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honeyscara · 1 month ago

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Chapter 3

Sieun tutor masterlist| whc masterlist

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Your name was called. A rustle of paper, then the crisp weight of your test sheet landing on your desk.

A neat red "91" circled at the top.

“Great job,” your teacher said, offering you a rare smile. “That’s the highest score in class this time.”

Your cheeks flushed, warmth rushing up like an unexpected tide. A few heads turned. You ducked yours quickly, mouthing a quiet “thank you” before walking back to your seat, test held like something fragile between your fingers.

Sliding into your chair, you stared down at the paper. The red marks. The clean underlines. The absence of careless mistakes. And for a moment, a thought bubbled up, soft and uninvited:

Would Sieun smile if he saw this?

You blinked, then laughed quietly under your breath.

He probably wouldn’t smile—not visibly anyway. But maybe the corners of his mouth would twitch. Maybe he'd give that tiny nod he did when something quietly impressed him. Maybe he��d say it was "alright," in that offhand tone of his that somehow made it feel like a compliment.

Your friend leaned over from the next row, eyes curious.

“Hey,” she whispered, “Is he really that good? Sieun, right?”

You tilted your head, pretending to reread a question on the test before answering.

“He’s… not bad,” you said with a small shrug, twirling your pen. “I guess I started getting along with him more than I expected to.”

You paused, eyes drifting to the window where sunlight glinted off the trees outside.

“He’s still distant sometimes,” you added, quieter. “But it’s not in a mean way. Just… how he is.”

And somehow, that was okay.Because lately, even his silences had started to feel more comfortable.

Before your friend could ask anything else, a voice cut in from behind.

“Wait… did you say Sieun?”

You turned. It was taeho, a boy from the back row who never seemed to care about anything unless it involved gossip or a convenient moment to show off. He leaned forward now, elbows propped on the back of your chair, eyes gleaming with that mix of curiosity and thrill people got when they were about to stir something up.

You blinked. “…Yeah?”

Taeho grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You seriously don’t know? I thought everyone did by now.”

Your brows knit, unsure whether to brace or brush it off. “Know what?”

He looked too pleased with himself. “About why he transferred.”

That made you pause.

You’d never asked. It felt like crossing a line. Whatever reason Sieun had for being in eunjang instead of somewhere else wasn’t yours to drag into the light.

Still—your voice came out steadier than you expected. “He just said it was complicated.”

Taeho let out a short laugh, like that was a punchline. “Complicated, huh. Yeah, guess that’s one way to put it.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like this was something sacred and sordid.

“Word is—he got kicked out. From his old school. For putting someone in a coma.”

The words hit harder than you thought they would, like icy water poured straight down your spine.

You stared at him. “What?”

“Got into some fight,” Taeho went on, like it was just another class rumor to pass time with. “Real ugly. No one knows exactly what started it, but I heard the other guy was messed up bad”

Your mouth was dry. Your grip on the test paper had tightened without you realizing.

“That doesn’t sound like him,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” Taeho said, already starting to lean back, shrugging. “But why do you think a smart guy like him would go to eunjang? Because that's the only school that would take him ”

He was gone after that, the conversation already old news to him. But it stayed with you.Your friend said something probably meant to be reassuring but it barely registered.

You sat there, the sounds of the classroom fading into static as your mind replayed everything you’d seen, those scars that day when he came late or how he always brushed you off when you asked about his friends in the café.

You barely noticed the cold air biting at your cheeks as you hurried inside your house. The door shut with a soft thud behind you, but Taeho’s words echoed louder than any noise outside. Fight… coma… Your chest felt tight, like a fist squeezing your ribs, twisting everything inside.

You dropped your bag by the door, the familiar hum of the house offering little comfort. The warm scent of your mom’s cooking drifted in from the kitchen, but even that couldn’t settle the uneasy knot growing in your stomach.

You found her chopping vegetables, the rhythm of her knife hitting the board steady and calm—too calm for the storm swirling inside you.

“Mom…” Your voice was hesitant, almost a whisper. You weren’t sure how to even ask. “Did… did Sieun really get into a fight? Taeho said someone ended up in the hospital.”

She froze, the knife pausing mid-air. For a moment, the room felt too quiet, like the walls were holding their breath. Her eyes flicked away, a shadow passing over her face—something like worry, or regret.

“I don’t know everything,” she said finally, voice low, careful. “Sieun’s mom… she doesn’t say much. Neither does Sieun.” Her hands trembled slightly as she set the knife down and wiped her palms on a dish towel. “But yes, there was a fight. A bad one.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding loud in your ears. “Someone got hurt?”

“She wasn’t specific,” your mom said, her eyes distant. “But from what I heard… his friend Suho ended up in the hospital. It was serious.” Her breath hitched, like the memory was painful. “Sieun… he didn’t talk about it much either.”

You looked down at your hands, feeling the sudden weight of all the rumors, the silence, the pieces that didn’t fit together. You thought you knew him. Or maybe you wanted to.

“He’s a good kid, Y/N,” your mom said softly, coming closer now, her voice full of something like fierce protection. “He’s smart, kind… but sometimes good people get caught up in the wrong things. The wrong people. It’s hard to fight when you’re trying to just survive.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy but warm. And for the first time, you saw Sieun—not just the robot-like tutor or the boy your mom praised—but someone more complicated. Someone maybe hurting beneath that cold, perfect surface.

