strangevynl

[strangevynl]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[strangevynl]

Our Last Frame Together Part 2 | H.HJ x AFAB!Reader

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ lover!hyunjin x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ character death,reader struggles with depression,gore,sharp object mentioned,injuries.| wc :･ 25k | Previously Part 1

Consciousness creeps back slowly—like a flickering light, like a dream that refuses to let go.

Your head throbs, a dull, aching pulse that echoes behind your eyes. The world is quiet. The hum of the machine has stilled, leaving only the rain outside, a rhythmic tapping against the metal roof.

For a moment, you forget where you are.

And then you inhale—dust, old film, the lingering scent of something metallic.

The photo booth.

You’re still here.

Your fingers twitch against your lap, and when you lift your head, the dim light above flickers weakly, casting shadows that don’t belong.

Something heavy sits on your chest. The kind of weight that doesn’t come from exhaustion, but from something deeper—something that lingers in the bones, in the marrow, in the spaces between memories.

Slowly, you reach forward.

The photo strip is there.

Warm from the machine, edges slightly curled. Your hands tremble as you pick it up, eyes scanning the glossy surface.

Four frames. Four stolen moments.

The first—your empty stare.

The second—the glimmer of tears.

The third—your collapse.

The fourth—pure light.

You swallow thickly. The last frame is strange, blurred at the edges, as if the camera had captured something that wasn’t meant to be seen.

Something not of this world.

The breath you let out is shaky, unsteady. You clutch the photo strip tightly, press it to your chest, and squeeze your eyes shut.

You need to leave.

The curtain rustles as you step out, blinking against the streetlights, against the way the rain has softened into a mist. Your limbs feel heavy, your footsteps unsteady, but you move forward. You keep moving.

The train station isn’t far.

You slip inside, greeted by the hollow quiet of the platform. The air smells of damp concrete and cold metal. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead.

A train arrives with a low hum, its doors sliding open with a soft sigh.

You step in.

The carriage is nearly empty. A few tired strangers sit scattered across the seats, lost in their own worlds, their own lives.

You take a seat by the window, press your forehead against the glass, and close your eyes.

For a moment, the present dissolves.

For a moment, you are somewhere else.

Somewhere warmer. Somewhere simpler.

Somewhere with him.

Then.

Hyunjin sits beside you, his shoulder pressed against yours, his fingers carefully tearing apart a flaky pastry, offering you the bigger half with that same boyish smile.

"You always take the smaller piece," he teases.

"You always give me the bigger one,"you counter.

"That’s because I love you."

Your heart stutters at the memory, at the way he had said it so easily—like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like it was as natural as breathing.

The train sways gently, and the past pulls you deeper.

You remember the way he’d rest his head on your shoulder when he was exhausted. How he’d mumble half-asleep complaints about practice, about deadlines, about life moving too fast.

"Let’s just stay like this forever," he had whispered once, half-laughing, half-serious.

And you had laughed too, not knowing that forever was never promised.

Not knowing that time would steal him away.

The train rattles past an open field, and it feels like another ghost of the past—how the two of you would press your hands against the glass, watching the world blur by, snapping quick photos on your old film camera.

"For the memories,"he had said, clicking the shutter. "For us."

For us.

Your fingers curl against your palms.

A lump rises in your throat.

The past feels too close, too sharp, like a knife pressing against tender skin. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself back into the present, forcing yourself to open your eyes.

But when you do, the seat beside you is empty.

Hyunjin is gone.

And you are alone.

The train speeds forward, pulling you along with it.

But your heart?

Your heart is still chasing ghosts.

The train slows, its brakes letting out a soft screech as it pulls into the station. The chime overhead echoes through the empty carriage, signaling arrival, urging movement.

You step out onto the platform.

The air is thick, heavy in a way that makes your chest tighten. The walk home feels strange—like wading through something invisible, something intangible. The streets stretch longer than you remember, the city lights blur at the edges, flickering like distant stars.

There’s something off.

Something weightless in the air, something that makes your skin prickle.

You pull Hyunjin’s jacket tighter around yourself, his scent still lingering in the fabric—faint traces of cologne, of warmth, of something that once belonged to you.

Your footsteps echo against the pavement.

You pass by the corner store where he used to buy late-night snacks, past the old bookstore where he’d browse for hours, running his fingers over the spines of books he never bought but always admired.

Every step feels like a step back in time.

Like the past is curling at the edges, unraveling into something real

The night clings to your skin like something sentient, something breathing. The air is thick with the weight of rain-soaked pavement, the distant hum of the city, the ghost of a name that lingers on your lips but never leaves.

Hyunjin.

Your steps are slow, uncertain. The world feels off-kilter, edges blurred, as if the universe itself is unraveling in soft threads, trying to sew something back together—something that was torn apart.

And then—

A scent.

Warm. Familiar.

Cooking.

Your pulse stutters.

It hits you like a memory—like late evenings spent tangled in domestic simplicity, his laughter curling into the steam of a boiling pot, his hands careful as he chopped vegetables with the precision of an artist.

But this isn’t a memory.

This is now.

And it shouldn’t be.

Your hands shake as you reach for your keys, fingers fumbling, slipping, the metal clinking in protest. Your breath quickens. Your heart pounds.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be real.

The lock turns, the door creaks open, and—

Everything stops.

A golden glow spills from the kitchen, warm and soft, flickering against the walls like candlelight. The air is thick with the scent of something cooking, something real, something you shouldn’t be able to smell.

And then you see him.

Hyunjin.

Standing by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot like this is just another evening, like time hasn’t stolen him away, like you haven’t spent weeks drowning in the absence of him.

Your breath is caught somewhere between your ribs.

He hums—soft, low, a familiar melody that sends a tremor through your spine.

Your mind screams impossible, but your heart—your heart doesn’t care.

It beats for him.

It always has.

And then he turns.

And he smiles.

"You’re home."

The words fall from his lips as if they belong here, as if they are stitched into the very fabric of this moment, as if he has been waiting for you all this time.

Your world tilts.

Your knees threaten to buckle.

Hyunjin steps forward, arms wrapping around you in a warmth that is too much, too overwhelming, too devastatingly familiar.

You don’t move.

You don’t breathe.

Because if you let yourself believe this—if you let yourself melt into him, into the scent of his skin, into the feeling of his heartbeat steady and alive beneath his chest—then what happens when you wake up?

What happens when you realize this isn’t real?

What happens when the universe corrects its mistake and takes him away from you again?

You squeeze your eyes shut.

And for the first time in weeks, for the first time since the world shattered beneath your feet—

You wish you never had to open them again.

Hyunjin’s arms are warm—too warm, too solid. The weight of him anchors you in place, but your mind is still drifting, still caught somewhere between what is real and what is impossible.

His heartbeat presses against your ear, steady, rhythmic, alive.

"What’s wrong?" he murmurs, voice laced with concern. His hands, familiar in their gentleness, settle on your back, holding you like you might slip away.

And maybe you will.

Maybe this is just another cruel trick, another illusion conjured up by grief and exhaustion.

You open your eyes.

Slowly, carefully, as if the moment might shatter if you move too fast.

His face is inches from yours—so close you can see the soft glow of the kitchen light reflecting in his eyes, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the slight furrow in his brow.

You reach for him, fingers trembling as they brush over his cheekbone, his jaw, his lips—every detail that you thought you’d lost forever.

"I need to know," you whisper, voice barely a breath.

Hyunjin tilts his head, searching your gaze, waiting.

"What happened that day?" you ask. "The day I got my scar. When we were in the park."

It’s a secret only he knows. A moment buried in time, untouched by anyone but the two of you.

If this is a dream, if this is some cruel mirage, then he won’t remember.

But he doesn’t hesitate.

"It was the summer after we graduated high school," he says, voice soft, distant, like he’s unfolding the memory in his hands. "We snuck out past midnight and rode my bike to the park. You were trying to climb that stupid jungle gym, and I told you it was too slippery from the rain, but you didn’t listen."

A soft laugh escapes him, though his grip on you tightens.

"You slipped," he continues, "scraped your knee on the metal. It bled more than it should’ve, and you wouldn’t stop crying—not because it hurt, but because you thought it was ugly. And I—"

He exhales, his fingers brushing over the faint scar just above your knee, as if checking to see if it’s still there.

"I kissed it better. Told you it made you look cool, like a warrior or something."

Your breath catches.

The world tilts.

Because this is real.

This is him.

No one else could have known. No one else could have reached back into the past and pulled out that night, that laughter, that fleeting moment of something so simple, so full of love.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, dragging you under, pulling you into the depths of something uncontrollable, something overwhelming.

And then you’re kissing him.

Desperate. Trembling. Needy.

Your hands cradle his face, pulling him closer, pressing against him like he might disappear if you let go. His lips are warm, impossibly soft, moving against yours in a way that feels like home, like longing, like every missed moment collapsing into this one.

His hands find your waist, gripping, grounding, holding on like he’s just as afraid of slipping through time as you are.

The kiss deepens, turns breathless, turns into something raw, something aching.

Because this is impossible.

Because you lost him.

Because you got him back.

Because you don’t know how long this will last.

But right now—right here—Hyunjin is in your arms, warm and alive and yours.

And for the first time in a long time, the world feels whole again.

Hyunjin’s laughter is soft against your lips, the warmth of it brushing over your skin like a ghost of something you thought you’d lost forever. He pulls back, breathless, eyes bright with something alive, something eager.

"I have a surprise for you," he says, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Your heart clenches.

He’s so happy, so unaware of the way your chest is tightening, the way your fingers are curling into the fabric of his sweater as if holding on will keep him here.

"Tomorrow—" he starts, hands still resting on your waist. "I was thinking we could go somewhere. Just like we used to. Just the two of us. No worries, no stress—just you and me on the road."

The words echo in your head, bouncing against the walls of your skull like a cruel reminder of the past.

The road. The freedom. The laughter. The wind in your hair.

And then—

The crash.

The blood.

The screaming.

Your heart stops.

The warmth of the moment is suddenly suffocating, the air too thick, the light in the room too harsh.

"Hyunjin—" your voice comes out weaker than you intended, hands pressing against his chest, as if trying to create distance between you and the inevitable. "We don’t have to, really. We can just—stay here. Have a lazy day. You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to rest."

His brows furrow, his lips parting as confusion flickers across his face.

"What? No, come on, you’ll love it—I promise. We used to do this all the time. Remember? Back then, we never knew what tomorrow would bring, and that was the best part."

Back then.

Before life got heavy. Before things stopped going as planned. Before he—

You squeeze your eyes shut.

The fear is curling around your lungs, sinking into your bones, whispering in your ear

You already lost him once.

You can’t lose him again.

You can’t let this happen.

"Hyunjin, I just don’t think—"

But he’s so insistent, so persistent, hands moving up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones like he’s trying to wipe away your hesitation.

"Please," he murmurs, voice softer now, gentler. "It’s been so long since we’ve done something like this. Just trust me."

You do trust him.

But you don’t trust the universe.

You don’t trust fate.

You don’t trust that this isn’t some cruel trick, some fleeting moment meant to be stolen away again.

But the way he’s looking at you—God, the way he’s looking at you, like you are his entire world—makes you weak.

So you swallow the lump in your throat.

You push down the anxiety clawing at your chest.

And you nod.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

But your hands don’t stop shaking.

Because deep inside, you know—

This is how it started last time.

📸🎞️…..

The motorcycle hums beneath you, steady and alive, but your chest feels tight—like a vice around your ribs, like hands wrapping around your throat. The wind whips past, tangling your hair, but it does nothing to cool the heat of your panic.

Hyunjin rides ahead, his hands firm on the handlebars, his body warm against yours. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air—soft, familiar, real.You tighten your grip around his waist, holding on as if your touch alone can anchor him here, as if it can stop time from slipping through your fingers.

But the air feels heavier with every mile.

The neon lights of the city blur into streaks, and your mind pulls you backward—back to that day.

The crash. The sound of metal against flesh. The blood on the pavement.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket.

"You okay back there?"Hyunjin calls over the wind, voice light, oblivious.

You suck in a sharp breath. Say something. Anything.

"Yeah,"you force out. "Just cold."

He chuckles, one hand momentarily leaving the handlebar to squeeze yours.

"Almost there, love."

That word—"love."

It clenches something deep inside you, makes your stomach twist, makes your hands shake against him.

Then—

Up ahead.

The turn.

The truck.

The headlights cut through the night, blinding, merciless.

The street ahead narrows, funneling you toward fate, toward inevitability.

This is where it happens.

This is where you lose him.

The roar of the truck’s engine grows louder.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs.

The air thickens, warps—

And then—

The hum of the photobooth.

The world rewinds.

Suddenly, you are seconds before the crash.

The truck is coming.

Hyunjin doesn’t see it.

You have one chance.

One moment to change everything.

You don’t think.

You act.

Your hands fly forward, gripping the handlebars—

And you yank.

Hyunjin gasps—sharp, startled.

The motorcycle swerves violently.

The truck blares its horn.

For a fleeting second, you think you did it.

You think you saved him.

But then—

The motorcycle skids out of control.

The impact comes fast, brutal.

The street pole looms in your vision before you can react.

The crash is deafening.

Hyunjin is ripped from the bike.

Thrown.

Farther than before.

Too far.

Your body slams into the pavement.

The Pain again explodes—your ribs, your skull, your legs—all burning, all screaming.

Everything spins.

But your eyes—blurry, desperate—search for him.

Hyunjin.

He’s there.

Lying still.

Too still.

"No."

Your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper.

You try to move. Try to reach him.

Your arms shake.

Your vision darkens at the edges.

"Hyunjin,"you choke,He doesn’t respond.

Your fingers find his hand.

Cold.

Unmoving.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You saved him.

Didn’t you? Didn’t you?

A sob wracks your body, shaking you to your core. You made it worse.

Darkness holds you in its grasp, thick and endless. There’s no sound, no sensation—just the weight of something unbearable pressing against your chest. Then, like a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the world pulls you back.

Your body jerks awake.

You’re sitting.

Your head throbs, your limbs feel weightless, unmoored. Your breaths come in short, panicked gasps.

The scent of old film and dust fills your nose.

The hum of a machine echoes softly.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric beneath you, the vinyl seat cool and familiar.

No.

You blink rapidly, disoriented. The walls around you are narrow, the dim glow of the photobooth's screen illuminating the cramped space. The curtain sways gently, as if undisturbed, as if nothing had happened at all.

No, no, no.

You rip the curtain open.

The city is unchanged.

Rain still pours, streaking down the pavement in rivers. Neon lights still flicker, their reflections shimmering in the puddles. People pass by, hurrying under umbrellas, untouched by the storm raging inside of you.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

The motorcycle. The crash. Hyunjin—

Your hands fumble for your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his number.

You press call.

It rings, but no answer.

The breath you were holding escapes in a broken exhale.

He’s gone.

Again.

Your knees nearly buckle as you clutch your phone to your chest, pulse roaring in your ears.

Then, your eyes drift back to the machine.

The screen glows softly, waiting. A lump forms in your throat.

The photobooth—

It brought you back.

It rewound time.

It gave you another chance.

Your hands shake as you reach into your pocket, fingers brushing against the smooth edge of a coin.

There’s no hesitation.No fear.

You shove the coin into the slot.

The machine whirs, swallowing it whole,and the countdown begins.

"Take me back," you whisper.

The coin is swallowed, as you wait impatiently.

A breath. A heartbeat. A pause that stretches far too long.

The machine does nothing.

No hum, no flicker, no shifting of reality. Just silence.

Your pulse stutters.

No.

You press your trembling hands against the seat, nails digging into the vinyl. The air inside the photobooth is stale, thick with dust and the faint scent of old film. The same as before. But nothing is happening.

It’s not working.

Your vision blurs.

The walls around you suddenly feel too close, pressing in, suffocating.

"No, no, no—"

You shove at the machine, desperate, your breaths turning ragged.

"Please,"you whisper, voice cracking. "Take me back—please, just one more time—"

Nothing.

A sob tears through you, raw and aching, as you collapse against the wall.

It was all in your head, wasn’t it?

You did faint.

You did hallucinate it all.

There was no second chance. No way to fix things.

Hyunjin is gone.

Gone, and you’re sitting in some rusted old photobooth, crying over a ghost.

Your body shakes as you bury your face in your hands.

It’s over.

Click.

The sound shatters through your thoughts.

You freeze.

Your breath catches in your throat as the familiar mechanical whir fills the tiny space.

The screen flickers—light flaring, too bright, too much.

Then—

A flash.

A blinding, all-consuming white.

Everything vanishes.

Flash!📸🎞️………

When you wake, you’re gasping for air.

