d been looking at him before he brushed his lips against yours, cupping your face in his hands. He almost forgot his lines entirely because he was reveling in the feeling of your palms against his doublet.

He peers into the mirror. He’s blushing like a lovestruck idiot.

Mingyu’s here as well, lounging on the sofa, his face inscrutable as he regards Seokmin’s reflection. 

“It’s been months. Just confess to her already.” 

Seokmin can’t possibly do that. He knows you only see him as a friend. A close one, perhaps, but still a friend nonetheless. He’d rather try to move on than lose what he has with you.

“Do you not see the way she looks at you?” His friend asks, unbuttoning his doublet. “Or the way she laughs a lot when she’s with you?”

“But it’s easy to make her laugh, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but it’s different when she’s with you. I can tell.” Mingyu tosses the garment to the side. “Everybody can tell.”

Seokmin considers this for a while. 

Is it true, what Mingyu’s saying? She can’t possibly like me, can she? She’s lovely, kind, beautiful, talented, hard-working. And I’m just the boy who flounders when she’s around. There’s not much to like.

But he thinks about the way you always reach out for him, your fingers clasping his. The way you try to convince him that he’s doing much better than he thinks, and that you hate how he can be so harsh towards himself. 

Or two weeks ago, when he’d come by your place to rehearse the scenes together. You said that you love having him around; the words have since lodged in his head. And perhaps the way you’re already looking at him when he searches for you in a room full of people. 

Is it true, what Mingyu’s saying? Seokmin doesn’t know.

But he knows there’s only one way to find out.

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

Today’s rehearsal has finally come to an end.

You’re in your dressing room, taking off the jewels woven into your hair, the process painstaking. Every now and then, your fingers fly to your mouth, to the spot where Seokmin kissed you.

No, where Romeo kissed Juliet.

That’s probably the reason why you’re loath to change back to your usual clothes. Because being Juliet means you get to do things you normally wouldn’t. Couldn’t. 

Because you and Seokmin are strictly friends, you keep telling yourself. As if you need reminding. 

A knock, and you turn your head.

The door opens to reveal Seokmin. Like you, he’s still clad in his costume. “Hey. May I come in?”

You try to shove away your previous thoughts of him and smile instead.

“Of course.” Standing up from the chair, you move towards a corner where a drawer stands, careful not to trip on the train of your gown. “I was going to look for you, actually.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click. “You were?”

You nod, but you’re not sure if he catches the movement, your back facing him as you rummage the drawer. Seconds later and you swivel around to face him, a bouquet of sunflowers in your hands, one you bought for him earlier today.

“I know today’s just a rehearsal, but you did wonderfully as always.” You stride towards him, recalling the run-through in your apartment that day, and how he brushed away the compliments you gave him. You promised you’ll help change his mind. 

You offer the bouquet to him, the flowers as bright and beautiful as he is. “This is for you.”

His mouth parts as he takes the sunflowers. His eyes move back and forth between the flowers and you. “You... you got this for me?”

A shy smile on your face. “I know sunflowers are your favorite. Sorry they’re a little crumpled, though. They didn’t really fit in my bag.” 

For a moment that seems to stretch to hours, he says nothing. Your heart beats an unsteady rhythm.

“What’s wrong?” You take a step closer. “Do you not like them?”

But then he gently pulls you to him and kisses you, caressing your jaw the way he did during the run-through earlier. His lips are soft and you can tell he’s being gingerly, hesitant. Like he’s worried this isn’t what you want.

He’s never been more wrong.

He pulls back slightly, his mouth a breath away from yours. “Thank you for the flowers,” he whispers with a smile. “I love them.”

You’re so taken aback that you’re silent. And when you finally speak, you’re not making any sense. “But the rehearsals are over.”

He giggles, his thumb tracing your cheek. “I know.”

Your eyes meet his. You have a hard time breathing, and it has nothing to do with the tight bodice you’re wearing. “I don’t understand. You don’t have to continue acting—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not acting. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now.”

“You’ve wanted to kiss me for a long time now?” You ask, as if repeating his words would make things plausible.

“Yes.” His voice is low, breathy. 

Your mind splits into thoughts you have a hard time collecting.

Is this real? 

You don’t realize you spoke the words out loud until he nods. “I really, really like you.” But then he backs away too soon, and you already miss his faint touch on your skin. 

“But it’s okay if you don’t reciprocate my feelings,” he says, his cheeks reddening, and begins rambling on the way he does when he’s nervous. “It’s okay if you don’t say anything at all, really. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, and I’d completely understand if you just want to stay friends—”

This time, you draw him towards you and kiss him with all the certainty you can muster. You want him to know that your heart is his; it’s always been his. And he kisses you back like his heart has also always been yours, holding you like he’s scared this would unravel. You only break apart when you’re out of breath.

“I don’t want us to just stay friends,” you admit. “I’ve always wanted to kiss you, too.”

Seokmin’s grinning from ear to ear, looking at you with longing in his eyes. Longing that you now know isn’t reserved for Juliet, but for you.

[storiesiwrite]

Anchor ☾ Lee Chan

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, college!au

Word count: 2322

Summary: In which Chan struggles with perfectionism during dance practice and you’re there to remind him how wonderful he is. 

☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎  ☁︎

Today isn’t his day, Chan realizes. In fact, the last few days haven’t been. 

He hates how his perfectionism tends to get in the way, how it tends to intervene when all he wants to do is lose himself in the choreography. That’s the main reason he resorts to dancing after all—it gives him a means to elude the stress university brings, frustration pouring out of his system through his movements, blending into the music seamlessly, metamorphosing into art. It’s his form of catharsis ever since he can remember.

Usually, when Chan dances, time leaps and everything else around him blurs. He only stops when his limbs begin to burn with fatigue, or when his concentration has waned; there’s no point in training further when he’s physically in the studio, yet his mind wanders elsewhere. But these days, dance practice seems to drag on and on like a chore. It’s a reminder of how far from perfect he is and how much left he has yet to accomplish. 

He’s well aware of how unattainable his goals are, and that the pursuit of perfection kills the joy he finds when he moves. And yet, he can’t silence the thoughts in his head. He hates himself for that.

Dancing has always been his favored activity, his safe haven. Now he just wants to run away from it.

Needless to say, he’s been trying to hide his feelings from everyone else around him. Sure, he’s been quieter than he normally is—and less playful, too—but he still laughs whenever the situation calls for it, though even he can hear the strain woven in his laughter. He still plasters on a smile, though the act itself requires more effort nowadays. He tries to sweep it under the rug, tries to brush it off whenever you ask him if he’s alright. 

The choreography is physically demanding, he’d say to you. Even though that’s true to some extent, it’s his mind that wears him down.

The thing is, for all his effort, Chan knows you know that something is amiss with him. He knows, having sensed it in the way you kept on casting him wary looks for the better part of the dance practice today. Yesterday too, and the days before. He imagines that the shift in his demeanor, minor as it may be, isn’t lost on you.

And now, walking you home as the day comes to a close, he wonders if you’re eventually going to bring it up.

The sky is a vast stretch of livid blue with the occasional streaks of purple and, in the distance, the dull shine of the crescent moon. Chan’s gaze falls to the copses of trees surrounding a nearby park, to the crevices littering the sidewalk, to the lampposts strewn along his and your way. While he’d usually steal glances at you, he doesn’t do that tonight. He doesn’t want you noticing the sadness pricking his eyes. 

But of course, despite the dark, you do. You always do.

“Are you okay?” You ask, cutting through the silence, your fingers gently resting on his wrist. They linger there, the touch feather-light yet it snags his whole attention and stops him in his tracks. It sends him reeling. “You’re just not the way you usually are. You haven’t been in the last few days.” 

Sometimes he wishes you weren’t so observant. Sometimes he wishes your suspicion isn’t so spot on. 

“What do you mean?” He asks in an attempt to feign confusion, but you both know it’s not working. You know him too well and you’re too perceptive for that—it’s one of the things he adores about you. Even so, he doesn’t want you worrying about him. He doesn’t want to be the reason your smile crumbles, not when it’s what keeps him going during times when the easier option is to just give up. 

When it becomes clear that you’re not dropping the subject any time soon, Chan decides there’s no point in trying to hide his dejection any longer. 

“You needn’t worry about me.” A smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Today hasn’t been great, but I’ll be okay, I promise you.”

It seems like the right thing to say. But in all honesty, he doesn’t know whether it’s you or himself he’s trying to convince.

You seem to be considering your next words carefully. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” You offer, moving closer to him, your voice soft as if letting him in on a secret. “We can do anything you like. Do you wanna bake chocolate chip cookies and drink jasmine tea? I know they’re your favorites.”

Chan genuinely smiles. You’re right. They’re his favorite go-tos for whenever he feels disheartened, and the fact that you remember that means the world.

“Or would you rather I gave you space?” You quickly add as an afterthought.

For a moment, he says nothing. He struggles to meet your gaze, for fear that you’d read the thoughts running through his mind when you look into his eyes. For fear that you’d find the answer to your question, and how easily it comes to him. Stay with me. I don’t care what we do or what we don’t. I want you to be with me. I want only you.

In the last few months, there have been many times when he was so close to confessing his feelings for you. All these times, he never did. He’d tell himself it’s because he couldn’t weave his emotions into words, but even he knows that’s a pathetic excuse.

Because there were times when he could find the words, and yet he would back out at the last minute like the coward he was—like the coward he is, choking back his emotions and uttering something else entirely instead. There were times when he thought alcohol would be the only way out, giving him the courage he very much needs yet lacks, stripping him of the insecurities that plague him whenever he is sober. 

But now? Now, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want you thinking he’s fooling around, liquor running through his veins and muddling his thoughts. No—when he confesses to you, he wants you to know he genuinely means it. 

Now, underneath the lamppost on the deserted street, with your hand closing over his and the wind stinging the side of his face, he stifles his fears and tackles his doubts head-on. 

“Stay,” he breathes. One word, but it holds the weight of his world in its letters.