The next day passed in a blur of half-listened lectures and restless scribbles in your notebook. Your thoughts kept circling back to the conversation from the day before—Taeho’s words, your mom’s hesitant confirmation, and the strange, growing ache in your chest that no amount of logic could quite explain.

You tried telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. That everyone had a past. That maybe Sieun had a reason for never bringing it up. But no matter how many times you replayed your study sessions, your café walks, those quiet moments where he almost let his guard down—you couldn’t shake the hollow feeling twisting low in your stomach.

By the time you reached his apartment building, the sky had already started bleeding into dusk—soft indigo brushing the edges of clouds, streetlights flickering to life. The stairwell up to the third floor was steep, a little worn, and carried the faint scent of old paint and laundry detergent.

You paused outside his door for a second, fingers hovering over the doorbell.

What are we, really? You pressed the button before the thought could linger.

A moment later, the door opened with a soft click. Sieun stood there in a plain black sweatshirt and loose sweatpants, hair slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it recently. His expression, as always, was unreadable—though you thought you caught the faintest flicker of surprise before he stepped back to let you in.

“You’re on time,” he said, voice calm as ever.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a small smile. “Didn’t want to make your ‘strict schedule’ cry.”

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t roll his eyes either. Just turned and led you inside.

His apartment was quiet, filled with muted tones and neat lines—minimalist furniture, soft gray walls, books stacked neatly on the coffee table. The kind of place that felt like it had been cleaned recently but not lived in. Like someone had memorized what “home” should look like without ever really settling into it.

You followed him into the living room, where the afternoon light filtered through sheer curtains, casting soft gold across the hardwood floor. He set his laptop down on the low table and sat cross-legged on the rug, gesturing silently for you to do the same. You dropped your bag beside you, settling in with a careful thud.

And still—you couldn’t stop thinking.

About the scar on his knuckle you’d never asked about.

About the way he always shut down when the topic drifted too close to his past.

About how, even now, he hadn’t said a word about it.

You sat a little stiffer than usual, notebook unopened in your lap, eyes fixed on the neat rows of textbooks lining the shelf across the room.You’d come here to study. But part of you didn’t feel like you knew who you were sitting across from anymore.

You shifted slightly on the rug, fingers tightening around the edge of your notebook. “I got an ninety- one on the math quiz.”

Sieun, without looking up from his screen, muttered a soft, “Not bad.”

It wasn’t enthusiastic, but it wasn’t dismissive either—just that same flat, almost distant tone he always used, like he was responding out of habit rather than intention. You waited a second longer, hoping maybe he’d say more. Ask how you felt about it. Maybe even offer one of his rare but surprisingly warm nods of approval.

But all he did was scroll to a page in the textbook, tapping a line of highlighted equations with the back of his pen.

“Let’s go over the equations again. You messed up one of the steps here.”

You blinked, nodded, and opened your book. Your hands moved automatically, flipping pages, uncapping a pen. But your mind wasn’t following. Not this time.

Your eyes drifted from the pages to his face—half-lit by the soft evening light filtering through the curtains. The edges of his features were sharp but tired, like they’d been carved from something too delicate and then forgotten. His mouth moved as he explained something, low and focused, but you didn’t hear a word of it.

All you could do was stare.

You stared at the way his hair fell slightly over his eyes. At the little scar near his temple you’d never asked about.At how quiet he was.

How closed off.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until he stopped mid-sentence, glancing up with a flicker of something uncertain in his expression.

“What?”

You blinked, caught. But instead of looking away, you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Do you… have anything you want to tell me?”

His brows lifted slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” You looked down, swallowed hard, then back at him. “Just anything. Something about you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched yours for a moment, careful, unreadable.

“I don’t have anything to say,” he said quietly.

It felt like a slap. Not because of what he said, but how easily he said it. Like there was nothing waiting underneath. No secret ready to surface. No apology.

“Why don’t you ever talk about yourself?” you asked, voice quieter now. “I’ve known you for sometime. We’ve had so many sessions, and I still don’t know you.”

He didn’t respond.

You tried again, your voice trembling just a little.

“Do you even think of me as a friend?”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It wasn’t sharp. It was worse—it was empty.

And he looked at you like he didn’t know how to answer that question. Or maybe like he didn’t want to. And that hurt more than anything else.

Sieun blinked once. Then again. His gaze flickered to the open textbook between you, and for a moment, you thought he might pretend he hadn’t heard you.

But then he said, low and steady, “I don’t really… think about things like that.”

His voice was calm, distant—as if he were talking about the weather, not friendship or feelings.

You felt the ache tighten in your chest.

“I figured,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “But I still hoped maybe I was wrong.”

Then, without looking up, he closed the small distance between you and the book, flicking a page.

“Let’s just focus on this,” he said, voice even.

The weight of his words hung in the air, vague and evasive, like everything else about him.

You shifted closer, almost without realizing it, drawn by something fragile and raw beneath his usual quiet. Your fingers hesitated for a second before gently brushing the faint wound at the corner of his lips—the same one you had carefully treated a few days ago. The skin there was still tender, a soft pink against his otherwise pale complexion.