Your hands scramble against the floor, cool pavement beneath your fingertips. The rain is softer now, a steady rhythm against the streets.

Your head is pounding.

Your limbs feel weak.

But none of that matters.

Your fingers fumble for your phone, slipping in your damp grasp as you pull up Hyunjin’s number.

Please. Please, please, please.

You press call.

It rings.

"Hello?"

The world stops.

Your breath shatters. The sound of his voice—low, gentle, alive.

Your lips part, but no words come out.

"Hey—?"His voice shifts, concerned. “Are you okay?" A sob escapes you, unbidden.

Your fingers clutch the phone so tightly it might break.

“Hyunjin,"you whisper, the name trembling off your tongue like a prayer, like salvation, like something you thought you’d lost forever.

"Yeah?"he laughs softly, the sound familiar, warm. "What’s wrong? You sound—"

You can’t answer.

Your free hand claps over your mouth, stifling the choked cry threatening to spill out. Your body trembles, the weight of everything crashing over you all at once.

He's here. He's real. He's alive.

Tears spill freely down your cheeks, mixing with the rain.

"Where are you?"he asks again, softer now, like he knows something’s wrong. "Do you need me to come get you?"

You nod frantically before realizing he can’t see you. "Yes,"you gasp. "Please—just come get me."

"Okay, okay, breathe, love—"The nickname breaks something inside of you.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to hold yourself together, trying to believe this moment is real.

"I’m on my way,"Hyunjin promises. “Just stay right there."

And for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, you let yourself hope.

The rain has softened into a drizzle by the time he arrives.

The low hum of an engine, the sharp skid of tires against wet pavement—these sounds should be insignificant, nothing more than noise blending into the rhythm of the city.

But for you, they are everything.

Your breath stills as the motorcycle pulls up in front of you, as Hyunjin swings one leg over the seat with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before.

Like nothing ever happened.

Like he hasn’t died in your arms.

Like you haven’t spent an eternity clawing through time to bring him back.

His helmet comes off in a single, fluid motion, damp hair falling into his eyes. And then he’s looking at you, searching.

"Are you okay?" he asks, breathless. His brows furrow, voice laced with concern. "Did something happen to you? Why are you here? Did someone—"

"I’m fine," you interrupt, too quickly.

His frown deepens. You know he doesn’t believe you. You know he sees the way your fingers tremble, the way your clothes are still soaked from the rain.

But he lets it go.

For now.

A deep exhale leaves his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, flicking stray droplets of water from his skin. "God, I came here as fast as I could—" He stops suddenly, gaze flickering past you. His lips curve into a smirk.

"You like this booth that much?"

Your stomach twists.

The photobooth stands behind you, silent, unmoving. An unmarked grave for the ghosts of the past, the keeper of all your mistakes.

You force a smile, but it feels wrong on your lips. "Yeah," you lie. "Guess I do."

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head.

"You’re weird."

You have no idea.

For a moment, there is only the sound of the rain, the distant murmur of passing cars. Then, with a small inhale, Hyunjin straightens.

"I have a surprise for you."

Your body goes rigid.

"A surprise?" you echo.

He nods, eyes glinting with something soft, something impossibly warm. "Yeah. But you have to ride with me first."

Your breath catches.

The motorcycle gleams under the streetlights, water slipping down its frame like silver threads.

You can still feel the weight of it beneath you. The wind against your skin. The brief, fleeting moment when everything felt infinite—before it all went wrong.

Before the world tore him away from you.

But something is different this time.

Your heart still stammers in your chest, but not from fear.

Not from the unbearable weight of inevitability.

This time, it isn’t dread coiling in your stomach.

It’s something closer to resolve.

You exhale slowly, stepping forward, fingers brushing against his.

"Okay," you say, voice steadier than you expected.

Hyunjin beams. "Just like old times."

And this time, you aren’t afraid you knew.

The wind howls as the city blurs past—neon lights streaking like shooting stars, the hum of the motorcycle beneath you steady, powerful. Hyunjin’s warmth is against your back, his hands firm on the handlebars, his breath steady.

For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe.

That this time, it will be different.

That maybe, just maybe, you have outrun fate.

But then, in the distance, you see it.

That cursed stretch of road.

The place where it all unraveled.

And you know—it’s happening again.

Your grip on Hyunjin tightens. Your heart slams against your ribs, panic clawing up your throat like bile. You cannot let this happen. Not again.

The truck emerges from the intersection, just like before. Its headlights pierce through the night like a cruel, unblinking eye.

You make your choice.

With every ounce of strength, you throw yourself backward, dragging Hyunjin with you.

His body jerks, his startled gasp swallowed by the roar of the engine. The sudden shift in weight tilts the motorcycle just enough—just enough to miss the truck.

The plan worked, You should feel relief.

But you don’t.

Because the pavement is rushing up too fast, too hard.

The bike skids. Your body is weightless, airborne—then crashing, tumbling, scraping against asphalt.

A sickening crack.

White-hot pain sears through you as your skull slams into the curb. Your vision swims, a kaleidoscope of blood and neon.

📸🎞️….

You wake up inside the photobooth.

The scent of dust and old film floods your senses, the seat beneath you stiff and unyielding. The air is thick, suffocating.

Your fingers twitch.

You lift your head.

Outside, the rain still falls—soft and relentless. The world beyond the curtain remains unchanged. As if it hasn’t shattered a thousand times before. As if it isn’t cruel and unyielding.

You reach for your phone with trembling hands.

Dial.Ring.Once. Twice.Then—Voicemail.

Hyunjin is gone. Again.

The breath you didn’t realize you were holding collapses from your lungs.

A choked sob rips through your throat as you press your forehead to your knees.

"Why?"

The machine hums beside you.

Cold. Silent. Unforgiving.

You know what it’s telling you.

Try again.

Try again.

Try again.

But no matter how many times you turn back time

Hyunjin always dies.

The coin is cold between your fingers, edges worn from use, from time, from fate itself.

You stare at it in your palm, light catching the dull metal, reflecting the weight of your choices. It feels heavier than before—or maybe you are just tired.

How many times have you done this?

How many times have you begged the universe to let him live?

And how many times has it spat in your face, laughing cruelly as you failed again and again?

You exhale, slow and unsteady, looking at the machine in front of you.

The photobooth stands the same as always—unchanged, indifferent to your suffering. Its flickering light buzzes softly, casting shadows on the rain-slicked pavement outside. It doesn’t care about your desperation, your grief, your exhaustion.

But then—

The screen flickers.

Words appear, stark and cold against the dim glow.

"LAST CHANCE."

Your breath hitches.

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

"Last chance."

The words sit in your chest like a stone, heavy and unmovable.

No more retries. No more do-overs. No more mistakes.

You close your eyes.

You have tried everything—ripping him off the bike, crashing yourself instead, warning him before the ride. And yet, he always dies.

But not this time.

This time, you know what you have to do.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the coin, pressing it against the slot.

The moment your eyes flutter open, you know.

The air is different—warmer, familiar. The hum of the photobooth fades into the background, drowned by the sound of the rain outside, the distant murmur of the city at night.

You gasp, heart hammering, and stumble out onto the wet pavement. The world is still here. The lights, the streets, the scent of rain mixing with the faint aroma of something—something warm, something home.

You don’t stop to think.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, carrying you through the winding streets, past the corner store, past the bakery that still smells like sugar and early mornings. Every step feels like déjà vu, like running through a dream you’ve lived a hundred times before.

And then—

The door.

Your apartment.

The golden glow from the window spills onto the hallway floor, flickering gently as if inviting you in. Your fingers shake as you fumble with the keys, breath catching in your throat.

You push the door open.

And there he is.

Hyunjin.

Standing in the kitchen, barefoot, humming softly as he stirs something on the stove. The scent of soy sauce and caramelized onions fills the air, the same meal he always makes when he’s been away for too long. He always says cooking makes a place feel like home.

And he’s here.

Alive.

Whole.

"Hey, you’re home," he says, turning with a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I was just—”

You don’t let him finish.

Your body moves on instinct—crossing the room, reaching for him, pulling him in.

Your hands grasp at the fabric of his shirt, desperate, like he might slip through your fingers again if you don’t hold tight enough. Hyunjin barely has a second to react before your lips crash against his—deep, needy, filled with every unsaid word, every lost moment, every lifetime where you never got to do this.

He freezes, startled, but then—he melts.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, fingers pressing into the small of your back. He kisses you back slow, deep, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, like he’s trying to pour all the time you’ve lost into this one single moment.

And God, you let him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more—more of this, more of him, more of the life you were meant to have.

You breathe him in. The faint traces of cologne on his skin, the warmth of his hands against your spine, the quiet sound he makes when you deepen the kiss.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours, breathless, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“Woah,” he murmurs, laughing softly. “Missed me that much?”

You laugh too, but it comes out broken, shaky.

Because yes.

Yes, you did.

You missed him in ways he will never understand.

You missed him across timelines, across tragedies, across every cruel hand fate has dealt you.

You press your lips against his again, softer this time, lingering.

Just in case. Just in case the world tries to take him from you again.

Hyunjin’s fingers slow, his hand hovering over the dish in front of him, but he doesn’t stir it. The quiet of the room stretches out, thick with the weight of your words, hanging in the space between the soft hum of the kitchen lights and the soft simmer of the pot. He doesn’t move immediately. For a moment, everything stops. The world outside the window, with its distant traffic and muffled voices, fades into a distant murmur as if the universe itself is holding its breath, waiting for him to respond.

You watch him, waiting, the question lingering in the air like a fragile thing, delicate and raw, too heavy to ignore. You can feel your heart thudding, loud in your chest, almost too loud for such a quiet moment. You hope he won’t hear it. You’re not sure if you want him to.

"Sometimes I wish I could stop time," you repeat quietly, almost to yourself, your voice trembling ever so slightly. "And just stay here with you, but... I’m scared. Scared that if I do, I might never leave. Do you think that’s selfish?"

His silence presses on you, thickening the air, weighing down the words you’ve let slip from your mouth. You can’t quite tell if you’re relieved or terrified. It’s not a question you wanted to ask, but something in you needed to. Needed to say it, needed to know what he’d say. Because, even if it was selfish, even if it was wrong—wasn't it true? Wasn't it the thing you truly wanted more than anything else in the world?

You can’t bring yourself to look away, to break the connection, to hide what you’re feeling. You’ve spent so long trying to guard it—this feeling, the ache that never seems to leave. But in this moment, with him, with the quiet warmth between you, you can’t pretend anymore. You can’t pretend that you don’t want this to last forever.

Hyunjin is still. Too still. His eyes flicker to the dish, then back to you, like he’s searching for something—some hidden meaning behind your words. His gaze sharpens, as if he’s trying to read the delicate, fragile truth written across your face, but he doesn’t find the words there. Instead, he sees the cracks. He sees the way your lips tremble slightly as you breathe. He sees the sadness hiding in the corners of your eyes, the way your hands grip the edge of the counter like you’re bracing yourself against something, something inside you that you can’t quite shake.

The air between you thickens with something unspoken, and he steps closer, but he doesn’t touch you. Not yet. His fingers are still loosely holding the spatula, but he doesn’t move it, doesn’t stir the dish anymore. Instead, he stands there, watching you, as if his presence alone could somehow help you find the right words. He doesn’t answer right away, and you feel the panic start to stir in your chest, rising up like a tide.

"Hyunjin..." you murmur, the words barely escaping your lips, your voice a whisper. But he doesn’t respond. He simply looks at you, studying you with an intensity that makes your heart tighten. He sees through you. You know he does. He always has.

And then, finally, his gaze softens, the lines of tension around his eyes easing, though the questions still linger, unspoken. He places the spatula gently down on the counter, the quiet sound of it hitting the surface more final than you expected. He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and reaches out slowly, as though he’s waiting for your permission, for you to give him a sign.

His hand, warm and steady, touches your arm lightly, his fingers brushing the skin there as he steps even closer, his presence enveloping you. His eyes are softer now, but they hold something deeper—something that feels like the weight of years, of shared memories, of moments where time felt like it had stopped, just for the two of you.

He searches your face again, and then, finally, his voice breaks the silence, quiet but sure. “No,” he says softly, his words like a whisper, but filled with weight. “It’s not selfish.”

You blink, and your heart stutters in your chest, the relief crashing into you, almost too much to bear. Your breath catches, the tears that have been threatening to spill start to rise, but you force them back. You don’t want to let him see how close you are to falling apart. But you can feel it—the tightness in your chest, the ache that never really goes away.

“It’s human,” he adds, voice low, almost reverent. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost too soft. “I think…” He pauses, searching for the right words, as if he doesn’t want to give you the wrong answer. "I think I feel the same way. I would stay here, too. With you. If I could, I would. But..." He stops, as if caught by a thought that’s just out of reach, a hesitation you both understand. "But life… it moves forward, doesn’t it? And I don’t want you to be stuck here, not when you could have more."

His words, so carefully chosen, feel like a knife against your skin. You don’t want more. Not without him. Not without this.

“But it’s not selfish to want that," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I understand."

And in that moment, something shifts. The weight in your chest loosens, just slightly, and the room around you seems to shrink, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to decide—waiting for you to give into the longing that’s been building between the two of you.

You look up at him, his face so close to yours now, the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mixing with yours. And for a moment, it’s like time has stopped—just as you wanted. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe, just for now, that’s all you need.

“Dinners ready!” Hyunjin whispers.

last one!📸🎞️….

As the scent of dinner lingers in the air, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint clink of dishes blend with the quiet atmosphere of the apartment. The kitchen light casts a golden glow over everything, the calm before the storm of words.

The couch is soft beneath you, the fabric cool against your skin as you sit, your legs tucked up under you, your hands restless in your lap. You wait for him, watching the rhythm of his movements as he tends to the plant—the one he’s always been so careful with, so tender. His fingers, gentle but sure, water it like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, as if each drop of water is a promise, each moment with it an act of devotion.

And you can’t help but watch him, watch the way he leans in so close to the plant, his brow furrowed in concentration.

It’s strange, how something so simple can pull you in. It’s strange how he can make something so ordinary feel like an act of love, like a secret you don’t understand but feel deep in your chest.The way he cares for things—this plant, for instance—is just the way he cares for you. Always so tender, always so gentle, always so patient, as if he’s trying to keep you alive, to make sure you bloom and grow just as he wants you to. As if he’s afraid of losing you.

You swallow hard.

It’s almost too much.

He doesn’t notice you watching him, not at first. But when his gaze lifts, when his eyes meet yours, it’s like he’s caught in the act, caught doing something he didn’t mean to show you. His lips curl into a teasing smile, but there’s a hint of something in his gaze, something softer than his playful tone suggests.

“You’re staring so much,” he says, his voice light, full of affection and humor. He shakes his head, stepping back from the plant, but the smile never leaves his face. “You love me too much. How could you ever live without me?”

His words float in the space between you, and for a brief moment, it feels like the weight of them hangs in the air, thick and heavy. If only he knew.

You smile, but it’s a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a smile that feels more like a mask than anything else. You don’t answer him, not immediately. You just watch him, the way his movements are so fluid, so effortless, as if he’s always been this way, always been the person who’s had the ability to make everything feel easy.

But nothing is easy, is it?

When he finishes with the plant, his movements still slow and deliberate, he finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours, waiting for you to say something.

You hold your breath for a moment, feeling the tremor of anticipation in the air, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s building to something. Something important, something impossible to ignore. Something you’ve been trying to say, but haven’t found the courage for.

Then, he’s sitting beside you, the weight of his presence beside you, his body warm and familiar. His hand comes to rest on the arm of the couch, so close to yours that you can feel the heat from his skin, the invisible line between you both that feels thicker than anything else in the room.

“So…” He turns toward you, his voice soft, almost hesitant in its own way. “What was that we were gonna do?”

You exhale, and for a brief second, you wonder how you could ever tell him what you really need to say. How could you possibly tell him that every moment feels like it’s slipping through your fingers? That the seconds, the minutes, the hours spent with him—they’re all so fragile. So fleeting. As if, in the back of your mind, you can hear the ticking of some invisible clock, counting down to a time when this moment will be gone.

But you can’t. You can’t say it, not yet. Not when you’re so scared of the truth that you’ve been hiding.

So, you look at him, at his soft, warm smile, and you force your voice to be steady, to sound as though everything is fine, when inside, you’re breaking apart.

“It’s nothing,” you say, your words quiet, your heart beating faster than it should. “Just... dinner. Just this.” You gesture vaguely around the room, as if it could explain everything you’ve been trying to say without saying it. "Just us."