It holds so much want, so much desperation, and now that it hangs between you both, he feels unraveled. It betrays his secrets, his pent-up feelings for you spilling out of his lips and wafting through the air like thick smoke. And as he looks up to finally, finally see you, he wonders if you can sense them, if you can sense how much he’s wanted this. How much he’s wanted you.  

He thinks of the worry lacing your tone as you asked him how he is, takes in the way you’re looking at him now. He remembers how you always remind him to eat during practice hours, sometimes even bringing him food when his schedule is packed. How you recall the trivial things he’s mentioned to you in passing. He can’t even begin to count the number of times you’ve given him support and the strength to continue even when his limbs fail him. 

You’re his anchor. You keep him grounded when his mind wants to run miles. You keep his feet steady when the world tilts. He’s grateful for you. Truly. At the same time, as much as he wants to be with you, he can’t imagine you would be willing to stick with him for the long run, not when you see the negativity that resides in his mind. 

You’re too good for me, he thinks to himself. You’re too kind, too wonderful, and I’m undeserving. 

Your fingers slowly intertwine with Chan’s, pulling him out of his train of thoughts. Something in your expression is akin to a warm encouragement. Go on, it seems to say. Stop holding back and let it all out. And so he does. 

He begins telling you that he hasn’t been feeling alright and that today, in particular, was tough. He expresses how isolating it can be to be confined within his own negativity, explains the pressure that weighs him down like bricks whenever he dances. This is him in his most vulnerable state, and he’s grateful there’s no hint of judgment as you listen to his ramblings. 

On the other hand, you’re grateful, too. Grateful that he trusts you with something so personal because you know first-hand how difficult it is to open up. At some point, his voice begins to crack. The moment you pull him into a warm hug, his emotions burst with the intensity of a dam. He sobs and sobs and sobs, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and seeing him this way is a punch to the gut. 

He apologizes for staining your sweater with his tears, for troubling you with his fears. An onslaught of “I’m sorry”s which you can tell stems from the depths of his heart, but you shake your head at his attempts of an apology. He has nothing to be sorry for. 

If anything, you think it’s you who should be apologizing to him. He’s hurting, for God’s sake, and all you can do is stand there helplessly with him in your arms, trying to find ways to make things better for him and coming away empty-handed. Frustration rushes through you, and you feel like a useless fool. 

You hate that you’re unable to help him get through this when he’s helped you tremendously. It’s a debt you have yet to pay. 

“Chan,” you begin when he can’t seem to speak further, rubbing his back softly. You recall the way you flinched when he called himself a failure not long ago. You’ve always been the type of person who shies away from confrontation, but you’d gladly argue with anyone who dares perceive him that way. 

“The things you call yourself, they’re not true. They’re not true at all. You’re not a failure. You’re not at all a failure. It breaks me when you treat yourself that way, when you beat yourself up. I just wish—” a pause to collect yourself. A rawness in your voice. “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you.

“You’re the strongest, most talented person I’ve ever met. The most diligent. You’re an inspiration to the lot of us, you know. You make us amateurs want to work hard to better ourselves so that we can be even half as good as you are.” At that, Chan lets out an incredulous laugh.

“I’m being serious,” you tell him. “If only you knew how much people admire you. Please, please, don’t you ever think of yourself that way. You’re a wonderful artist and an amazing person, Chan, you truly are. And if you ever need reminding, or a shoulder to cry on, or simply a person to distract you from practice, you can always go to me. Always.”

His grip tightens the slightest bit, though he stays silent. You don’t know how many minutes have passed by as you and Chan continue to stand there, locked in an embrace. He seems to have calmed himself down, but both of you seem loath to let go of the other. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for hearing me out. For the kind things you said, for believing in me and putting up with me even when I’m like this.”

“No worries,” you say, because you wouldn’t have it any other way. Because he deserves the best the world has to give. “Thank you for trusting me with this. I know it mustn’t have been easy to talk about it. I hope you know how brave you are for this.”

He pulls away to look at you. His eyes and nose are stained red, his hair disheveled. “I’m really glad you’re my dance partner. I don’t think I’d prefer anybody else.”

You can’t wipe the smile off your face. It lingers there as you both stop by the nearest supermarket to pick up the ingredients needed to bake chocolate chip cookies. It lingers there as you both binge-watch his favorite sit-com at your place, mugs of jasmine tea settled on the low table in front of the sofa you and Chan are perched on. You have a hard time paying attention to the show with him sitting so close to you, his smile so intoxicating, his laughter so infectious. His happiness is all that matters to you. 

As the night drags on, you realize not for the first time how easy it is to be with him, how you’d never run out of topics to talk about. The conversation never stops, and you don’t want it to. You realize you’ve never laughed so much nor felt so comfortable with someone before. It’s so terribly easy to be in love with him. 

“You can always go to me,” you whisper to him at some point, when there are no cookies left on the baking tray and the tea in your mug has gone cold. It’s the same thing you said as you held him close under the streetlight; you just want to make sure he knows you’re always there for him. “You can always go to me whenever you want. And I’ll stay with you however long you want me to.”

He turns his head sideways, taking you in. He’s so close that your bodies are almost touching. “Likewise,” he whispers back, his hand gently reaching out for yours. 

It’s a promise, a pledge you both keep.