“How did you get this?” Your voice was low, tentative, almost afraid to break the fragile silence between you.

Sieun’s eyes flicked to your hand, a shadow passing over his expression. For a moment, it was like you could see past the calm mask, glimpse the subtle unrest beneath. But then his gaze slipped away, focusing somewhere behind you.

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly.

Sieun’s hand twitched where yours rested for a moment, then he pulled back like you’d touched something fragile. His eyes narrowed, sharp and cold.

“Focus on the worksheet,” he said. No warmth, no room for argument. Just a wall that was solid and unyielding.

You bit back the sting that rose in your throat. You had been trying. Really trying. Pouring every ounce of effort into this, into him, but it was like he was always a step ahead, slipping away, shutting you down before you could reach him.

“I am trying,” you said, voice firmer now, frustration threading through each word. “But you never actually pay attention. You just push me away.”

His gaze snapped back to you, dark and suddenly sharp. A flicker of something fierce flashed in his eyes—anger? Or maybe just tiredness wearing thin.

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice low and hard. “Maybe this—” he gestured around the room, the books, the forced tutoring sessions, “—maybe this isn’t working.”

You swallowed, heart hammering, then the name slipped out before you could stop it. “Did you care about suho? Or did you dismiss him like me?”

The second the word left your mouth, the tension in the room thickened. Sieun’s face tightened, his jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.

“That’s enough.” His voice was sharp now, brittle, like glass ready to shatter. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this today. just go home.”

The offer wasn’t gentle. It was a dismissal, cold and final—like you were a mistake he didn’t want to deal with anymore.

You stared at him, your chest tightening, breath catching like you’d swallowed something sharp. You opened your mouth, desperate to say something—anything—to break the thick wall settling between you. But the words caught in your throat, heavy and useless.

So instead, you stayed silent.

Slowly, deliberately, you began packing your things. The rustle of paper, the zip of your bag. It all sounded too loud in the quiet room.

Sieun watched in silence as you packed your things, the small noises—paper folding, zipper sliding—echoing louder than they should in the stillness of the room.

A sharp twist tightened in his chest. He hadn’t meant to push you away like this, but the words felt like they’d slipped out before he could stop them.He felt the weight of your gaze lingering on him, even though you didn’t look up.

For a moment, he considered saying something—an apology, maybe—but the words tangled in his throat, stubborn and silent.

Instead, he just sat there, feeling the growing emptiness where the conversation had been, and the quiet ache of a distance he hadn’t wanted to create.

When you were ready, you stood up without a word.

No “thank you.” No “see you next time.”

Just the soft click of the door closing behind you, leaving the room—and him—empty.

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#honeyscara works #whc sieun #whc x reader #whc2 spoilers #whc2 #whc #weak hero #weak hero class one #weak hero class season 2 #yeon sieun fanfic #sieun weak hero class #yeon sieun x reader #sieun x reader #weak hero angst #weak hero class angst #yeon sieun #sieun angst

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slytherinshua · 2 months ago

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☆　EYES FULL OF STARS　( 박후민 )

genre hurt/comfort , baku x fem!reader cw spoilers for weak hero class 2 (fic takes place sometime during ep 6) , injuries (cuts and bruises) , not proofread wc 800 request yes note there's no one more obsessed w ryeoun's big beautiful eyes than me i could post a gifset of baku later (i did make this gif just for the fic tho ejkfjkd) net @kstrucknet

You don’t remember much before you blacked out. Union guys threatening you, some with weapons, some just with words. Na Baekjin asked you where Baku was. You wouldn’t tell him. Maybe you should have risked his safety to protect yours. He was physically stronger, a skill fighter, and smart in these kinds of situations. He would’ve handled it, like he always did. But he was pushed between a rock and a hard place, and you just wanted to give him a break for even one day.

After he had refused to continue doing Baekjin’s little tasks, he came to stay with you. No one knew about you. At least, Baku thought no one knew about you. It wasn’t hard for the Union to track you down, figure out the connection between you two, and use you as leverage to get to Baku. Baekjin freely used your boyfriend’s friends and father, and now you.

You attended a completely different school; only saw Baku on some days of the week. You kept yourself out of the trouble the guys were facing. Baku didn’t want you to get involved in any way, and only told you the least concerning parts of what was happening. It shouldn’t have to concern you what mess Eunjang High was facing. It was his job to deal with it. He never thought Baekjin would somehow get his hands on you.

When Baku got the impudent call from Baekjin asking if he would still refuse to do what he wanted when they had you hostage, he saw red. More than a few faces left bloodstained that night. Baku left with you in his arms.

You stirred in his arms halfway back to your apartment, groaning in pain and blinking your eyes open. He walked a little slower and held you a little tighter.

“Baku… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve made sure they never got to you. It’s on me for thinking they wouldn’t find you,” he sighed, gulping down the guilt and trying to find the means to smile. For you.

“Hey… I’m okay. You got me now,” you closed your eyes again, smiling through the exhaustion and pain. Being in your boyfriend’s arms always gave you a sense of comfort. Even when you had bruises all over your body and multiple cuts. Even when you could still picture it all fresh in your mind.

Baku had the basic first aid kits in his room, along with plenty of bandages he was used to applying by himself. He made sure you were comfortable on his bed before starting to inspect where all your injuries were.