His eyes linger on you, searching, as if he knows there’s more, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t press you for answers, and for a moment, you think you might actually be able to hold this together. To make it through this. To make it through him, through the love that’s eating you alive from the inside out, the love that’s too big for both of you to carry.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and his hand brushes against yours, just the slightest touch, like he’s trying to anchor you to him, trying to remind you that you’re here, together.

"Hey," he says gently, his voice tender and full of something you can’t quite place. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

And in that moment, it feels like everything could be okay. Like everything could stay just like this, in this small corner of the world, with him by your side. But you know, deep down, you’re just pretending. Pretending that time won’t eventually catch up with you both. Pretending that nothing will ever change.

And you hate yourself for it.

But for now, you smile, and you let him hold you in the quiet.

The air is thick with an unspoken tension as Hyunjin’s words hang in the air, tempting fate, inviting the unknown. The motorcycle sits idle in front of you, gleaming in the dim streetlight, its engine quiet for now, waiting for the moment to come alive. He looks at you, his face open, his eyes wide with the same easy smile he’s always had—one that hides the truth beneath, one that gives nothing away, one that makes you feel safe even when you’re drowning in your own thoughts.

He doesn’t know. He doesn't know how you feel, how the weight of everything—everything that’s happened, everything that’s to come—presses down on your chest, makes it hard to breathe, makes your heart beat too fast, too hard. He doesn’t know the depths of what you carry, how the scars on your heart are too deep for him to see, no matter how much he’s loved you. No matter how much you’ve loved him.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says, his voice light, carefree, like it’s just another adventure to add to the endless list of memories you’ve already collected. The same motorcycle. The same promise. The same broken, fragile hope that you’ll find a way to outrun the clock that’s ticking for both of you.

And for a moment, it feels like you might. For a moment, you let yourself believe that you could just ride away, leave all of this behind, and start over. Start fresh. Be new. Be free.

But you know better. You know that life doesn’t work that way.

You force a smile, nodding in agreement, because what else can you do? The fear in your chest gnaws at you, a constant reminder that nothing lasts forever. The inevitability of it. The aching knowledge that no matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise, no matter how many times you kiss him, touch him, beg the universe to let this moment last, it’s all slipping away.

Before you climb onto the bike, before you’re swallowed by the hum of the engine and the wind that will tear at your face, you stop. You stand there for a moment, looking at him, really looking at him, as if you’re memorizing every inch of his face, every line of his body, every movement of his hands.

You pull him close, desperate to feel his warmth one last time. You press your lips to his, deep and needy, as if this could be the only kiss that matters. The only kiss that will make a difference. Your heart is pounding, each beat a painful reminder of the words you can’t say, the things you can’t bear to think about.

As the kiss deepens, you feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hot and threatening. You break away from him, your breath shaky, your hands trembling as you place them on his chest, as if that could somehow steady you. As if you could control this moment, control what comes next.

“Hyunjin,” you say, your voice low and shaky, but full of the truth you’ve been carrying for so long. "Do you know what you’ve done for me?" You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, but the words keep coming, tumbling out in a rush, like you’re afraid to stop, afraid to give them time to sink in.

“You’ve pulled me out of the darkest places. You’ve saved me from myself more times than I can count. There were moments when I didn’t think I could keep going. When everything felt too heavy. When life felt like a burden I couldn’t bear. And you—you were there. Always. No matter how hard things got. No matter how broken I was. You were there.”

You break down then, unable to hold it in any longer. The tears that had been threatening to spill fall now, hot and fast, streaking down your face as you grip him tighter, like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. Your chest heaves with the weight of everything you’ve been holding in, and you let it all pour out.

“You—You were my light. You were my reason to keep fighting. You... you helped me through everything. The debts. The pain. The fear. You always helped me keep going when I couldn’t see a way out.”

The words choke in your throat, each one harder to say than the last, but you can’t stop now. You can’t go back, not when you’re so close to finally telling him everything that’s been breaking you apart inside.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the weight of it threatening to suffocate you. “I don’t know what’s left if you’re not here. I don’t know who I am without you, Hyunjin. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine when you’re the one who’s kept me alive. I need you more than anything.”

You pull away, wiping your eyes quickly, but it doesn’t matter. He’s seen it now. Seen the cracks in your facade. Seen the truth of what you’ve been hiding from him, from yourself.

And as the tears fall, he doesn’t say anything right away. He just holds you, his arms strong around you, his breath warm against your skin. His heart beats against yours, steady, like everything is fine. But you can feel the shift in the air. The weight of the words you’ve spoken, the gravity of what’s about to come.

And for a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s all worth it. If the risk of losing him, of losing everything, is worth the pain you know will follow. If the love you share can withstand the force of time, of fate, of everything that’s pulling you apart.

But you don’t have an answer. Not yet.

There you were again, the same road, the same fateful turn. The motorcycle hummed beneath you, the world whizzing by in a blur of streetlights and memories, and yet, all you could feel was the weight of inevitability pressing down on your chest. The air was sharp, biting at your skin, but your heart was colder. Colder than the wind, colder than the world around you.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know how many times you had tried. How many nights had passed in this cruel cycle, replaying over and over like some broken record. Each time, you thought you could change it. Thought you could fix it. Thought you could outrun the future. But no matter how many times you altered the course, no matter how many desperate attempts you made—it always ended the same.

Hyunjin would die.

It didn’t matter how early you jumped back, how much you tried to adjust the timing, how much you begged for a different outcome. Every turn, every decision, every twist of fate—they always fell short. Every calculation was wrong. Every move you made too slow. Every plea for mercy too weak.

The screams that tore through your heart each time you crashed, the painful realization that you had failed again. That you had failed. You couldn’t save him. You couldn’t change what was already written.

And so, now, as you swerved once more, you closed your eyes. You closed your eyes because you had finally accepted it. You had finally understood. You had fought so hard, tried so many different ways to bend fate to your will, but no matter what, you always lost. You were always too late.

Hyunjin’s voice broke through the roar of the wind, but you couldn’t hear him—not clearly, not through the ache in your chest. You felt the tug of inevitability in the pit of your stomach, the weight of time pulling you both toward the same end. No matter how much you fought it, no matter how many times you turned the clock back, the outcome was always the same.

It wasn’t about the ride. It wasn’t about the thrill or the freedom you once felt. It was about the crushing certainty of fate, the cruel truth that no matter how many times you tried to alter it, no matter how many times you jumped back to make it right—this was how it had to be.

It was always too late.

And in that moment, a hollow peace settled over you. The fight drained from you, leaving only the quiet despair of acceptance. You didn’t have to run anymore. You didn’t have to keep trying to change something that was already set in stone. Because, in the end, this was always the way it was meant to go.

You had tried everything. And now, you understood sometimes, the only thing left to do is let go.

The final blow came like the end of a cruel symphony—the sound of tires screeching, metal crumpling against pavement, the sickening impact that shattered everything you knew. It happened so fast, yet in those moments, everything felt suspended, like time had drawn its final breath and left you choking on it.

You could see it, feel it, even as the world spun out of control. His body, lifeless, sprawled across the pavement, his blood staining the road—a vision you had seen too many times, yet every time it cut deeper into your soul, leaving a wound that refused to heal. Hyunjin, your Hyunjin, the one who had been with you through every storm, now lost in the chaos, his body broken beyond repair.

The agony was unbearable.

Then, as everything blurred into darkness, you felt the familiar pull. You fell, crumpling to the ground in a heap of shattered pieces, consciousness slipping away, and when you awoke… it was the same.

Inside the photo booth.

The cold, metallic scent of old film lingered in the air. The faint buzzing of the machine was the only sound that met your ears. Your fingers trembled as they reached out, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, suffocating you.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind racing as the realization slammed into you once again. It was happening again. The same cruel cycle.

Tears pricked at your eyes, the rawness of the grief, the guilt, too much to bear. You tried to swallow it, but the ache inside you was too vast, too consuming. Your chest tightened with every sob that choked its way through your throat. How many more times would you have to go through this? How many more times would you have to watch him die, helpless, as fate snatched him from you again and again?

But as the sobs wracked your body, a chilling thought seeped in, cutting through the chaos of emotion. There was no more turning back. No more changing it.

This was it.

The realization settled like an iron weight in your chest. The pattern had been set. No matter how many times you tried, no matter how much you begged, you could never change it. There was no undoing this. Hyunjin was slipping through your fingers, and the very act of trying to rewrite what had happened was only dragging you deeper into the pit of despair.

You weren’t just caught in a loop; you were trapped in fate. The cruel, unyielding truth whispered its bitter song to you, and in that moment, you understood: You were never going to save him.

The machine clicked, breaking your thoughts, and the photo slid from the tray. Your hands shook violently as you reached for it, the trembling only intensifying as you saw the face that had haunted you in every waking moment.

There he was—smiling. Alive.His eyes sparkling with life, just as they had before. Just as they would never again.

Hyunjin.

In the photo, his smile was everything you remembered. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed, the way he had always managed to make you feel like everything would be okay. You could hear his laugh in your mind, see the light in his eyes, the man who was so full of life. The version of him you lost.

You held the photo close to your chest, tears falling freely as you stared at it. The cold, hard truth slammed into you, suffocating any breath you had left. This moment, this piece of him, was all you would ever have. And it was slipping away, just like he had.

You realized, then, with devastating clarity, that no matter how many times you tried to change things, no matter how many chances you took, the story would never change.

There was no more turning back.

Hyunjin was gone. The weight of the finality crushed you—crushed your soul. The endless ache was now a permanent part of you, a scar you would carry for the rest of your days.

The photo fell from your hands, the sound of the paper hitting the floor the only thing that echoed in the silence of the booth. And you let the tears fall freely, knowing that no matter how much you wanted to rewrite history, you could never save him.

Hyunjin was gone. And that was the truth you couldn’t escape.

You stepped out of the photo booth, the night air heavy around you, thick with the weight of what had just unfolded. You stood there for a moment, gazing at the booth, as if it held the answers to questions you no longer had the courage to ask. Its dim glow flickered, casting fleeting shadows on your face, each one a reminder of something lost, something irretrievable. You couldn’t escape the feeling that this was the last time you’d ever see it, the last time you’d ever hold on to the fleeting moments it offered.

You reached into your pocket, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the pack of cigarettes you’d grown so accustomed to. Your breath hitched, your heartbeat louder than the world around you. Pulling one out, you lit it with the flick of your lighter, the flame briefly dancing in the cold, before being smothered by the wind. You inhaled deeply, the burn in your lungs a small relief, a distraction from the emptiness that seemed to grow by the second.

You exhaled, watching the smoke spiral upward, dissipating into the night, as if carrying all the pain with it. “This is it, my love,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, caught somewhere between resignation and acceptance. “I don’t know how, but I will… just for you.”

A tear slid down your cheek, the cold night air stinging your skin. You closed your eyes, fighting the suffocating grief that threatened to pull you under. The silence of the night seemed endless, just as endless as the lessons you were forced to learn.

You opened your eyes, staring at the photo booth once more, the memories flooding back. The laughter. The love. The hope. And the devastating truth.

“Having to learn to live without you,” you murmured softly, the words heavy on your tongue, “is a lesson I never wanted to learn.”

And with that, you took another drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs, letting the pain become a part of you.

The End.

©️strangevynl ; I hope everyone enjoyed this series, this story was also inspired by an old cdrama that me and my siblings watched back then. It was so vivid but I remembered it was impactful that I still did not forget it even if it was so long ago. But yes I hope everything goes well for everyone. See you in another decade.

taglist for this series🏷️; none yet!

[strangevynl]

Our Last Frame Together | H.HJ x AFAB!Reader

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ lover!hyunjin x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ character death,smut scenes but not that bad,cunnilingus, nipple stimulation,clitoris stimulation. sub!hyunjin, munch!hyunjin, reader struggles with depression| wc :･ 25k | Part 2

©️strangevynl Do not repost, translate, edit or otherwise use my stories without my permission.

The door clicks open just past midnight. You hear the jingle of keys, the soft shuffle of tired footsteps, the quiet sigh that spills into the empty air. You don’t move from where you’re sitting—cross-legged on the couch, a book open in your lap but unread.

Hyunjin steps inside, his silhouette outlined by the dim glow of the streetlights outside. His hair is damp from the night air, strands falling into his eyes, exhaustion settling into the curve of his shoulders. The moment he sees you, though, his lips twitch into something soft.

“You’re still up?” His voice is hoarse from travel, from long days of speaking in another language, from the weight of the world he now carries.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Wanted to see you.”

He exhales, something slow and warm, and crosses the room. His suitcase is abandoned by the door, his coat shrugged off and draped over the armrest. Then he’s in front of you, his knees hitting the floor, hands finding your waist. He presses his face into your stomach, breathing you in.

And just like that, you feel yourself unravel.

Hyunjin has always had this quiet kind of presence—one that fills the room without a single word. He’s reserved, thoughtful in ways that most people don’t notice. You do, though. You always have.

His fingers tighten slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. “Missed you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against the fabric of your sweater.

Your chest aches. “I missed you too.”

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing back the strands that fall into his eyes. He’s beautiful, even like this—tired and undone, dark lashes fluttering as he leans into your touch.

But as you look at him, really look at him, something in your heart twists.

It wasn’t always like this.

Back then, life was simple. It was skipping class to share ice cream on the school rooftop, stealing fries from his tray at lunch, laughing over things that didn’t matter. It was late-night bike rides, wind in your hair, endless conversations about dreams too big to hold.

Back then, the world felt limitless.

You were supposed to see it together.

But life had a way of slipping through your fingers. The years stretched thin between you, time unraveling like thread. Hyunjin’s world expanded, his name etched into stages and airport terminals and hotel rooms in places you’d never been. And you—

You stayed behind.

You told yourself it was okay. That this was just another part of the journey. But sometimes, in moments like this, when the silence stretches too long and the air feels heavy with things unsaid, you wonder.

Wonder how something so bright, so full of promise, could turn into something so plain.

You swallow hard. “How was Japan?”

Hyunjin lifts his head, resting his chin on your lap. His eyes, dark and tired, hold yours. “Busy. Beautiful. Lonely.”

Lonely.

Your fingers still in his hair.

He doesn’t say anything else, just watches you, like he can see the thoughts unraveling behind your eyes.

You force a smile. “You must be exhausted.”

“I am.” He shifts, pressing a kiss to your knee. “But I’m home.”

Home.

The word used to mean so much more.

You don’t realize your eyes are burning until Hyunjin reaches up, thumb brushing gently under your lashes. “Hey,” he whispers, brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

His gaze lingers, searching, but he doesn’t push. He never does.

Instead, he sighs and shifts, pulling himself up onto the couch beside you. He tugs you into his arms, burying his face into your neck. “Just stay,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. “For a little while.”

So you do.

You curl into him, let the warmth of his body seep into yours, listen to the steady sound of his breathing. And for a moment—just a moment—you pretend that nothing has changed.

The quiet hum of the room settles between you, warm and familiar. Hyunjin's fingers trace absent patterns on your back, his breath slow against your skin. He’s exhausted—you can feel it in the way his body molds into yours, the weight of his day sinking into your bones.

You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek before asking, “Do you have any free time tomorrow?”

You don’t expect much. Hyunjin’s schedule is always overflowing—photoshoots, rehearsals, meetings that stretch longer than they should. You’ve gotten used to the way time no longer belongs to just the two of you.

But then—

He hums, barely lifting his head. “Yeah… I do.”

You blink, momentarily stunned. “You do?”

A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest, his lips quirking into a small, amused smile. “Why do you sound so shocked?”

“Because I am.” You pull back slightly, peering at him. “Are you sure?”

Hyunjin shifts, resting his chin against your shoulder. His dark eyes hold yours, tired but open, like he’s already made up his mind. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

A warmth spreads through you, soft and unexpected. It’s been too long since you’ve had him all to yourself, too long since you’ve been able to do something just for the sake of being together.

A thought tugs at you, small but insistent. “Then let’s go to the mall.”

Hyunjin blinks, lips parting slightly. “…The mall?”

You nod, determined. “Yeah. Let’s just—walk around. Eat something good. Go into stores without actually buying anything. Be normal.”

His expression is unreadable, a flicker of something you can’t quite place.

Then, a sigh. “That’s such a you thing to want to do.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, the corner of his lips twitching. “Nothing.” A pause. Then—softer, quieter—“Okay. Let’s go.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shifts again, pulling you fully against him. “If it makes you happy.”

Something inside you aches.

It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but it does.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “You’re the best.”

He laughs, breath warm against your hair. “I know.”

The night folds around you, slow and gentle. Hyunjin holds you close, fingers tracing lazy circles against your back, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. And for the first time in a long time, you feel something close to content.