“Tell me honestly. How badly did you beat them up?” you asked, nervous for the answer. Baku knew not to cross the line, but there was no one he was more protective over than you. As soon as you got hurt, all sense went out the window. You could imagine the levels he could reach to get back at them.

“They’re all still alive,” he said carefully, flashing you a reassuring smile that did nothing to curb your worries.

“Park Humin.”

He frowned, hands pausing their unwrapping of a large bandage. “Don’t call me that.”

“Baku,” you corrected, your voice softer this time. “Violence isn’t the answer for violence.”

“It’s the only language they understand,” he said simply. “I don’t like it either. You know I’d never fight someone unnecessarily,” he reached for your hand, the gentle squeeze he gave you enough to relax your tense muscles.

“I know. I just don’t want you to get hurt too.”

He nodded, “I’ll make sure I don’t then, okay?” He smiled; the kind of big grin that you could always count on to make you feel better.

“Okay,” you smiled as well. More tentative and held back than Baku, like you knew that the situation was much more complicated than promises to not get hurt could suffice for. But you chose to let his words silence your anxiety for a while. For the current moment, you were both safe. That was all that mattered.

“Let’s get you bandaged up,” Baku got back to work, disinfecting any scrape or cut and covering them with carefully placed bandages. Each time you winced from the pain, he would kiss you gently, and by the end of it, the pain wasn’t so bad anymore.

Some people only saw your boyfriend as loud and overbearing, while others feared his physical strength. Most students at Eunjang High respected him, but rarely did they ever get to know him. Few knew the challenges he faced, and even fewer knew how caring he truly was.

But you knew him inside out, and if there was ever anyone who you would stick by for the rest of your life, Baku was just that.

k-drama taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @candewlsy,, @cosmicwintr,, @blossominghunnie,, @parkjennykim,, @seunghancore,, @emmylksblog,, @bananabubble,, @hrtsvivis,, @hursheys,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows

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08luvmailz · 2 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She heard the rumors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was careful now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.

Oh, how wrong she was.

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

Then she let out a bitter chuckle.

Right. He didn’t study much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it was just hair.

Even if it was just for a second.

Then, it started.

The bullying.

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

Not at them.

No, not at them.

At herself.

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

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

But not now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" You done spouting bullshit? "

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

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

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

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

There was a snap—sharp, sickening.

A breath caught in the girl’s throat.

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

And then—silence.

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

But she didn’t move.

Not yet, she isn't done.

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

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

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

The last girl hesitated.

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

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

But pride struck first, than being humble.

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

She exhaled.

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

“Pick them up,” she said.

No one answered, nor moved.

She exhaled with a look of annoyance.

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

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

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

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

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cigarette went in.

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

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

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

Then she let go.

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

At the door, she paused.

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

She turned to face them one last time.

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

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

A breath.

“I will kill you.”

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

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

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

But she remained composed.

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

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

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

She didn’t need to look back.

She just have to keep moving forward.

Its been a year.

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

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

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

She blinked.

Hospital

Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.

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

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

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

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

For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.

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

She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.

She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too real.

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

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

She saw the moment his heart flatlined.

The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.

"He's in cardiac arrest!"

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

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

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

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

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

She placed a hand against the glass.

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

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

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

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

Clear.

His body jolted.

She flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

No one answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

All she could do was stay. And wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But silence was the loud answer.

Soon, she would hear his voice.

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they weren’t.

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She leaned in.

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

There he was.

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

Her breathe hitched.

Him too?

And she didn't even know.

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

It hit her like a quiet betrayal.

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

She hadn’t known a damn thing.

She didn't know what happened.

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

Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.

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

Would it have changed anything?

Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman paused.

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

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

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, softer now, almost like an offering:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe... she can be here now.

Maybe this is the moment that matters.

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

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

"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"

The next day felt like a blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, his voice.

“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”

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

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

And then, the second wound.

“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”

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

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

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

“Took you a year to say that?”

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

He froze.

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

Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wasn’t yelling.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence hurts the both of them.

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

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

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

And beneath it all, she meant it.

Do you even know what you left behind?

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

Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.

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

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain.

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

So he just looked at her.

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

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

She didn’t respond—not right away.

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

So he took a step closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t cry.

She didn't want to anymore.

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

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

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

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

“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”

Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.

“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”

Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.

She looked at him, hollow-eyed.

“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.

“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”

“I’m not—” he stated.

“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”

That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”

He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.

“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.

“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.

“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”

She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.

“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.

“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.

“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”

She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.

“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”

He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.

“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”

“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”

His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.

And it killed him—

That he was the reason her eyes were wet.

That her sadness wore his name.

She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”

He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”

The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.

Two steps. Three.

She crashed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.

Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.

"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."

Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.

And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.

No more pride.

No more what ifs.

No more sleepless nights.

No more wondering.

No more pretending.

Just them.

The two of them.

And maybe Suho too.

Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.

The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."

She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.

That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.

There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.

Like it still hurt.

“You want to meet them?”

The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.

She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.

He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”

She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.

They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.

Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.

Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.

Jun-tae noticed first.

“Sieun,” he said simply.

Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”

Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”

He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.

Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.

This guy, Baku.

He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.

His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.

“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Sieun blinked.

She blinked.

The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.

Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.

Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.

But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.

“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”

Sieun groaned under his breath.

“It’s not like that.”

She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.

“We’re just close.”

Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.

“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”

She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”

“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”

Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.

No one bothered correcting him again.

The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.

She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.

“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll walk you out.”

The three looked at them, and just let them be.

They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.

Then, from behind them—

“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.

Sieun didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"

Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”

She laughed, quietly.

And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.

The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”

Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”

“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”

The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.

She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.

“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”

“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.

“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”

And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.

Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.

Then she turned.

Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.

From her pocket, she pulled something small.

Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.

A black punch ring.

Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”

And just like that, she turned.

No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.

Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.

Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.

And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.

Not joy. Not hope.

But the kind saying that he was ready.

Ready for her.

Reay to face it all.

After all, he is a hero. A weak one.

♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy @trasshy-artist @cassieeelim @myouiwp @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @rexxiiia @aple-piie @sarangs-world-02 @enhacolor

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loserlvrss · 1 month ago

Text

Newton’s Fourth Law : THE LAW OF (E)MOTION ⸝⸝ 약한영웅 class

you learned the theory of love through the boy who didn't know how .ᐟ

y. sieun & fem.reader 是 pure fluff ⛱️ skinship 1004THOU oneshot ₍^ >ヮ<^₎ back2MiSC 요구?아니 for @slytherinshua

Questions, questions, questions. Your brother would contest that you came out of the womb curious. Your first words were laced with a quizzical tone, and as you grew older: What’s for dinner? Where’s my toy? Who took the last Melona bar?

You grew more complex, and eventually your questions did too.

What’s the square root of X? Why do we dream? Where did life begin? If we’re so technologically advanced, why are there no flying cars? Do you think the HealthCare system is just a sick play in the game of capitalism? What’s really right from wrong?

Why are we alone in the universe, if the universe is presumably infinite?

Your brother swore that Shinee’s Sherlock was specifically written for your curious-ass. But you couldn’t help it, there was just so much you wanted to know. He always assumed that when your mouth opened there would just be a question mark that followed—and most of the time he was right.

“Suho!” You excitedly shouted, running into class 1-6, slamming open the door. It caused all the attention to shift to you… except one.

The boy who didn’t look, almost at the front of the class, was hunched over his desk with a pen in hand, presumably studying. You wanted to ask why until you saw he had his AirPods in, assuming that he just didn’t hear you announce your presence.

“Oh, Ahn Suho!” You sang as you skipped down the first row excitedly, until you reached the end of it, stopping at the black-haired boy who was fast asleep: Your older brother by almost one year.

You slapped the back of his head—gently, for a sister—and he flinched awake, blinking up in your direction with a confused expression.

“What the…” Suho started, laying his head back down, realizing it was only you who had hit him. “Why are you here?” He asked, eyes shutting again.

“It’s lunchtime,” You stated, one of his eyes cracking open at the fact, “And I’ll buy for you,” His other eye opened, back straightening, “If you listen to my Big Bang Theory.”

His eyes closed again suddenly, “…Big bang?” He laughed breathily, “Bang, bang, bang.”

You huffed, annoyed at this dismissal of another answer to your questions. You turned to anyone in the class, but by now they’d all heard your long-winded monologues on The Germ Theory, on Natural Selection and every other thing you’ve ever read a scientific research paper on.

They all ignored you.

Then, your eyes landed on the scary-boy who Suho told you to stay away from—after what had happened a couple days ago, that is.

But, you didn’t care. Call it his little sister being annoying or whatever you want, but why heed his warning? Wasn’t science all about discovering for yourself?

“Hey, Evolutionary Game Theory!” You plucked an AirPod from his ear, “What are you listening to?”

Murmurs broke out amongst the class, Suho finally shooting up out of his chair, like you wanted in the first place.

The boy in front of you grabbed your wrist before you had a chance to bring it towards your ear. Your eyebrow cocked curiously—now the anticipation was eating at you. What was it? Was it really that bad?

Suho started towards you, “What are you doing, yn?”

“Yeon Si-eun, right?” You hummed, “Or should I call you The Fight-or-Flight Theory?”

You trailed, questions and more questions infiltrating your mind. The gray-sweatshirt you were following only seemed to get faster each time he’d look back to see if you were still there.

Until he seemingly had enough, turning around so calmly you didn’t know if it should scare or impress you.

“Finally,” You tried to lighten the tension, “I don’t know if I should call you the Law of Inertia or something else. I debated on it, but I think it suits you: An object will remain at rest or continue moving at a constant velocity unless acted upon by an external fo—”

He interrupted you, “Stop calling me useless theories, yn.” and you couldn’t tell what you saw written within the fine-lines of his downturned features, but nothing about it was something you were used to. “Just… stop.”

Your eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle, “There’s nothing useless about you, Si-eun.”

You traced the side of his face, eventually making your way down the bridge of his nose. You swear you could feel his breath hitch against your lips, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re like The Triangular Theory of Love,” You commented, continuing to run your finger over his bottom lip.

And, he just let you.

Si-eun’s only ever let you get as close as you were to him. Inches apart, damn-near centimeters in reality.

He had his hand on your waist, drawing circles where your shirt had ridden up against your skin, but you had to overlook the goosebumps and continue your explanation, “Love is a complex emotion made up of three components, according to Robert Sternberg: Intimacy, passion and commitment.”

You were like a peninsula, a sanctuary for him to let his guard down. You were everything bright and colorful in the contrasting world; Everything good.

When you first met, he wasn’t actually listening to anything—he heard you burst through the door in search of your brother—but now you’re all he ever wanted to hear in this deafening Hell everyone called life.

You shifted closer, moving your arm to rest over his shoulder, “Hey, Law of Motion?” You asked, heart picking up an unsteady rhythm. He pulled your chest to his, feeling the warmth you brought with you overtake him. It was intoxicating… you were intoxicating. He felt like he’d never get enough, like the most insatiable being on Earth.

Eventually, he began to wonder what theory that would make him. He’s sure you’d know.

Then, you heard the soft hum from his lips meet your ear. Luckily his room was silent, otherwise you might not have.

“I’ve got all of those, so…” He held his breath for a second, “Can I love you?”

reblogs appreciated ! loserlrvss 2025 rights reserved. @kstrucknet @slytherinshua @gyuwrites @sknyuz

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tokoyan · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, I would like to make a request with Gotak. I was thinking of one where Gotak buys his girlfriend a gift, could be a necklace or a book she's been eyeing for a while. I think of the girlfriend as someone who has a similar personality like Juntae

- Anything for you

pairing: go hyutak x reader

Warning: none

Word count: 1,193

a/n: omg yes i love this request!! he acts so nonchalant but its so cute seeing him get all shy and stuff. anyways i really enjoyed writing this 💘

gif credits: @slytherinshua

School had ended, and both you and Gotak were walking back home—well, more like he was walking you home before heading to his own place. As usual, he did most of the talking, excitedly rambling about his hobbies while you listened with a soft smile.

“And that’s when I suddenly went behind him and threw the ball—and it just went in!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up to mimic the moment. His animated storytelling made you laugh.

“That’s really cool,” you said quietly, still listening to him talk as you both strolled past familiar shops.

But today, something new caught your eye—a shop that hadn't been there before. It had a soft, doll-like vibe with pastel colors and cute accessories on display. You came to a sudden stop without realizing it. Gotak kept walking, still caught up in his story, until he noticed you were no longer beside him. He turned and looked back.

“Why are you just standing there?” he asked, confused, before following your gaze to the store.

You hadn’t even noticed him staring at you. Your eyes were still fixed on the display window full of glittering trinkets and charm-like accessories.

Gotak walked back and stood in front of you, hands in his pockets. “Are you just gonna stare, or…?” he said, snapping you out of your daze.

“Oh—uhm, no, sorry,” you mumbled, quickly starting to walk again.

“You sure you don’t want to go in there? I don’t mind,” he called after you.

“No, it’s fine,” you replied without stopping, so he jogged to catch up. But as he glanced back at the store one last time, an idea started forming in his mind—he didn’t say anything, though, and you both continued walking.

---

The next day, you had after-school practice, so Gotak was walking home with Baku instead. The two were goofing around as usual when they passed the same shop. Gotak abruptly stopped in front of it.

Baku raised an eyebrow. “Damn, didn’t know you were into pastel hearts and sparkly bows,” he teased.

“Shut up,” Gotak muttered, shooting him a glare as he walked into the store. Baku laughed and followed behind.

Inside, they were met with fairy lights, soft music, and an explosion of cute decor. Baku looked around with wide eyes. “Okay, but seriously, what are we doing here?”

Gotak scanned the shelves. “What do you think Y/N would like?”

“Why are you asking me? Isn’t she your girlfriend?” Baku laughed as he picked up a fluffy keychain.

Eventually, Gotak found the bracelet display from the day before. Not quite sure which you'd like, he picked two—one pink, one purple.

“You think she’ll like these?” he asked.

“If I was a girl, I’d dump you on the spot for that,” Baku joked. Gotak slapped his arm.

“Says the guy with no girlfriend,” he muttered and walked to the cashier.

“Hey, that one actually hurt!” Baku said with a fake pout, trailing behind.

---

Two days later, you sat alone in your seat during lunch, staring out the window at a group of students playing football. You didn’t notice Gotak and Baku approaching until they were already pulling up chairs.

“Heyyy, Y/N,” Baku grinned, flopping into the seat next to you. Gotak sat across from you, letting out a nervous sigh.

“Okay, so… Y/N—”

“C’mon, Gotak, you can’t get shy now. Just say it!” Baku interrupted.

“Fine, fine…” Gotak opened his bag, unzipped it, and pulled out a small paper bag with a cute label. You blinked in surprise. “I saw you looking at the accessories in that new shop the other day… so I thought…”

He slid the bag across the table and looked away, clearly flustered. “It cost me a shit ton… but anything for you.”

“Oh my—Gotak, you really didn’t have to—”

“No, he really wanted to,” Baku said, looking at you seriously.

You smiled wide as you opened the bag and found a soft velvet box inside. Your eyes widened slightly.

“Don’t be shy, open it! It’s not like he’s proposing or anything,” Baku teased.

“Baku, I swear—shut up,” Gotak muttered, shooting him a glare.

You opened the box slowly and found two delicate bracelets inside—one pink, one purple.

They were beautiful.