Maybe things have changed. Maybe the world isn’t as simple as it used to be.

But right now, in this moment, it’s enough.

Quick Pose!📸🎞️……..

The mall hums with life—voices rising and falling like waves, the distant echo of footsteps against tile, the faint melody of a song neither of you recognize. But none of it touches you. Not when Hyunjin is beside you, his fingers brushing yours, the warmth of him something steady in a world that keeps shifting beneath your feet.

You pull him toward a small boutique, its door swinging open with a soft chime. The air inside is thick with scent—warm vanilla, aged wood, the lingering trace of lavender and musk. The kind of place where time slows, where the world outside ceases to exist.

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head with a small smile. “We always end up here.”

You glance at him, eyes shining with something close to nostalgia. “It’s tradition.”

He doesn’t argue. He never does.

Because this has been your ritual since college—since the days when life had no script, when the future was a foggy thing you didn’t yet fear. Back when you shared a dorm, back when the world was only as big as the next day’s lecture hall.

You’d wander through stores just like this, fingers grazing the glass jars, lifting lids to chase after scents that smelled like home.

“Too floral,” Hyunjin would say.

“Too musky,” you’d counter.

And eventually, always, you’d find the one—something rich, something warm, something that made the gray of winter afternoons feel a little less lonely. A scent to come home to after long hours buried in textbooks, after late-night talks that stretched into morning.

Back then, everything was uncertain.

Some days were drought—dry, dull, weighed down by assignments and exhaustion. Others were rain—slow and lingering, eight-hour breaks spent watching the city blur through water-streaked glass.

But at least you had each other.

At least you were happy.

Now, standing in this store, with a candle in your hands and Hyunjin at your side, you wonder when that changed.

Hyunjin lifts a jar, tilting it toward you. “Earthy citrus,” he murmurs. “This one reminds me of—”

His voice fades.

Because you’re not listening.

You’re staring at the flickering candlelight on the shelves, lost in something heavier than nostalgia, something bitter and sweet all at once.

Because back then, you never planned for this.

You never planned for life to feel this plain.

next pose?📸🎞️…..

The restaurant is the same. The warm glow of pendant lights pooling onto linen-covered tables, the quiet murmur of conversations overlapping like waves, the scent of rosemary and fresh bread curling through the air. It’s all the same—untouched by time, unchanged by memory.

But everything else is different.

Hyunjin sits across from you, stirring his drink with slow, absentminded movements, eyes tracing the rim of his glass like he’s trying to find something there. Maybe an answer. Maybe a distraction.

The conversation is light, weightless, drifting over safe topics like smooth stones skipping across water. His flight. Your week. The weather. Small things, inconsequential things, things that mean nothing and everything all at once.

But there is something heavy beneath it.

Something pressing against your ribs, coiling in your throat.

You watch him, tracing the shape of his face with your gaze, memorizing the way the light catches the tired edges of his eyes. He is here, sitting in front of you, close enough to reach—

And yet, he feels impossibly far away.

Somewhere between the main course and the check, the silence grows too thick to swallow. And so, you break it.

"Do you remember that summer?"

Your voice barely rises above the clink of silverware, but it still cuts through the air between you.

Hyunjin blinks, his fingers stilling around his glass. He looks up, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Which one?"

You breathe out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “The one where we had nothing but time. The one where we’d sneak out with spare change and buy those awful gas station sandwiches, then sit by the train tracks until the sky bruised into night. We talked about the future like we were unafraid of it. Like it was ours to claim."

Something shifts in his expression. A flicker of something lost. A shadow of something once known.

His grip tightens ever so slightly. "Yeah,"he exhales, voice carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things. "We really thought life was simple back then."

You nod, your throat aching around the words you don’t say.

“It was."

But neither of you say what comes next.

And then we grew up. And then the future came, and it wasn’t what we thought it would be.

The candle between you flickers, melting wax pooling at its base, a slow and quiet loss.

Neither of you look at it.

The city air is thick with the scent of summer—warm pavement, melted sugar, a breeze that carries the laughter of passing strangers. The weight of the restaurant lingers on your skin, heavy with things unsaid, but you shake it off as you fall into step beside Hyunjin.

Because this part is familiar.

Your feet lead you down streets you’ve walked a hundred times before, toward a small ice cream shop nestled between brick buildings. The neon sign flickers faintly above the entrance, humming like a memory.

Hyunjin steps inside first, the bell above the door ringing softly. The cold air kisses your skin as you follow, a welcome contrast to the heat outside.

You don’t need to look at the menu. You both know exactly what you’re getting.

“Still sticking to that weird flavor?” Hyunjin teases as you place your order, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips.

You scoff. “Says the guy who gets matcha with honeycomb every single time.”

“It’s superior,” he argues, tapping his fingers against the counter as he waits for his turn.

“You’re just predictable.”

He nudges your side, and it’s so effortless, so natural, that for a moment, you forget about the space that’s grown between you. For a moment, it’s just like before—two people, two ridiculous ice cream flavors, the rest of the world forgotten.

The worker hands you your cup, the swirl of your favorite strange combination sitting prettily beneath the fluorescent lights. Hyunjin gets his next, and without thinking, you both grab a single plastic spoon from the counter, muscle memory guiding you.

Outside, the night stretches wide and endless. You find a spot on a quiet bench, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence between bites.

Hyunjin scoops a bit of his ice cream and holds it out to you. “Try it.”

You roll your eyes but lean in anyway, the cold sweetness melting on your tongue. “Tastes the same as always.”

“Exactly,” he says, and there’s something almost wistful in his tone.

You don’t comment on it.

Instead, you offer him a bite of yours, watching as his nose scrunches slightly at the first taste. “Still weird,” he says, swallowing.

You grin. “Still perfect.”

Hyunjin huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

But there’s no bite to it, no real protest. Just warmth. Just familiarity. Just the echo of a hundred nights like this, stretching all the way back to the beginning.

And then—

You see it.

Tucked between a souvenir shop and an old bookstore, almost hidden in the shadows of the alley, stands a photobooth.

Your breath catches.

It’s the same kind you used to squeeze into back in college, laughing as you rushed to pose before the flash went off. You’d always take two copies—one for your wallet, one for his.

It’s been years.

And yet, it’s right there.

Waiting.

Hyunjin follows your gaze, his own expression unreadable as he takes it in.

You turn to him, heart beating a little too fast. “Wanna take some pictures?”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

Then—

He smiles.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Let’s do it.”

Nice!📸🎞️…..

The walk to the photobooth is quiet, save for the soft scuff of your shoes against pavement. The streetlights buzz faintly overhead, casting a golden glow onto the cracked sidewalk.

The world outside feels far away, muffled beneath the thick velvet curtain. In here, it’s just the two of you—pressed close, knees knocking, shoulders brushing, hearts stumbling over a rhythm they once knew by heart.

The air smells of dust and old film, of something left behind but never quite forgotten. The seat beneath you creaks softly as you shift, but neither of you speak. Neither of you move away.

Hyunjin exhales, a quiet thing, barely there.

"Ready?"

His voice is softer than the hum of the machine, softer than the weight of this moment pressing against your ribs.

You nod.

Even though you’re not sure you are.

The screen flashes. The countdown begins.

Three. Two. One.

The first flash erupts like a second of frozen daylight, illuminating the space between you.

Click.

The first photo captures a smile—small, uncertain, but real. Hyunjin leans into you, his temple resting against yours, his warmth folding into your own. It feels like muscle memory, like slipping back into something that once felt easy. Like the space between then and now doesn’t exist at all.

The machine pauses, the gears turning, as if giving you time to soak in the moment before it moves on.

Another countdown.

Three. Two. One.

Click.

The second photo catches laughter mid-bloom—his fingers finding yours, tangling without hesitation, gripping tight. His palm is warm, steady, a quiet promise even if no words are spoken. The photo seals the moment in ink before you can second-guess it.

The machine hums again. The seconds between frames stretch longer this time, as if the world itself wants you to stay here, just a little while longer.

Three. Two. One.

Click.

The third photo is different.

Your smile fades. His eyes don’t move from yours. The space between you feels fragile, like it’s holding too much, like it might crack open if either of you breathe too hard. The camera flashes just as his thumb brushes against your cheek, tracing a path only he can see.

The machine hesitates, as if it knows what’s coming.

The final countdown.

Three. Two. One.

Click.📸

The last photo captures something softer, something heavier.

His lips press against yours, slow and reverent, not rushed like a stolen kiss but lingering like a goodbye. His hands cradle your face with the kind of care that makes your chest ache, like he’s afraid to let go. And maybe he is.

And maybe you are, too.

The machine whirs one last time, the mechanical hum cutting through the thick silence. A quiet offering. A moment turned into ink.

The strip of photos slides into the tray below, still warm to the touch, the images smudged slightly at the edges from the rush of printing.

You reach for it with trembling fingers.

Hyunjin watches you. You watch the photos.

Laughter. Light. Love. Something unspoken. Something breaking.

You don’t say anything when he takes them from your hands, folding them carefully, tucking them into his pocket like something precious. Like something irreplaceable.

Like proof.

Proof that this moment was real.

Proof that you both were once real.

this is so much fun!📸🎞️….

The train ride home is quiet, but the air between you hums with something neither of you acknowledge. Not yet.

Hyunjin sits beside you, his arm resting lazily along the back of the seat, fingertips brushing the curve of your shoulder every time the train jolts forward. He doesn’t move away. Neither do you.

The city lights blur past the window, streaks of gold and red against the dark. You watch them without really seeing, too aware of the warmth radiating from him, of the way his knee is just barely pressed against yours, of the photo strip tucked safely in his pocket.

You should say something. Maybe about the day, about how nice it was, about how things felt almost like they used to. Almost.

But you don’t.

Because something heavier lingers between you, settling into the spaces where words should be.

It doesn’t leave when you step off the train, nor when you walk side by side down the familiar streets leading home. It clings to the night air, thick with something unnamed.

By the time you reach your apartment, the silence between you has turned into something else entirely.

Something charged.

Something waiting.

Hyunjin follows you inside without question, slipping off his shoes, stretching his neck, rolling his shoulders. You watch the way his body moves, the way exhaustion clings to him—long trip, long day, but still, he’s here. Still, he came home to you.

And maybe that’s what undoes you.

Because it’s been a long time.

Yes, there have been nights tangled in sheets, breaths stolen between rushed touches, the comfort of familiarity in the dark.

But this is different.

This is longing, raw and unspoken, the kind that aches in your bones, in the spaces between your ribs. The kind that comes from missing someone who’s still right in front of you.

You step closer. Hyunjin watches you, his eyes dark, unreadable, but he doesn’t move back.

The air shifts. The city hums outside your window.

Then—

His hand lifts, fingertips ghosting along your jaw, tilting your face just enough for his gaze to catch yours.

There’s no hesitation this time.

Just warmth. Just need. Just the slow, inevitable pull of gravity between two people who have spent too long orbiting each other without colliding.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, every breath weighted, every glance stretching into something unspoken. The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across your skin as your fingers find his—tentative at first, then surer, more desperate.

"You sure?" he murmurs, voice low, but the answer is already there in the way your body leans into his, in the quiet hitch of your breath when his thumb brushes over your wrist.

His hand trails along your arm, slow and reverent, as his lips find yours. The kiss starts soft, almost hesitant—until you sigh against his mouth, and then restraint crumbles like a sandcastle against the tide.

His lips barely leave yours when he speaks, voice dripping with something dark, something teasing.

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

The words send a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your stomach. His hands, warm and steady, skim down your sides, fingers pressing just enough to make you ache for more. He’s watching you now, waiting, eyes glinting in the dim light like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

The air between you is thick—hot, electric. Your throat is dry, but your body answers for you, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him smirk.

"Say it," he breathes, sinking lower, lips grazing the bare skin of your stomach. "Let me hear you."

His breath shudders the moment your heel meets his chest, pressing him down with just enough force to keep him there—to make him feel it. His fingers flex at his sides, itching to touch you, but he doesn’t dare move. Not until you allow it.

"Beg," you say, tilting your head, voice smooth as silk. "Maybe I'll consider."

A desperate whimper escapes his throat before he can swallow it down. His head falls back against the floor, eyes glassy, lips parted as he struggles to breathe around the need clawing at his chest.

"Please," he gasps, voice wrecked, raw. "Please, I need you. I—" He swallows hard, his hands gripping the floor like it’s the only thing grounding him. "I'll do anything. Anything. Just—just tell me what you want, I'll give it to you. Just don’t leave me like this."

You press your heel down against his aching bulge just a little harder enough friction for him to get more desperate, watching the way his body trembles beneath you. His breath hitches, his hips twitching like he’s chasing even the ghost of your touch.

"Not good enough."

A strangled moan tears from his lips. He’s fully gone now, undone beneath you, pupils blown wide with something between desperation and devotion.

"Please," he pleads again, voice breaking. "Please, darling, let me have you. Let me worship you. I can’t—I can't take it. I need you."

His breath is ragged now, breaking apart at the seams as he presses the first kiss to your ankle. It’s shaky, barely controlled, and when he exhales, it comes out as a whimper—small, needy, like he’s unraveling right there beneath you.

"Please, baby..." His voice trembles, thick with desperation, but his eyes—God, his eyes—burn with something deeper, something wrecked. There's still that dominant fire flickering beneath the surface, but it’s fragile now, crumbling under the weight of his need.

His lips move higher, dragging along your calf in slow, reverent kisses. His hands fist against the floor like he’s forcing himself not to reach for you, but his whole body is shaking with restraint. Another kiss. Then another. A choked breath catches in his throat, and when you look down, his lashes are damp, eyes glassy, brimming with something raw and overwhelming.

"You—" His voice cracks, and he swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold it together. But he can’t. He’s falling apart at your feet, unraveling beneath your touch, your presence, the unbearable distance between what he wants and what he’s allowed.

"I haven’t had you in so long," he whispers, and this time, a tear slips down his cheek, trailing over the flushed skin of his face. His forehead presses against your thigh as he takes a shuddering breath, clinging to the moment, to you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Then, quieter, so soft it nearly breaks you— "I’ve missed you. I need you. Please."

He lifts his head again, looking up at you through wet lashes, lips parted, eyes pleading. He’s never looked more vulnerable, more undone, more yours.

When Hyunjin’s lips trailed lower, slow and reverent, his fingers followed, tracing along the curve of your waist like he was memorizing you. When he reached the waistband of your underwear, his hand slipped around to the front, palm pressing firmly against your heat.

A sharp gasp left your lips, body shuddering beneath the delicate graze of his fingers. He moved torturously slow, stroking over the thin fabric, back and forth, his touch featherlight—just enough to tease, just enough to make need coil tight in your stomach. The ache of it spilled from your throat in a quiet, frustrated whimper.

"You’re wearing too much," Hyunjin murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. There’s no teasing in it this time—just quiet urgency, something fragile, something aching. "Let me see you. Let me remember you."

His fingers glide up from your stomach, slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. When he reaches the ties of your top, he undoes them carefully, his breath unsteady, his hands trembling just the slightest bit. The moment the fabric loosens, he exhales sharply, almost as if it hurts.

He pulls it down in one smooth motion, but there’s nothing hurried in the way he touches you. His gaze roams over you like he’s seeing you for the first time, like he’s seeing you for the last. His hands follow, cupping you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. His thumbs ghost over your skin, reverent, lingering—memorizing.

"You’re perfect," he breathes, but his voice cracks at the end, betraying him. His fingers tighten, not out of lust, but something deeper, something desperate—like he’s trying to hold onto this moment, onto you, before it slips through his fingers.

Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips press to your skin, warm and trembling. His tongue drags through the valley of your breasts, slow, savoring, as if he’s trying to carve the taste of you into his memory forever. A quiet sound escapes you, a soft whimper, and he shudders against you, his grip tightening as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"I don’t want this to end," he whispers, voice wrecked. "I don’t want to let you go."

His forehead rests against your chest for a fleeting moment, breath uneven, eyes squeezed shut. Then he kisses you again, deeper this time, like he’s pouring every unspoken word into it.

Like he’s trying to make you remember him, too.

Hyunjin only hummed in response, low and pleased, as his lips continued their descent. But his ministrations turned hungrier, rougher—his hands gripping tighter, his mouth trailing back up to your chest with newfound urgency. He all but worshipped you, lips closing around the peak of your breast, his tongue soothing over sensitive skin before his teeth scraped just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

He sucked greedily, desperately, like he was trying to drown himself in the taste of you. His free hand tangled in the sheets, as if even that wasn’t enough to hold him steady, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured between kisses, voice breathless, aching. "I’ve missed you. I need you." his fingers playing with the cotton that covered your core, "you're already so wet baby.”