“Gotak… thank you,” you said, smiling at him genuinely.

“Y-you’re welcome,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But…” you said softly, picking up the purple bracelet. You reached for his hand and gently put it on him. “I think it’d be cute if we matched.”

Then you leaned forward, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting back down.

Gotak froze, staring at you in shock. His face turned bright red—he looked like a tomato.

Baku burst into laughter. “Oh man, he’s blushing!”

Even if Gotak finds it hard to express himself sometimes, it’s clear he really cares about you.

And sure, you get shy too—but he loves that about you.

At the end of the day, he thinks you’re perfect.

And to him, that’s all that matters.

#whc #weak hero class #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class 2 x reader #whc2 #whc1 #go hyuntak #gotak #park humin #gotak x reader #hyuntak x reader #go hyuntak x reader #geum seong je x reader #baku x reader #weak hero class two #baku #whc2 angst #baku fluff

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strawb3rry-hon3y · 1 month ago

Text

The Calm Between Us

Pairing: Ahn Su-ho x GN!Reader Requested: No

Summary: A headcanon about Ahn Su-ho falling for someone who is his complete opposite.

Length: 1,122 words. Genre: Fluff, Opposites Attract, Light Romance.

Warnings: Mild teasing, soft emotional moments, lots of affectionate banter. Status: Complete!

♡. You didn’t attend his school, just walking home one afternoon when a group of boys from his class started bothering you in an alley near a convenience store. You stayed quiet, trying to brush them off, clutching your bag tightly as they reached for it. Until someone pulled one of the guys away by the collar.

♡. Su-ho stepped between you and them like it was instinct. His voice was calm, but the threat in it was real. The guys backed off quickly. You stood there stunned trying to mumble a ‘thank you.’ He just looked at you and said “Next time, call someone.”

♡. After that, he checked in on you sometimes. At first, it was just bumping into each other, short conversations at the bus stop or convenience store. Soon enough (with much of his insisting) you exchanged numbers.

♡. You didn’t talk much in public and he didn’t push. But when you started texting him late at night, that’s when he noticed you really opened up. You’d send long messages about your thoughts, your day, little rants. Su-ho never minded: he replied with dry sarcasm, subtle encouragement, and sometimes quiet teasing.

♡. He’s actually the calm one while studying, while you get frustrated or distracted. If you start pouting or sighing, Su-ho leans back, smirking. “Want me to do it for you?” You glare at him and tell him no. But he always slides a snack over or taps his pencil against your paper to keep you on track. Sometimes, he pretends he’s not watching but always notices when you’re overwhelmed and stands up, pulling you with him to go get some food for a little break.

♡. With time, you start seeking him out. Sitting close, leaning into him, letting your guard down completely. Su-ho never rushed you. He’s patient, waiting for you to come to him when you need comfort. When you do? He gives the softest affection, an arm around your shoulders, a hand on your knee, small distractions: “Let’s go get a bite to eat, I'll pay..”

♡. You don’t talk much in school or public, and he loves that he’s one of the only people you open up to. “You’re like a secret treasure” he once said with a smug smile. “Quiet outside, chaos inside.”

♡. One night when you were walking together after a long chat. You said something quiet but sweet “I’m really glad I met you.” He stopped walking, turned toward you with this unreadable look. Before you could ask what's wrong, without a word, he cupped your face and kissed you softly. Afterward, he just smiled and said “Took you long enough to say something nice.” You just stood in shock and flustered before giving him a small smile.

♡. The first time you held hands in public, you were tense but he just squeezed your hand gently and walked like it was nothing.

♡. He loves wrapping an arm around you, especially when people stare or try to talk to you. It’s his way of saying they're with me. Back off.

♡. If you ever get flustered or shy, he teases you endlessly “Why are your ears red? Didn’t even say anything that sweet yet.”

��. One night you were over at his place, after a long evening studying (mostly you trying to focus while he teased you). You were starting to doze off sitting upright, so Su-ho tugged you down next to him on the bed. “Come here,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. You froze, nervous, but he kissed your forehead and closed his eyes like it was the most natural thing in the world. Soon enough you fell asleep listening to his heartbeat.

♡. Anyone who messes with you gets a stare that could freeze fire. Su-ho doesn’t yell, he simply makes people uncomfortable enough to back off. He watches your body language constantly. He’ll nudge you toward safety, step between you and strangers, or pull you away from overwhelming situations without needing a word. He doesn’t start fights but he will finish them if someone hurts you.

♡. When Su-ho gets jealous He doesn't get loud or pouty. Instead, he freezes. His jaw tightens, his eyes sharpen, and he goes completely quiet. If someone’s getting too friendly with you in public, Su-ho doesn’t say anything, but he stands close, brushing his arm against yours or grabbing your bag like he’s claiming you silently.

♡. Later, he’ll casually drop a comment like: “You seemed really into that conversation,” with a neutral tone that’s obviously not neutral. When you reassure him (nervous and sweetly confused), he finally lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and mutters something like “I know. Still didn’t like it.”

♡. You however, don’t say anything either: you just go even quieter. Stiff. A little cold. Su-ho notices right away, especially when you don’t meet his eyes. “What’s with the silent treatment?” he teases, then softens when he sees the look on your face. If a girl was laughing a little too close to him, Su-ho turns back to you, lifts your chin gently, and says in a low voice, “You’re the only one who gets this version of me. You know that, right?” That always calms the storm inside you.