He moved down and brought your panties with him. His breath hits your core, "You smell, sweet." he adds before kissing your pussy, prompting you to groan.

"Is that okay baby?” Hyunjin says with a soft hum lifting his head. "Fuck that’s so good hyune" you say breathlessly. Hyunjin licks your pussy and sucks on your clit, forcing you to groan somewhat louder. you gasp as his tongue begins to draw circles on your clit. Your hands travel to his hair, grabbing the his soft black locks.

the feeling of Hyunjin’s warm breath hitting your core felt as if your toes where curling so hard and his tongue making swirls around your clit was a feeling you've never felt before. sloppy sucking down you clit.

The sensation of his lips around your clit, his tongue slipping hot and heavy between your folds, and his long, thick fingers diving into your cunt and perfectly curling against your sweet spot are all assaulting.

The pleasure is almost intolerable, but in the most wonderful way, as his fingers slowly fuck you, filling you up so deeply and drawing you nearer the brink with experienced ease. a sharp contrast to the way he sucked at your clit, with his mouth hot and moist and with his cute pink pouty lips swollen.

He then made the decision to roughly push your thighs up till they struck your chest. He then eats you like a ravenous animal, groaning and grunting into your heat while simultaneously spreading his two fingers separating your glistening entrance as his tongue and lips abusing your pussy, sloppy sucking your clit taking turns pushing his tongue down your pussy.

Tonight seemed to be all about you, him, and your wishes. And you and your sweet pussy were all that mattered in his head right now . He presses his tongue as deep into your gut as possible, giving you a better feeling than you could have ever dreamed.

You get euphoric from the constant, sloppy kitten licks and the pumps that come in and go out of your pussy. With every pump and lick, you can feel the knots in your stomach and back starting to arch more and more. Eventually, you make the most obscene sounds, which might wake up your neighbors enough to say, "fuck, Hyunjin!" As you arrive, you feel Hyunjin lick it clean, using only his tongue to clean you up.

Hyunjin leans back, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of heavy breaths. His skin glows under the dim light, a few strands of damp hair sticking to his forehead. But his eyes—his eyes are fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

You’re still catching your breath when he reaches out, fingers tracing the edge of your jaw, then lower, brushing over your collarbone like he’s memorizing the moment. A slow smirk tugs at his lips.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice thick, still laced with what just happened.

A scoff leaves your lips, but the way your body reacts betrays you—heat rushing to your face, your pulse still thrumming under your skin. “Says you,” you shoot back, but your voice is softer than you intend.

He hums, tilting his head as if considering something, then leans in, his lips barely grazing yours. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just lingering.

“Round two?” he teases against your mouth, and you feel the curve of his smirk.

Your breath hitches, fingers tightening against the sheets. “You’re impossible.”

His laughter is warm, low, sending a shiver down your spine. “And yet, you’re still here.”

And just like that, the fire between you isn’t quite out yet.

📸🎞️…..

The morning is slow. Soft.

Golden light spills through the curtains, warming the sheets tangled between you. The room smells like sleep and skin, like something tender, something lived in.

You wake to the weight of Hyunjin beside you, his warmth seeping into the spaces where the covers don’t reach. He’s already awake, lying on his side, watching you with an expression you can’t quite place.

You blink up at him, your body still heavy with sleep, with the remnants of last night. The air between you is different now—still full, still charged, but quieter.

Like something has settled.

Like something has been understood.

He reaches out, tracing a slow, lazy path along your arm with the back of his fingers. It’s not rushed, not with intent—just touching for the sake of it, for the comfort of knowing you’re here.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

Hyunjin huffs out a quiet laugh but doesn’t look away. “So are you.”

You don’t deny it.

Because how could you? When he’s right there, when the morning sun catches in his hair, when his eyes are softer than they’ve been in a long time?

When he’s finally within reach?

For a moment, neither of you speak. There’s nothing to say. Or maybe there’s too much.

Then—

“Get up,” he says, voice light, teasing. “We’re going somewhere.”

You frown, stretching your arms above your head before sinking deeper into the pillows. “Where?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, already pushing himself upright, the blankets slipping from his shoulders. “It’s a surprise.”

You raise a brow. “A surprise?”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Do you not trust me?”

You hum, considering. “That depends. Are you taking me somewhere ridiculous?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Define ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real protest behind it. Because the way he’s looking at you now—the way he’s trying, in the way only Hyunjin knows how—makes your chest ache.

You sigh, dramatic, pushing yourself up beside him. “Fine. But if this surprise is awful, I’m making you buy me lunch.”

Hyunjin grins. “Deal.”

He stands, stretching, the soft glow of morning painting over the lines of his back. You watch him for a second longer before following, shaking off sleep, shaking off whatever still lingers in your chest.

You don’t know where you’re going.

But when Hyunjin takes your hand, guiding you toward the unknown—

You think maybe it doesn’t matter.

The streets hum beneath you, the morning light catching on storefront windows, washing everything in soft gold. The city is waking up—slow, steady—but the world feels smaller from where you sit. Just you, Hyunjin, and the hum of something unspoken between you.

The motorcycle waits by the curb, just like it used to.

Hyunjin runs a hand over the seat, the familiar weight of nostalgia settling over his shoulders. You know the feeling—it’s there, thick in your throat, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

It’s been years. But it looks the same.

He turns to you, tossing a helmet into your hands. “Still remember how to get on?”

You scoff, slipping it over your head. “I should be asking you that.”

Hyunjin only grins, sliding onto the seat, body moving like second nature. He watches as you follow, arms looping around his waist without hesitation, the way you always used to.

And just like that—

You’re back.

Back to long rides with no destination. Back to wind pulling through your hair, back to the sound of an engine replacing the noise in your head.

Back to a time when the future was uncertain—when everything was messy, and unclear, and terrifying—

But somehow, still better.

Hyunjin squeezes the throttle, and the world moves beneath you.

The city blurs past in streaks of color, buildings shifting into nothing but shapes. Your grip tightens around him, the leather of his jacket cool beneath your fingers, his warmth seeping through.

You close your eyes.

Breathe.

Try to hold onto the moment before it slips away.

Because if you could—

You’d go back.

Back to then.

Back to when everything felt simpler.

Back to when you had all the time in the world.

The wind is crisp against your skin, sharp where it slips past the collar of your jacket, but you don’t care. Not when the world is rushing past you in streaks of color, not when your arms are wrapped securely around Hyunjin’s waist.

The motorcycle hums beneath you, steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Like something alive.

Hyunjin rides like he always has—effortlessly, leaning into every turn like second nature. The city bends and blurs around you, golden light bouncing off glass windows, the streets buzzing with life. You pass familiar landmarks, places that once held meaning, places where time used to stand still.

A café where you’d spend lazy afternoons, your fingers sticky with melted chocolate from the pastries he’d always insist on sharing.

A bookstore where he once fell asleep in a chair, a poetry book open in his lap, his face slack with exhaustion but so, so beautiful in the soft glow of the overhead lights.

A bridge where you stood together in the middle of the night, watching your breath curl into the cold air, making wishes on city lights instead of stars.

Everything has changed, but the streets remember.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you could be going back. Back to a time when the future was uncertain but bright, when all that mattered was the next adventure, the next moment, the next ride.

You close your eyes and lean into him, the scent of leather and the faintest trace of his cologne grounding you.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel lost.

But then—

A flash of movement.

Too close.

Too fast.

A sound—metal shrieking against pavement, sharp and unnatural.

Hyunjin tenses beneath your grip.

And then the world tilts.

The impact is sudden. Unforgiving.

One moment, you are flying—weightless, untethered, slipping through time and space.

The next, you are hitting the ground.

Pain explodes through you, white-hot and searing, ripping through every nerve like fire. The pavement is hard beneath you, unyielding, the breath forced from your lungs on impact. Your body skids against the asphalt, the rough surface tearing at fabric, at skin.

The world spins wildly, colors bleeding together. Screams. The screech of tires. Distant, muffled voices.

Everything is too loud, yet somehow, the only thing you hear is silence.

The silence where Hyunjin’s voice should be.

Your vision blurs as you force your body to move, every muscle screaming in protest. You turn your head, just barely, just enough—

And then you see him.

Hyunjin.

Sprawled out on the pavement, a few feet away.

Unmoving.

Something inside you shatters, the kind of breaking that doesn’t make a sound but destroys everything in its wake.

“No,” your voice is weak, barely there, drowned out by the noise around you.

You try to reach for him, fingers trembling, but your body won’t listen. Pain pulses through you, unbearable, crushing.

Hyunjin, please.

Move.

Breathe.

Look at me.

But he doesn’t.

The world tilts again, the edges of your vision darkening, pulling you under.

You fight it.

You try to stay.

But the last thing you see is Hyunjin’s still form, the blood staining the pavement beneath him.

And then—

Nothing.

📸🎞️….

The first thing you notice is the beeping.

Soft, rhythmic, steady—pulling you from the depths of unconsciousness. It echoes in the quiet, a sound too artificial, too detached. Not the hum of a motorcycle beneath you, not the laughter of the city, not the warmth of a voice calling your name.

Just machines.

Just the sterile scent of antiseptic and something metallic.

Your body feels heavy, like you are made of stone, like the weight of the world has settled into your bones. It takes everything in you to pry your eyes open, to let the blinding white of the hospital room seep into your vision.

A slow inhale. Your ribs ache.

A slow exhale. Something in your chest tightens.

You’re alive.

The realization doesn’t bring relief.

Your eyes move sluggishly, searching, finding nothing but the empty chair beside your bed. There’s no warmth in the sheets, no lingering presence in the room. Just the quiet hum of machines.

Just the hollow ache in your chest.

You try to move, but pain splinters through your limbs, sharp and cruel, pinning you in place. Your throat is dry, lips cracked, body screaming in protest. But none of it compares to the cold dread creeping up your spine.

Something is missing.

Something is wrong.

Then—

The door creaks open. A familiar face steps inside—someone you know, someone who shouldn’t be crying but is. Their lips part, but no words come. Just grief, raw and unbearable, written in the lines of their face.

And in that moment—

You know.

Before they even speak, before the words can leave their trembling lips—

You know.

Your heart stops. Your breath catches, a sharp, strangled thing.

No.

Not him.

Not Hyunjin.

The world tilts, lurches violently beneath you. A sob claws its way up your throat, but it never fully forms, never escapes. It gets stuck somewhere deep inside, tangled in the disbelief, the denial, the devastation.

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto.

“Hyunjin…” his name slips past your lips, a whisper, a prayer, a plea.

They hesitate. Then, quietly, painfully—

“He’s gone.”

Gone.

The word shatters through you, a brutal, unforgiving thing.

Gone.

Like he was never here.

Like the laughter, the dreams, the late-night rides—like he—

Was never here.

Your breath comes in short, uneven gasps, the hospital walls closing in around you. The beeping of the machines quickens, but it’s distant, insignificant, nothing compared to the unbearable weight settling over you.

“Why…” your voice trembles, weaker than you want it to be. “Why not me?”

No one answers.

No one can.

Because there’s no answer that could ever make this okay.

Hyunjin—who was so full of life, who worked so hard, who was meant to do so many things—

Is gone.

And you—who never had a clear path, who never knew what to do with yourself, who was supposed to go first—

Are still here.

The injustice of it all crushes you, makes you want to scream, makes you want to disappear.

Tears burn hot against your skin, slipping past the barrier you tried to keep up. Your chest heaves with the force of your grief, with the unbearable ache of missing someone who should still be here.

Hyunjin should be here.

Hyunjin should be the one waking up, staring at an empty chair, asking why you’re not there instead.

Not you.

Not you.

But the universe doesn’t care.

And the machines keep beeping.

The house feels different now.

It’s quieter—too quiet. The kind of silence that seeps into your bones, pressing against your ribs until it hurts to breathe.

You step inside, the air thick with absence, with memories suspended in dust and dim light. Hyunjin’s presence lingers in everything—his shoes still neatly placed by the door, his jacket draped over the back of the chair, the faintest trace of his cologne clinging to the fabric of the couch.

Like he’s just out running errands.

Like he’ll walk through the door any minute now, laughing about something ridiculous, tossing his keys onto the counter, looking at you like you are the only thing in the world that matters.

But he won’t.

He never will again.

The weight of it crashes into you all at once.

Your knees buckle.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the tears blur your vision, until the sound of your own sobs fills the empty space.

You stumble forward, searching, needing—something, anything.

And then you see it.

The plant.

Hyunjin’s favorite.

The one he took care of religiously, whispering to it like it could hear him, adjusting its place by the window to make sure it got just the right amount of sunlight.

Your hands tremble as you reach for it, wrapping your arms around the ceramic vase, holding it to your chest like it’s him, like it’s the last piece of him you can still touch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for—maybe for not stopping him, for not being the one to go instead, for still being here when he’s not.

Your body shakes with the force of your grief, tears soaking into the fabric of your clothes, into the soil of the plant he loved so much.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Nothing feels real.

The hours pass in a haze.

The sky shifts from gray to black, the house sinking deeper into shadow, but you don’t move. You stay curled on the floor, clutching what’s left of him, drowning in a sadness so heavy it feels impossible to climb out of.

But then—

A thought. A pull.

The police station.

You don’t know what drives you there—anger, desperation, the need for answers—but suddenly, you’re moving.

Your body feels disconnected from your mind as you slip on your shoes, as you grab Hyunjin’s jacket—the one still carrying the faintest trace of him—and drape it over your shoulders.

You walk through the streets like a ghost, barely aware of the world around you. The city hums with life, oblivious, uncaring.

None of them know.

None of them feel it.

How the world has tilted off its axis.

How nothing will ever be the same.

By the time you push open the heavy doors of the police station, your hands are shaking.

Someone approaches you, their face unreadable, their words a blur.

You swallow hard, forcing out the only thing that matters.

“The accident,” you say, voice hoarse, raw. “I need to know what happened.”

The police station smells like paper and coffee gone stale. Like cold metal and quiet indifference.

You stand there, trembling, fists clenched at your sides, Hyunjin’s jacket hanging loosely from your shoulders. It feels too big now. Too empty.

The officer in front of you—Chief something, you don’t remember his name—leans back in his chair, fingers laced together. His expression is unreadable, his voice calm, too calm, as if he’s talking about something insignificant.

As if Hyunjin was insignificant.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

The words hit like a slap.

Nothing?

Nothing?

You blink at him, disbelief cracking through your grief like lightning splitting the sky.

Hyunjin is dead. Gone. His laughter, his dreams, his entire existence—wiped out in an instant. And they’re telling you there’s nothing?

“You don’t understand,” you choke out, voice shaking, barely holding together. “It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t—”

The officer exhales, slow and deliberate, like he’s already tired of this conversation.

“There were no other vehicles involved,” he says. “No reckless drivers. No drunk drivers. Just you two.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a noose tightening around your throat.

Just you two.

Like Hyunjin's death was an accident you created.

Like you are to blame.

Like you should’ve died instead.

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in pain.

“So that’s it?” Your voice wavers between hysteria and rage. “He just dies, and no one cares? No one takes responsibility?”

The officer sighs. “I understand you’re grieving—”

“No, you don’t.”

Your voice is sharp, shaking, cracking in the middle. The room tilts, your breath coming too fast, too ragged.

You slam your hands onto the desk. “Hyunjin worked for everything. He fought for everything. He deserved more than this—more than some half-assed excuse that ‘there’s nothing you can do.’”

The officer watches you, expression impassive. “We reviewed the reports. The road was slick. Speed was a factor. And you both made that choice.”

That choice.

As if Hyunjin chose to die.

As if you chose this.

“You’re saying it was our fault.”

The officer doesn’t answer.

And that’s all you need.

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes you—raw, broken, ripped from the hollow space inside your chest.

“Then what?” Your voice rises, thick with grief, anger, devastation. “Do I get to pay for it too? Do I get to carry his death like it’s some kind of debt?”

The officer clears his throat, eyes flicking downward.

And then— “You do owe a debt.”

The world stops.

“What?”

He gestures vaguely toward a file on his desk, words clipped, clinical. “The damage caused by the accident. Medical expenses. Compensation for public property repairs. You’re the only one left. It falls on you.”

You stare at him.

Something inside you fractures beyond repair.

Hyunjin is gone. You woke up to an empty world, to a home that no longer feels like home, to a future that doesn’t even feel like yours anymore.

And now they’re telling you that you owe something for it?

That Hyunjin’s life has a price tag, and you’re the one stuck paying it? Something explodes inside you.

Your vision blurs with rage, grief, unbearable sorrow. Your hands grip the edges of the desk, white-knuckled, the room spinning around you.

And then—

You shove everything off his desk.

The files, the papers, the neatly stacked reports—scattering like falling leaves, like a life unraveling.

The coffee cup tips over, liquid spilling, staining the floor like blood.

“I owe nothing,” you spit, voice shaking with the weight of every sleepless night, every sob you swallowed down, every second you’ve had to exist in this nightmare alone.

“I lost everything—” your breath stutters, catches, but you don’t stop—“and you’re telling me I have to pay for it?”

The officer stands, eyes sharp now, jaw tight.

“Miss, you need to calm down.”

Calm down.

Calm down.

Like this is a misunderstanding. Like you’re overreacting. Like they’re not trying to put a price on the one person you loved most.

Something inside you snaps.

Your hands shake as you grab the first thing you see—a stapler, something useless, something meaningless—and hurl it across the room. It smashes against the wall, clattering to the floor, but it does nothing to release the unbearable agony clawing at your chest.

“I should’ve died,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

The words feel foreign, like they belong to someone else, like you’re hearing them from outside your body. But they’re yours. They’re real.

Because if Hyunjin had to be gone—if the universe took him so cruelly, so easily—then why did it leave you behind?

Why not you?

Why not you?

No one answers.

No one ever does.

The rain comes down in waves. Heavy. Unforgiving.

It soaks into the pavement, into the fabric of Hyunjin’s jacket, into your skin. The cold settles deep into your bones, but you don’t shiver. You just walk.

You don’t know where you’re going.

The world moves around you—cars rushing past, headlights cutting through the downpour, strangers weaving through the streets with their umbrellas held high, safe under the illusion of shelter.

But you don’t have an umbrella.

All you have is Hyunjin’s jacket.

It hangs off your frame, too big now, weighed down by rain and memories. You clutch the lapels, pulling it tighter around yourself, as if that will bring him closer, as if the fabric still carries the warmth of him. But the scent—his scent—is fading. The rain washes it away, leaving behind nothing but the sharp sting of reality.

You inhale sharply, but it does nothing to steady you.

The air feels different tonight. Heavier. Thicker with something unspoken.

And then—

You see it.

The photo booth.

It’s tucked in the same place as before, wedged between a convenience store and a rundown café. The sign flickers weakly, half the bulbs burnt out, the edges of the metal rusted with time.

But it’s still there.

Like a ghost. Like an echo. Like a piece of your past frozen in place, waiting for you to come back.

Your breath stutters.

The last time you were here, Hyunjin was beside you.

His laughter had filled the cramped space, his hand warm against yours, his voice teasing when he leaned in, murmuring, Let’s make this one special.

You take a step forward. Then another.

The rain drums against the metal roof, trickling down in uneven streams. Your fingers hover over the peeling edge of the curtain, hesitating.

The sample photos outside are still there.

Rows of lovers frozen in time.

Some are laughing, their mouths open mid-joy, their heads thrown back like nothing in the world could ever touch them. Others are kissing, soft and slow, their fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips pressed together in a moment so full it hurts to look at.

And then there’s you.

Your photo strip—creased, tucked into a pocket somewhere you can’t bring yourself to look.

You close your eyes, and suddenly, you’re there again.

The dim glow of the booth casting shadows across Hyunjin’s face.

The way he looked at you, eyes full of something you couldn’t name.

The way he leaned in, his breath warm against your lips, whispering, One more shot.

The way he kissed you.

Slow. Desperate. Like he knew.

Like he already knew.

Your fingers tighten around the jacket.

You step back.

The city blurs, neon lights smearing against the rain-soaked pavement, car horns distant and muffled. Everything feels wrong. Off.

Because this isn’t just a photo booth.

It’s a graveyard of what could’ve been.

Of stolen moments and unspoken words. Of a boy who loved you and a future that never got the chance to exist.

Your breath shudders out of you, uneven.

You press your forehead against the cold metal, eyes squeezed shut, heart unraveling.

And for the first time since the accident, since the hospital, since the funeral you couldn’t bring yourself to attend—

You break.

The rain keeps falling. And you let it.

You’re attention then suddenly shifts to the fluorescent lights of the convenience store hum softly, buzzing like a mosquito against your skull. It’s too bright in here, too sterile. The air smells like cheap instant coffee and something fried in oil that’s been used one too many times.

Your fingers trail over the condensation on the drink cooler before grabbing something—anything. It doesn’t matter. You just need something to hold. Something to fill the space in your hands.

And then, as if it’s second nature, you reach for a pack of cigarettes.

You’ve never smoked before.

But Hyunjin used to.

Only when he was stressed, only when the weight of everything felt too much to carry. You used to scold him for it, stealing the pack from his hands, laughing when he pouted. This is bad for you, Jinnie.

But he would just smile, lazy, tired, leaning into you like he could pour all of his exhaustion into your body and you would carry it for him.

You know.

The memory stings.

At the counter, the cashier barely looks at you as he rings up your items, eyes glued to his phone. You slide over a few bills, take your change, and walk out without a word.

The rain hasn’t let up.

It spills from the sky in thick sheets, running down your face, your hands, your lips. You don’t bother finding shelter. You just stand there, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, staring at nothing.

Your fingers fumble as you try to light it. The rain makes it impossible, but you keep flicking the lighter, over and over, until finally—

A small flame.

You inhale, and the smoke burns down your throat, settling deep in your lungs. The taste is bitter, acrid. It doesn’t feel good. But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe you need to feel something bad. Something sharp enough to carve through the numbness.

The city moves around you—people rushing to get out of the rain, the sound of tires slicing through puddles, distant voices, distant lives. None of it touches you.

You exhale, watching the smoke curl in the air, and for a moment, it almost looks like Hyunjin’s breath in the cold.

Like the nights you’d sit on your dorm balcony, wrapped in mismatched blankets, watching the city blink below you.

Like the way he’d sigh after a long day, leaning his head on your shoulder, murmuring, We should just disappear, you know?

Like the ghost of a life that was once yours.

Your eyes drift.

And then you see it.

The photo booth.

Still there. Still waiting.

The dim glow inside flickers weakly, a heartbeat barely holding on. The rain slides down its sides, pooling at its base, but it doesn’t wash it away. Nothing ever does.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s just a machine. A box full of old film and cheap wiring. A relic of something outdated, something useless.

But tonight, it feels alive.

Like it’s breathing. Watching. Waiting.

You take another drag of the cigarette, but your hands are shaking now.

It’s drawing you in.

Pulling you back.

The past calls your name, and you don’t have the strength to ignore it.

Your feet move before you can stop them.

One step. Then another.

The cigarette burns between your fingers, the rain drips from your lashes, the weight in your chest grows heavier with every breath.

And the closer you get, the louder the silence becomes.

The rain has soaked through your clothes, through your skin, through the marrow of your bones. It drips from your fingertips as you pull back the curtain of the photo booth, stepping inside as if crossing the threshold of something sacred.

Inside, the air is still—thick with the scent of old film, of dust and something metallic, like rusted memories trapped between the walls. It’s colder in here, untouched by time, untouched by anything beyond its own quiet existence.

You sit down slowly, the wooden bench creaking beneath your weight.

Everything is the same.

The same dim light flickering above you, casting soft shadows over the tiny space. The same peeling instructions plastered to the wall, warning you to sit still, to prepare for the shutter. The same sample photos lining the side—strangers frozen in laughter, in love, in something fleeting but *real.*

Your fingers trace the edge of the machine, feeling the chipped paint, the etchings left behind by people who once sat where you are now.

Hyunjin had sat here.

With you.

Your hand drifts to your pocket, feeling the worn edges of the photo strip you’ve carried for so long. You don’t pull it out. You already know what it looks like.

Click. The first frame—his smile, soft and easy, the kind that felt like home.

Click. The second—your fingers intertwined, the warmth of his hand in yours.

Click. The third—his eyes lingering, his touch hesitant, as if memorizing the shape of you.

Click. The last—his lips pressed to yours, not in playfulness, not in haste, but in something desperate. Something aching. A kiss that felt like an ending before you even knew it was one.

Your chest tightens.

Your gaze shifts to the coin slot.

The price hasn’t changed.

Just a few spare coins to capture a moment. To make it real.

You reach into your pocket, fingers brushing against cold metal before dropping it into the machine.

The coin clinks, disappearing into the abyss.

The machine hums, groaning as it wakes, gears turning, light flickering.

The countdown begins.

Three…

The first flash explodes, white-hot against your vision.

Click.

You stare at the camera. Blank. Empty. Your reflection is barely visible in the smudged glass. A hollow version of yourself.

Two…

Your throat tightens. Your hands curl into fists. The grief sits heavy, pressing against your ribs, clawing its way up.

The second flash goes off.

Click.

Your eyes shine with something unspoken. Tears threaten to spill.

One…

The dam breaks.

A sob tears through you, raw and violent, shaking your shoulders, ripping from somewhere deep inside—somewhere untouched, somewhere ruined.

The camera captures it.

Click.

The third frame freezes you mid-collapse. A portrait of grief.

A monument to loss.

Zero.

But something is wrong.

The machine groans, shuddering beneath you, its heartbeat uneven. The air shifts—thick, suffocating. The walls feel closer now, pressing in, wrapping around you like hands, like arms, like the past refusing to let go.

The final flash is different.

It isn’t just light.

It’s blinding.

It consumes everything.

You don’t even have time to gasp before it swallows you whole.

And then—

Nothing.

The world disappears.

No sound. No breath. No weight.

Only darkness.

Only silence.

Outside, the rain falls.

The machine hums.

And the photo strip slides out with a soft mechanical whisper, curling into the tray—

A story captured in ink.

A love caught between light and time.

©️strangevynl ; Hello I hope everyone is doing well! I’ve been working on this story for months and just didn’t have the motivation to write it down. This story was heavily inspired by straywrds one of my favorite writers in stayblr and their writing really amazes me every time. but I will soon post part 2, sorry if this was quite lengthy but it’s for the plot. That’s all please take care of yourself ^^

taglist for this mini series🏷️; none yet!

[strangevynl]

back to friends

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ childhoodbsf!felix x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst

June 12 2006

The summer heat was relentless, baking the pavement under the afternoon sun. You ran ahead, laughter ringing through the quiet neighborhood, feet pounding against the sidewalk. Felix trailed behind, breathless but determined, his arms pumping as he tried to catch up.

“Slow down!” he called out, voice full of frustration.

You glanced back with a teasing grin. “Not my fault you’re slow, Lix!”

Felix scowled but kept running until the two of you reached the small park at the end of the street. Both of you collapsed onto the swings, panting, the only sound between you the creaking of metal chains.

“One day,” Felix huffed, wiping sweat from his brow, “I’ll be faster than you.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Mmm… doubtful.”

Felix pouted, nose scrunching up in that familiar way that always gave him away. He was terrible at hiding his emotions—not that you minded. It was part of what made him Felix.

For a while, neither of you spoke, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. Then, without warning, Felix’s voice broke the silence.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You turned toward him. “Yeah?”

“We’ll always be best friends, right?”

The question caught you off guard. Felix had always been the sentimental one, the type to hold onto things long after everyone else had moved on. It was one of the many things about him that you never really understood—but you didn’t need to.

“Of course,” you answered easily, nudging his shoulder. “Even if you somehow get faster than me—which, by the way, isn’t happening—we’ll still be best friends.”

Felix’s smile was instant, bright enough to rival the sun. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

You linked pinkies, the way you always did, sealing a vow you both believed would never break.

Back then, it had been simple.

Back then, you thought forever was real.

You had no idea what was coming.

—🍵—

August 25 2025

The coffee in your hands had gone cold, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You had been staring at him for too long.

Felix sat at the far end of the café, surrounded by people who had taken the space you used to occupy. He was laughing—head tilted back, eyes crinkled, dimples pressing into his cheeks like nothing in the world had ever hurt him.

Like nothing had ever changed.

Like you hadn’t spent years by his side, only to become nothing more than a familiar stranger.

The hollow feeling in your chest was one you had grown used to, but some days, it still ached. Some days, you could still feel the echoes of the past clawing at the edges of your mind, whispering all the things you never said, all the things you never did to stop this from happening.

Jisung’s voice pulled you out of it.

“You’re doing it again.”

Your fingers curled around your cup. “Doing what?”

“Looking at him like he’s the sun and you’re the idiot who flew too close.”

You scoffed, but the sound felt empty. “That’s dramatic.”

Jisung raised a brow. “Is it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t, because deep down, you knew he was right. This wasn’t just about Felix making new friends or drifting away. It was about you standing at the edge of something breaking and doing nothing to stop it. It was about the weight in your chest when he stopped looking for you in crowded rooms, stopped texting first, stopped treating you like someone worth holding on to.

It was about the realization that maybe, just maybe, he was better at letting go than you were.

“Talk to him,” Jisung said.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is.”You shook your head, but before you could say anything, Jisung grabbed your untouched coffee and stood.

Panic flared in your chest. “Jisung, don’t—” But he was already halfway across the café, walking straight toward Felix’s table, straight toward the boy who had spent years fitting himself into the gaps of your life, only to slip through the cracks when you weren’t paying attention.

Felix noticed him immediately, brows furrowing as Jisung placed your cup down in front of him and said something low, something that made his expression shift from confusion to something you couldn’t quite read.

And then Jisung pointed.

Right at you.

The air in your lungs turned sharp.

For the first time in months, Felix’s eyes met yours.

And it felt like drowning.

The moment stretched too long, too thin. You should’ve looked away. Should’ve grabbed your bag, pretended you hadn’t been staring, pretended Jisung hadn’t just thrown you under the bus in the worst way possible. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Felix was looking at you, really looking at you, and for a second—just a second—it felt like the world had rewound itself, like you were sixteen again, tangled up in late-night conversations and inside jokes only the two of you understood.

But then the recognition in his gaze flickered, replaced by something unreadable. His lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but one of his friends nudged him, pulling him back into their conversation.

Just like that, the moment was gone.

Jisung flopped back into his seat across from you, looking way too pleased with himself.

“You’re welcome,” he said, stealing a fry off your plate like he hadn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire.

You exhaled sharply. “What the hell was that?”

“That, my dear emotionally constipated friend, was me helping.”

“Helping?” You let out a dry laugh. “You just made things worse.”

Jisung shrugged. “Felix was gonna notice you eventually. I just sped up the process.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, willing the heat in your face to fade. “He didn’t even come over.”

“He will.”

Jisung said it with so much confidence that it made your stomach twist. You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

But Felix didn’t come over.

He didn’t even glance in your direction again.

By the time you left the café, your chest was tight with something ugly, something close to regret.

It was raining by the time you got back to your apartment. The kind of rain that made the world feel heavier, pressing down on your shoulders, making everything colder than it should be. You should’ve gone inside. Should’ve let the door click shut behind you and drowned out the thoughts swirling in your head with a shitty TV show or an assignment that was due way too soon.

But instead, you found yourself standing on the sidewalk, watching as the city blurred under the downpour, feeling the way the damp air clung to your skin.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there.

Long enough for the streets to empty. Long enough for the rain to soak through your hoodie. Long enough for a voice—his voice—to cut through the storm.

“What are you doing out here?”

You froze.

Slowly, you turned.

Felix stood a few feet away, hood pulled up, blonde hair sticking to his forehead. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes—still made something in your chest crack open, something you had spent too much time trying to bury.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you asked, “What are you doing here?”

Felix shifted on his feet. “I saw you leave the café.” A pause. “I thought you might—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

But it did.

It mattered more than anything.

Because despite everything, despite the months of distance and unspoken words and aching silence, he was still here.

Still chasing after you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself hope.

The rain drummed against the pavement, a steady rhythm that filled the silence stretching between you. Felix shifted slightly, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to step closer or turn around and walk away.

You should’ve said something. Anything. But your throat felt tight, like every word you had swallowed over the past year was lodged there, refusing to come out.

Felix sighed, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. “You always did like the rain.”

His voice was softer than you remembered. Or maybe it had always been like that, and you had just forgotten the sound of it when it wasn’t filtered through a phone screen or echoing in your head late at night.

You swallowed hard. “Not really.”

His gaze snapped back to you. “What?”

You forced out a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t like the rain. I just… I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like the only thing that makes sense.”

Felix studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he took a step forward, just enough for you to see the way the streetlights cast shadows under his tired eyes.

“You’re mad at me,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a question.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your lips together. “I don’t know what I am.”

Felix exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

You felt your fingers twitch at your sides. “For what to happen?”

His jaw clenched. “For us to become strangers.”

The words hit harder than you wanted them to.

You turned away slightly, staring at the water pooling in the cracks of the pavement. “You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you let it.”

“I know.”

There was something in his voice—something close to regret, or maybe guilt—but you didn’t know if it was enough.

“Then why are you here, Felix?”

Silence.

You finally looked back at him, heart pounding. He was already watching you, his expression guarded, but there was something raw in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just—” He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I saw you leave. And suddenly, nothing else felt important.”

The rain blurred the edges of everything, made the world feel quieter. It was just you and him, standing on the edge of something that had already fallen apart, something that could never go back to what it was.

Your chest ached.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

Felix’s breath hitched. “I know.”

And yet, neither of you moved.

Because despite everything—despite the pain, the distance, the silence—he had come back.

But you didn’t know if it was enough.

Not this time.

The rain didn’t let up. It soaked through your hoodie, clung to your skin, made everything colder than it should be. But none of it compared to the chill settling in your chest as you stood there, staring at Felix like you were still trying to figure out if he was real.

If this moment was real.

His words echoed in your head. I saw you leave. And suddenly, nothing else felt important.

It should have meant something.

It did mean something.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because if he had really cared—if you had really mattered—he wouldn’t have needed a reminder. He wouldn’t have let you drift so far away in the first place.

Felix shifted again, eyes darting across your face like he was searching for something. Some kind of answer, some kind of permission to step closer, to fix what had already cracked beyond repair.

“I never wanted to lose you,” he said

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

Felix flinched, like he hadn’t expected you to say it out loud. Like he thought you’d keep pretending that everything was fine—that this wasn’t breaking you in ways you didn’t know how to fix.

His mouth opened, then closed. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, uncertain. He looked like he wanted to take a step forward, but he didn’t. Maybe because he knew he had no right to.

“I never wanted to lose you,” he said, voice barely audible over the rain.

Something sharp curled in your chest. You let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “You say that like you didn’t let it happen.”

Felix exhaled, frustrated. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did,” you shot back, the words slicing through the air between you.

A beat of silence. Felix’s brows knitted together, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked down at the wet pavement, like the answer he wanted was somewhere between the cracks in the concrete.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, heart pounding against your ribs.

“You didn’t even try, Felix.”

He looked up then, eyes searching yours like he could find a different truth hidden there—one that made this easier, one that erased all the months of distance and silence. But there was nothing. No way to rewrite what had already happened.

“I did try,” he whispered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

You stared at him, rain dripping from your lashes. “No, you didn’t.”

Because trying wasn’t just sending a late-night hey, hope you’re doing okay text after weeks of silence. Trying wasn’t brushing off missed calls with sorry, got busy. Trying wasn’t letting you feel like you were the only one who cared enough to hold on.

Trying meant fighting for you.

And Felix hadn’t done that.

Felix had let go.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I thought you didn’t need me anymore.”

That made something in you snap. “Are you serious?”

Felix blinked, startled by the edge in your voice.

“I needed you, Felix,” you said, each word trembling with the weight of everything you had never said. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

His face twisted in something close to regret. “I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t ask.” The rain filled the silence that followed, a steady, relentless downpour.

Felix’s gaze fell to the ground, his shoulders slumping under the weight of it all.

���I miss you,” he admitted, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

God. You had waited so long to hear those words. Had imagined them in so many different ways, in so many different scenarios where things still had a chance to be fixed.

But now?Now, it was too late.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes stinging. “I miss you too.” Felix looked up at you, something raw and desperate flickering across his face. “Then—”

“We can’t go back.”

It hurt to say it. Hurt even more to watch the way Felix’s entire expression shattered.

But it was the truth.

Because even if you missed him, even if you would always care, you couldn’t keep breaking your own heart waiting for him to choose you first.

Felix sucked in a breath like he was going to argue, like he was going to find some way to fix this—but then he stopped.

He saw it in your eyes.

This was the end.

Felix nodded once, barely perceptible. His lips parted, but whatever he was about to say died before it could reach you.

And then—just like that—he turned and walked away.

You watched him go, rain soaking through your clothes, through your skin, through the hollow spaces he had left behind.

You had spent so long being afraid of losing him.

You never realized he was already gone.

Even as Felix disappeared into the rain, you stood there.

Frozen.

Drenched.

Ruined.

The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, stretching toward the place where he had just been. Like even the world itself was reaching for him. Like even the universe didn’t want to let him go.

But you couldn’t chase him.

Not this time.

You sucked in a deep breath, but it didn’t feel like enough. The air was thick with something heavy—regret, grief, the ghosts of every moment that led to this. It settled in your lungs, made it impossible to breathe.

You wiped a hand over your face, but it was pointless. Your tears mixed with the rain, indistinguishable from one another. Maybe that was a mercy. Maybe if you stayed out here long enough, you could convince yourself that you weren’t falling apart, that the cold biting at your skin wasn’t loneliness, that the ache in your chest wasn’t the shape of him.

But it was.

It had always been him.

And now, for the first time, you had to figure out who you were without him.

You forced yourself to move, every step heavier than the last. By the time you made it inside your apartment, your limbs felt like lead. The door clicked shut behind you, but the silence was unbearable. Suffocating.

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

For one stupid, hopeful second, you thought it might be him. That maybe, just maybe, Felix would still fight for you, even after everything.

But it wasn’t.

It was Jisung.

Jisung (11:47 PM): You okay?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but what were you supposed to say? No? I just lost the most important person in my life? I don’t know how to be okay without him?

Instead, you typed out the safest lie you could manage.

Y/n (11:48 PM): Yeah. Just tired.

You stared at the message, then shut off your phone before Jisung could respond.

Because if you saw another text asking if you were okay, you might actually break.

You moved on autopilot, peeling off your soaked clothes, dragging yourself into the shower. The hot water burned against your skin, but you barely felt it. Your hands pressed against the tiles, head hanging low, eyes squeezed shut.

You had done the right thing.

Hadn’t you? Your breath shuddered out of you.

If it was the right thing, then why did it hurt so much?

The water kept running, steam curling around you, but it didn’t wash anything away. The ache sat deep in your bones, untouched, unmovable.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, forehead pressed against the tiles, listening to the steady rhythm of the water hitting the floor. Long enough for your fingers to wrinkle. Long enough for your mind to spiral back to every memory you had tried to bury.

Felix laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners, head tipped back like he had never known a bad day in his life.

Felix waiting for you after class, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

Felix on your bedroom floor at two in the morning, telling you about his dreams like they were something tangible, something he could hold in the palm of his hands.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Always him.

And now, never again.

You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to move. The shower was supposed to help, supposed to make you feel lighter, but when you stepped out, you only felt emptier.

You went through the motions.

Towel. Clothes. Lights off. Bed.

But sleep didn’t come.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, rain still tapping against the window like it refused to let you forget what had just happened. Like it wanted to remind you that Felix had stood in front of you, close enough to touch, and you had let him walk away.

Your phone buzzed again.

You didn’t check it.

Couldn’t.

Because if it wasn’t him, then that meant he had really let you go.

And if it was him—if he had reached out, if he had found the words that had been missing tonight—then you didn’t trust yourself not to answer.

Didn’t trust yourself not to fall apart all over again. So you turned your phone face-down and let the silence swallow you whole.

The next morning, you woke up feeling like you had spent the entire night drowning.

Your head ached. Your body was heavy. The space beside you in bed felt too cold, even though Felix had never been there, even though it wasn’t his place to fill.

Jisung was waiting for you at the café, two cups of coffee already sitting on the table.

He took one look at you and sighed. “Yeah, that bad, huh?” You sank into the chair across from him, rubbing at your temples. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jisung snorted. “That’s cute. You think I’m giving you a choice.”

You shot him a glare. “Jisung.”

“You,” he shot back, mimicking your tone. Then he leaned forward, expression softer. “Just tell me, did you at least say what you needed to say?”

You hesitated.

Because what did that even mean?

Had you told Felix how much he had hurt you? Yes.

Had you told him you still loved him, even now? No.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the coffee cup. “I said enough.”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, then sighed. “Okay.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t tell you that “enough” wasn’t the same thing as closure.

And maybe that was why you had always loved Jisung in a different way. Because he understood when to fill the silence, and when to just let it sit between you.

But you also knew him too well to miss the way his eyes flickered with hesitation before he spoke again.

“So,” he said, dragging out the word. “You didn’t check your phone this morning, did you?”

Your stomach twisted. “Why?”

Jisung winced, like he already knew how this was going to go. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the table.

You stared at the screen.

At the text from Felix.

At the words that made your entire world tilt.

Felix (3:12 AM): I’m sorry. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve fought harder.

Your breath caught. Jisung shifted, watching you carefully. “So… what are you gonna do?”

You didn’t know.

Because Felix was too late. But you weren’t sure if your still even heart cared.

[strangevynl]

NOTICE | k.sm x reader

nerdyboycrush!seungmin x bsf!reader

warnings: eating disorders | anorexia | angst | one sided love.

—————

Seungmin was the epitome of "cool," though not in the traditional sense. He wasn't the jock, nor the rebellious bad boy, but there was something magnetic about him. With his glasses perched perfectly on his nose, messy but somehow deliberate hair, and sharp wit, Seungmin had the rare ability to be both the smartest kid in class and the one everyone wanted to be around. It didn’t hurt that his quiet demeanor gave him an air of mystery that only added to his allure.

Everyone knew Seungmin, and, naturally, everyone had a crush on him. Girls from every corner of the school would flock to him, hoping for his attention. Some flirted, others tried to offer help with his studies, but Seungmin’s eyes—those expressive brown eyes—always seemed to drift toward someone else.

And that someone else was “you.”

You had been best friends with Seungmin since middle school, and somehow, over the years, your friendship had deepened. He was the person you could laugh with, vent to, or simply sit in comfortable silence with. Yet, no matter how long you had known him, no matter how often you walked beside him between classes, he never seemed to see you the way everyone else did. He saw you as his best friend. His "just friend."

Meanwhile, every girl in school—whether it was the popular cheerleader, the shy new transfer student, or the class president—would make it a point to talk to Seungmin. They’d ask him questions about assignments, casually compliment him, or simply drop by his locker to chat. You couldn’t help but notice how his face would light up when they spoke to him. He was always so kind to them, so patient, so *interested.* And no matter how much you told yourself you were happy just being his friend, it stung every single time.

One day, as the two of you sat under the big oak tree in the school courtyard during lunch, a girl from your class—Hannah, who was known for having a sharp eye for cute boys—walked up to Seungmin. She had a flirty smile on her face and, without skipping a beat, leaned over to say something that made Seungmin laugh.

You sat there, pretending not to notice the slight tightening in your chest. You focused on your half-eaten sandwich, not wanting to give away how affected you were. But as you took a bite, you couldn’t help but glance up at Seungmin.

And, of course, his eyes were on her. He was looking at Hannah like she was the only person in the world, his smile widening as she said something else. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his expression, his interest in her so obvious it made your heart ache. For a brief second, his eyes flickered to you, but it was just a glance, a fleeting moment before his attention returned to Hannah.

You looked down at your hands, willing the heat that had rushed to your cheeks to subside. “It’s fine,”you told yourself. “You’re his best friend, and that's enough.”

But deep down, it wasn’t enough.

🎐…..

A week later, you were walking to your next class when you bumped into him in the hallway. Seungmin’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly adjusted his backpack strap, offering you a sheepish smile.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there,” he said, his voice warm and familiar, just like it always was.

You managed a tight smile, trying to act like you weren’t just thinking about his constant attention toward other girls. “Hey,” you replied, glancing up at him.

“Hey, are you alright? You look a little… distracted,” he said, his brow furrowing in concern. You could tell he was genuine, but you also knew he didn’t understand what you were feeling. He never did.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, shaking it off. “Just… thinking about stuff. You know how it is.”

Seungmin nodded, oblivious to the weight of the unspoken words between you. "Right, right. So, I was wondering if you wanted to study together later? I’m trying to get ahead in physics. I know you’re like, the best at it.”

You hesitated. The offer made your chest swell with warmth because, for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just his "friend"—you were something more. “But am I?”you thought, shaking the doubt out of your head.

"Yeah, that sounds good," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions in your chest. "I’ll meet you at your place after school.

As Seungmin gave you one of his genuine, effortless smiles, you tried to ignore the ache inside. You were his best friend, and you’d always be there for him. But sometimes, just sometimes, you wished that the way he looked at you could be the same way he looked at everyone else.

The study session later that day was almost painfully normal. You sat next to Seungmin at his desk, working through problems in physics like you always did. But this time, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his eyes lit up whenever another girl walked into the room. His smile was easy, effortless. His attention was easy to earn, if you were a little more than just a friend.

By the end of the session, as you packed up your things, you felt a knot in your stomach. Seungmin didn’t notice, of course. He never did. He was too busy asking if you wanted to grab a snack or if you were free for a movie on the weekend.

But as he smiled at you, a little too wide this time, a quiet voice whispered in your heart: “Maybe this time, he’ll see you differently. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he will.”

But until then, you’d be right by his side, even if he couldn’t see the feelings you kept hidden behind the smile.

🎐….

Days turned into weeks, and your growing distance from Seungmin became more apparent, even to you. You didn’t spend as much time with him after school, no more study sessions or spontaneous trips to the convenience store. He tried to reach out a few times, but you brushed him off with excuses. “I’m tired,” you’d say. “I have a lot of homework.” It wasn’t like you were lying; it was just that the homework had become the perfect excuse to hide from him, to hide from everything.

You felt safer alone in your room, away from the world that reminded you of everything you weren’t.

The weight loss continued, and soon your clothes hung loosely from your frame, the reflection in the mirror becoming harder and harder to recognize. Your ribs were more pronounced now, your arms thinner, your face sharper. For a fleeting moment, you thought you might actually be happy with the changes. Maybe if you could just get thinner, *prettier,* then maybe—just maybe—someone like Seungmin would finally look at you the way you’d always hoped.

But deep down, you knew the truth. It wasn’t just about your body it was about the part of you that had been slowly fading away, trying to fit into a mold you were never meant to. You’d been chasing something you’d never get, and each pound you lost felt like a part of your soul slipping away with it.

🎐….

One afternoon, while sitting alone at lunch in the library, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart sank when you looked up and saw Seungmin standing there, his gaze soft but filled with something you couldn’t quite place. You hadn’t seen him in a while, and he seemed different somehow—distant, like he wasn’t sure how to approach you anymore.

“Hey,” he said, his voice tentative. “Mind if I sit with you?”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to smile. “Of course.” It was a hollow gesture, though, and you both knew it.

Seungmin slid into the seat across from you, setting his lunch tray down with a small clink. He didn’t start eating right away. Instead, he just looked at you, his eyes tracing your face in a way that made you uncomfortable.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his tone neutral, but there was a tightness around his jaw. “I know I haven’t been the best at… well, understanding, but I thought we were still friends. I thought we could talk about anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The words that had been boiling inside you for weeks were stuck in your throat, the anger and hurt mixing with a deep sadness you didn’t know how to explain. You wanted to shout at him, tell him how much his rejection had destroyed you, how much it still hurt every time he laughed with another girl, how much you wished you could just be someone he could care for the way you cared for him.

But instead, you just stared at him, your fingers fidgeting with the corner of your book.

“I’m fine, Seungmin,” you said, repeating the lie you’d been telling yourself for months. “I’ve just been… busy.”

He frowned, leaning in slightly. “I don’t believe you,” he said softly. “You’re not fine. I can tell.”

You could feel the heat rise in your face, a mixture of guilt and frustration. You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to mind his own business. But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said quickly, the words rushed, almost pleading.

Seungmin looked at you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. You could see the concern in them, but you couldn’t bear to face it. The last thing you wanted was for him to pity you.

“I’m worried about you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve changed. And I don’t think it’s just because of school.”

You froze. There was no way he could know. He couldn’t know the lengths you’d gone to in order to change yourself, to try and fit into some version of “perfect”that you knew wasn’t even real.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, this time your voice firmer, even though your heart was breaking. “Just leave it alone, Seungmin. Please.”

His expression softened, but there was still a flicker of something behind his eyes—something that you couldn’t decipher. “I’m not going to leave it alone,” he said, his voice more determined now. “I’m your friend. And I’m here, okay? Whether you want to talk about it or not.”

For a second, you almost wanted to tell him everything—how you’d felt so invisible for so long, how his rejection had torn you apart, how you’d convinced yourself that losing weight, changing who you were, would somehow make him see you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to show him the broken pieces of you that you were desperately trying to hide.

Instead, you just looked away, trying to keep the tears that threatened to spill under control.

“I don’t need your help,” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Seungmin’s eyes widened slightly, as if your words had stung more than you realized. “You don’t need my help?” he repeated, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t need anyone?”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your shaking hands. “No. I don’t. I’m fine.”

There was a long silence. Seungmin seemed to search your face, as if waiting for you to say something more, to open up to him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “But just know, I’m here. Whenever you want to talk.”

And with that, he stood up, his tray untouched, and walked away. You watched him go, your chest tight with a mixture of relief and guilt.

But as the door to the library closed behind him, a cold, heavy emptiness settled over you. For a moment, you thought about calling out to him, about telling him everything. But you couldn’t. The distance between you had grown too wide. You’d built up too many walls.

And no matter how much you wanted him to see you, to see the real you, you couldn’t tear down the ones you’d put up, not now.

---

The weeks dragged on. Your weight continued to drop, and while you were more withdrawn, you started to notice people around you especially Seungmin looking at you differently. Some of the girls who used to talk to him started whispering, glancing at you with something that resembled envy.

But you didn’t care about them. You didn’t care about anyone except Seungmin. You had spent so long wishing to be someone who could be noticed, someone who was worthy of his attention. But even now, when you had finally become someone different, it still wasn’t enough.

And deep down, you knew something even more painful than that: He might never look at you the way you wanted him to. But the hardest part was realizing that you might never look at yourself the way you wanted to either.

——

That night, you found yourself sitting at a study table, surrounded by half-open notebooks and the faint buzz of other students working in the background. But your mind wasn’t on the textbooks in front of you. It was on him—Seungmin.

Yes, you were back at his place after he requested you to study with him. you can never seem to restrain yourself when he asks you for something it was always one of his charms, his round boba eyes looking at you pleading beside the lockers for you to study for the exam with which ended up with the both of you here. Studying like the old times

You had tried so hard to push those feelings away, bury them deep, pretend you were fine, but every time you saw him—every time he smiled at you or talked to you like nothing had changed—it became harder to ignore. It wasn’t the rejection that had hurt the most. It was the fact that it felt like he only saw you as his best friend. Just a friend.

You stared down at your notebook, the words blurring together, your hand shaking slightly as you tried to focus on your notes. You couldn't anymore.

The words bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of you, and before you could stop them, you turned to Seungmin, who was sitting across from you, tapping away on his phone. His usual easygoing expression was there, but tonight, you could barely look at him without feeling the weight of everything you had been holding back.

"Seungmin…" Your voice trembled, and you hated how fragile it sounded. He looked up, sensing the change in tone, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Yeah?" His eyes softened, and in that moment, he looked so oblivious to the storm swirling inside you.

You couldn’t do it anymore. "You have no idea, do you? How much this… all of this has affected me."

He blinked, clearly confused. "What are you talking about?"

You inhaled sharply, your chest tightening as frustration and pain flooded through you. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care about holding it in or pretending you were fine. "When you rejected me, Seungmin… it crushed me. You said you liked me, but not that way, and it’s like you’ve been treating me like nothing changed, but everything changed! I didn’t just get over it! I couldnt”

Seungmin’s face went still, and for the first time, you saw something flicker in his eyes—something like guilt. But it was too late for that. You had to keep going, or you’d never find the closure you needed.

"I lost so much weight after that. You know that, right? I thought if I changed how I looked, maybe I’d be good enough for you. Maybe you’d see me differently. But no matter what I did, it didn’t matter, because you’ll always just see me as your friend! I was so stupid to think you could feel the same way about me. I was just a friend, and that’s it. I wasn’t even enough to make you see me as “more."

You felt the words hit the air like a slap, the raw emotion in your voice a stark contrast to how carefully you’d kept it buried for so long. The room felt heavy, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you’d said too much.

Seungmin was quiet. Too quiet. You dared a glance at him, only to see his face twisted in an expression that was too hard to read.

"You…" His voice cracked, and he looked down at his hands, his fingers pressing into the paper on the desk. "I didn’t know… you really felt that way. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, you know that, right?"

Your heart hurt hearing him apologize, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too late. “I know you didn’t mean to,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But you still did. And it changed everything.”

The silence stretched between you two, thick with all the unsaid things. You watched Seungmin, who was struggling with his words, looking at you like he didn’t know how to fix this, because maybe, in some twisted way, he couldn’t.

"I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t enough," he said quietly, his voice sincere, but it still felt distant. "I… I just never saw you the way you wanted me to. I see you as my best friend. That’s all I can see."

Those words—those exact words—were the ones you had dreaded hearing from the moment you’d confessed. You had known it all along, deep down, but hearing it from his lips, right in front of you, was still a punch to the gut.

"Yeah," you whispered, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. "I know."

The realization hit you hard. He would never look at you the way you wanted him to. No matter how much you changed, no matter how hard you tried, he would always just see you as his friend. And somewhere inside, you knew that was the part you had to let go of.

Seungmin looked like he wanted to say more, but you couldn’t let him. You had already said everything you needed to say. And as painful as it was, you felt like a weight had been lifted—finally, the truth was out.

Without another word, you stood up from the table, your hands shaking as you gathered your things. Seungmin called your name as you walked away, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

It was time to stop pretending. Time to stop chasing someone who would never see you the way you wanted to be seen. Time to start moving on, even if it meant leaving a piece of your heart behind.

🏷️: none yet!

[strangevynl]

for "스트레이 키즈‘ 🪷

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ that strangevnyl’s masterlist

⊹₊ ˚‧Chan Bhang 🪷

- coming soon

⊹₊ ˚‧Minho Lee 🪷

- “I used to love autumn” (angst)

⊹₊ ˚‧Changbin Seo 🪷

- coming soon

⊹₊ ˚‧Hyunjin Hwang 🪷

- “Our Last Frame Together”pt1 (angst,smut)

⊹₊ ˚‧Jisung Han 🪷

- coming soon

⊹₊ ˚‧Felix Lee 🪷

- coming soon

⊹₊ ˚‧Seungmin Kim 🪷

- slipping through the cracks (angst)

⊹₊ ˚‧Jeongin Yang 🪷

- coming soon

©️strangevynl

[strangevynl]

slipping through the cracks | k.sm x afab!reader. angst

Authors note: was bored so I asked ChatGPT for a prompt to write so here :)

Seungmin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft hum of the air conditioning his only company. The hours had drifted by as he stared at the clock on the wall, each tick a cruel reminder of the time slipping away. His heart ached with a heaviness he couldn’t quite explain, a sensation that had become all too familiar in recent weeks.

His phone buzzed softly on the table beside him, but he ignored it, unable to muster the energy to check the messages. They were from her—always from her. He had been avoiding her calls, avoiding her messages, because he didn’t know how to face her after everything.

The relationship had started out with such promise, their connection seemingly effortless. But as the months went by, cracks had begun to show. Seungmin had been consumed by his responsibilities, his career, and the pressure of living up to expectations. She had been patient, understanding, always supporting him even when it seemed he was drifting further away.

But one evening, as they sat together in their favorite café, the conversation had turned into a confrontation. She had tried to voice her feelings, her frustration at the way he had been shutting her out. Seungmin, overwhelmed and defensive, had reacted poorly, his words sharper than he intended. The argument ended with her walking out, leaving behind an air of unspoken goodbyes.

The days following the argument were a blur. He had wanted to reach out, to apologize, but something held him back. His pride? His fear of admitting he was wrong? Perhaps it was both. And now, the thought of facing her after everything was unbearable. He knew the damage had been done, that the hurt was deep, but he wasn’t sure if it was too late to fix it.

A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. His heart raced, a mix of hope and dread. He opened the door to find her standing there, looking tired but resolute. Her eyes met his, a silent storm of emotions passing between them.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “I needed to talk.”

Seungmin nodded, stepping aside to let her in. They sat across from each other, the silence heavy between them. He could see the hurt in her eyes, and it cut through him like a knife.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice breaking. “I didn’t know how to handle everything. I thought I could keep going without acknowledging how much I was hurting you.”

She looked down, her fingers twisting nervously. “I understand you have your responsibilities, Seungmin. But when you shut me out, it felt like you were choosing everything else over me. Over us.”

He reached out, gently touching her hand. “I never meant to make you feel that way. I was scared, and I let my fear control my actions. I should have been honest with you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she met his gaze. “I needed you to be there for me, just like I’ve always tried to be there for you. I’m not sure if we can go back to how things were, but I needed you to know how much you hurt me.”

Seungmin’s heart ached with the weight of her words. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, give me a chance.”

She took a deep breath, her tears falling freely now. “I need time to think. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I hope we can find a way to heal from this.”

As she turned to leave, Seungmin felt a pang of desperation. “I’ll wait for you,” he said quietly. “No matter how long it takes.”

The door closed behind her, and Seungmin sat alone once more, the silence in the room now filled with the promise of change and the hope of redemption. He knew the road ahead would be difficult, but he was ready to face it, determined to rebuild what had been broken and to fight for the love that still lingered in his heart.

Days turned into weeks, and the silence between Seungmin and her became a constant, aching presence in his life. Each day he struggled to balance his responsibilities and the lingering sense of loss. The guilt weighed heavily on him, a reminder of the words left unspoken and the hurt he had caused.

Seungmin threw himself into his work, hoping that by immersing himself in his career, he could drown out the pain. But no matter how busy he was, the thoughts of her lingered, each memory a sharp reminder of the love he had nearly lost.

One evening, as he was walking home from the studio, Seungmin spotted her sitting alone on a park bench. The sight of her took him by surprise, and his heart skipped a beat. She looked up as he approached, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve.

“Seungmin” she said, her voice steady but soft.

He took a seat beside her, the familiar warmth of her presence both comforting and painful. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said quietly.

She nodded, looking out at the darkening sky. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About us. About everything that happened.”

Seungmin’s heart pounded in his chest. “And?”

She took a deep breath, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I’ve realized that I can’t keep holding onto the hurt. It’s consuming me, and it’s not fair to either of us. I need to forgive you, not just for your sake, but for my own.”

Seungmin felt a wave of relief mixed with trepidation. “I’ve been trying to find the right way to make amends. I know I can’t undo the past, but I want to show you that I’m willing to change.”

She turned to him, her eyes searching his face. “It’s not just about changing, Seungmin. It’s about understanding. I need to know that you’re willing to prioritize us, not just when it’s convenient but when it’s hard too.”

He nodded earnestly. “I understand. I’ve been selfish, and I see now that love is more than just words. It’s about actions, and I’m ready to show you through mine.”

A faint smile appeared on her lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “I’m not sure what the future holds for us, but I do want to try. I want to see if we can find a way back to each other, but it’s going to take time.”

Seungmin reached out, gently taking her hand in his. “I’m willing to wait. I’ll be here, doing everything I can to earn back your trust and show you that I value what we have.”

They sat in silence, the cool breeze carrying the sounds of the city around them. For the first time in weeks, Seungmin felt a glimmer of hope. It was the beginning of a new chapter, one where healing and understanding would be the foundation.

As they stood to leave, Seungmin glanced at her with a newfound determination. “Thank you for giving us a chance,” he said softly.

She nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go. “Let’s take it one day at a time.”

As they walked away from the park, side by side but not yet entirely together, Seungmin felt a cautious optimism. The road ahead was uncertain, but he was ready to navigate it, step by step, with the hope of rekindling the love they once shared.

©️strangevynl

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[strangevynl]

“I used to love autumn…”

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ bf!minho x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ | affairs | mentions of break ups | mentions of cheating.| wc :･ 1.2k

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The chill of autumn air wrapped around Minho as he stood at the window, watching the golden leaves fall from the trees. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of disconnection as he observed the world outside, each leaf spiraling down like a piece of his conscience. The vibrant colors of the season felt muted to him, overshadowed by a heaviness in his heart.

Inside your small apartment, You moved about with a quiet determination. You were busy preparing dinner, you focus on the task at hand as you chopped vegetables and stirred the simmering pot on the stove. The scent of roasted garlic filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension hanging between them. Each day, you poured your heart into both of your lives together, but Minho remained distant, locked away in his thoughts.

“Hey, I made your favorite,” You said, glancing over your shoulder with a warm smile. You set the steaming pot on the table and placed two bowls down, hoping for some semblance of connection. But when Minho turned, his eyes were hollow, devoid of the spark that once ignited between them.

“Thanks,” he replied, his voice flat as he sat down, barely making eye contact. You felt a pang in your chest but tried to push it away. You knew he was stressed at work you saw it in the way he held himself, the way his brow furrowed with worry. Still, it hurt to see him so unresponsive to your efforts.

As the both of you ate in silence, You tried to talk to him. “How was your day? Did you finish that project you were working on?” You searched his face for some indication of warmth, but he only shrugged, shoveling food into his mouth, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Yeah. It’s fine.” He stared at his bowl, lost in thought. Your heart sank. You fought against the insecurities creeping into your mind. He was always busy, always tired, but you believed in your love. You believed that with time and patience, they could weather any storm. Yet, each passing day felt like a drop of water on a rock, slowly eroding your confidence. The more you gave, the more distant he became.

Later that night, You noticed the notifications on Minhos phone buzzing incessantly. Curiosity prickled at you ,but you brushed it aside. You trusted him. More than anyone in this world, But as You watched him pick up the phone and smile, your stomach twisted. It was a smile you hadn’t seen in a while, and it was directed at someone else.

The following days passed in a blur. You packed lunch for Minho every morning his favorite sandwiches, fruit, and cute little notes with cat scribbles that he always loved. Well… that he used to love. your notes would always hold encouraging words to start his day. “You’ve got this! I believe in you!” You hoped your small gestures would bring him closer, but he never mentioned them. Each note felt like it was sent into a void, your voice echoing back without a reply.

At work, You faced your own challenges. The project you had been leading was demanding, and the long hours began to wear you down. You poured your heart into your job, focusing on deadlines and meetings, trying to distract yourself from the growing chasm in your relationship with Minho. Yet, your thoughts often drifted back to Minho and the nagging feeling of inadequacy that followed you like a shadow.

One rainy afternoon, as you headed to your car, you spotted Minho through the glass doors of a nearby café. Your heart raced. He was laughing, leaning close to a woman with long dark hair. Its was Eunbi, the new hire at his office. You felt your heart drop as you watched them share a moment from afar , their chemistry palpable. They looked so comfortable together, and the laughter that filled the air was a stark contrast to the silence that had become their norm.

-

The chill of an autumn evening seeped through the open window of the shared apartment, rustling the amber leaves outside. You stood in the living room, surrounded by boxes and half-empty suitcases, your heart heavy with the weight of your secret. You had known for a while that something was off with Minho his late nights at work, the texts he kept hidden, the way he avoided your gaze when you asked about his day. But the truth had hit you like a slap in the face what you had seen that time and those photos he’d post on his close friends it started with the ones that showed him laughing with another girl lips red and swollen, an unmistakable hickey peeking from under her hair.

-

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of purple and orange, you paced nervously in your shared bedroom, rehearsing what to say. The familiar sounds of your home felt foreign now, like echoes from a past life. The clock ticked on the wall, its sound amplifying the growing anxiety in your chest.

At last, the door creaked open. You held your breath, your heart racing as you turned to face Minho. He walked in, laughter spilling from his lips, but it quickly faded when he saw you standing there, arms crossed.

“Minho is there something going on with you and Eunbi ?” You asked, your voice trembling with vulnerability. Minhos expression turned cold, and for a moment, you thought you saw regret flicker in his eyes. But it quickly vanished. “What are you talking about?” he snapped, the defensiveness rising in him.

You stepped back, hurt flooding through you. “I don’t know, Minho! You’ve been so distant, and I can’t help but feel like you’re hiding something from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” He raised his voice, frustration spilling over. “You’re just busy with work. I don’t have time to deal with this right now.”

The words stung, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lying. “I’m trying to be a good girlfriend, Minho . I care about you!” Your voice broke as tears threatened to spill. “But it feels like I’m losing you.”

Minho looked away, his jaw clenched, and for a moment, You thought he might say something to reassure you. But instead, he turned his back and walked away, leaving you standing there in the gathering darkness, feeling more alone than ever.

That night, you lay awake, the autumn wind rustling through the trees outside. You stared at the ceiling, wondering how you could fight for a love that felt so one-sided. The weight of your relationship pressed down on you , suffocating and heavy.

As the leaves continued to fall outside, You made a decision.

You would not lose yourself to the shadows of his fault. It was painful, but sometimes letting go was the only way to find yourself again. And as the first frost began to blanket the ground, You resolved to embrace the change, no matter how difficult it might be. Sometimes, the hardest part of love was knowing when to walk away, even as the autumn leaves danced around your feet.

©️strangevynl

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