♡. You don’t fight often, but when you do it’s mostly because of misunderstandings or hurt feelings left unspoken. Su-ho’s sharp words + your silence = tension. But neither of you likes staying mad. You’re the one who breaks down first, whispering, “I just didn’t know what to say.” Su-ho softens instantly. He cups your cheek, sighing. “Then just say anything. Don’t shut me out.” The makeup usually ends in quiet forehead kisses and lingering hugs. He always holds you longer after a fight.

♡. Once, someone hurt your feelings badly. You didn’t tell Su-ho. he found out anyway. You never saw him so furious. “Give me their name,” he said, dead serious. You stopped him, but it meant the world that he was ready to fight for you. He might not say I love you every day, but you feel it in every protective gesture, every quiet hug, every calm whispered.

♡. One day you sat between Su-ho’s legs, cleaning the cut on his brow, frustration building with each dab. “You could’ve been seriously hurt” you snapped, eyes stinging. “I hate seeing you like this. I…I love you, idiot.” Su-ho froze, then gently cupped your cheek, eyes soft. “Say it again.” You did, and he kissed you: slow and tender, before whispering, “I love you too. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Taglist: N/A Header Creator’s: @saradika-graphics

#✿#strawberrywrites #fanfic #x reader #fluff #fanfiction #angst #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class one #weak hero class two #weak hero class 2 spoilers #weak hero x reader #weak hero class x reader #ahn suho #ahn suho x reader #headcanon

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evqa3 · 2 months ago

Text

'𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓮𝓯𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮..' ✮

summary: after you best friend suho slipped into a coma, you shut yourself off from everyone including your boyfriend sieun. you disappeared without a trace. months later, while visiting suho at the hospital you run into sieun for the first time in months.

pairing: yeon sieun x female!reader, bestfriend!suho x female!reader.

warnings: none!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The only sound in the hospital room was the soft beeping of suho's heart monitor. you sat right beside his bed, hoping and waiting for him to just randomly wake up and ask if we can get food. it had been six months since the accident, six months since you last saw suho awake and annoying you, and six months since you disappeared.

ever since suho slipped into a coma you became horribly depressed, you couldn't contain the grief of losing your best friend by someone who you had considered a friend. so you stopped answering calls, you shut yourself off from everyone. you didn't even say goodbye to sieun.

especially not sieun..

you never stopped thinking about sieun tho. you would remember the way he would read through you, the way he would knew if you were upset or mad without even saying anything, the way he would wait for you by the entrance after school so you guys would walk together. but the one thing you never forgot was his warmth. the way he would wrap his arms around you at night when it was just the two of you alone.

but now you wonder if he hated you. hated you because you left him without a word. hated you because you left him while he was also grieving.

you push those thoughts away as you stood up quietly and collecting your things, before leaving you look back to suho who was still lying down in that hospital bed motionless, "i’ll see you tomorrow gremlin." gremlin was a nickname you would call suho growing up because of the way he would eat his food like he hasn't eaten in years.

you smiled softly as you turned around opening the door quietly and stepping out has if suho was fast asleep after a long night of deliveries. as you turned around you froze. there sitting on a bench in front of suho's room was sieun.

he looked the pretty much the same. his hair was little longer, his eyes were a little heavier as if he hasn't spelt in weeks. his eyes widen a little when he saw you, his breath caught up in his throat.

"y/n.." he said softly just liked he used to when you would be tangled up his arms at night, just like he used to when things were good back then.

guilt rose up pulling your words under like a tide. you didn't know what to say so you just stared at him, eyes widen a little as well. your fingers slightly shaking inside of the pocket of your jacket.

he slowly stood up from the bench, taking a step closer towards you. "i came to see suho." he said quietly. "i didn't think you'd be here.."

"i come when it's late and quiet or whenever i have the time.." you murmured softly.

he nodded as his gaze dropped down before looking back up. "i missed you. i never stopped looking for you.."

your throat tightens as you felt the guilt lingering around you. "i know." you said quietly while looking down. "i'm so sorry i left you without a word.." then you felt his arms wrap around you softly, you froze for a second before wrapping your arms around him as well.

his warmth finally wrapped around you after so long of not being in his arms. he slightly nuzzled his face against your neck before murmuring, "i’m just glad you're here now.."

for the first time in months, you let yourself breath. a sense of relief finally hitting you. you sighed deeply before letting your head rest against his shoulder. this was what you have been craving for, his warming touch against you. both hoping that everything would be okay now and that this wouldn't be the end of it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

word count: 758!

a/n — this is my first time writing.. so don't judge if its bad.😭 i don't know... so lmk if there is any mistakes or something!! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

#yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #ahn suho #fluff #angst #weak hero class #park jihoon #sieun x reader #x female reader #x female oc #kdrama #whc1 #whc2

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hannie-berrie · 2 months ago

Text

Arguments can be resolved with a quickie ❤️

18+ Minors DNI

pairing: Suho of Weak Hero Class (Choi Hyunwook) x F reader

Warnings: half public sex (it’s in a car).. I think that’s it, maybe a tiny little bit of sadism considering he loves your teary eyes and it turns him on

Genre: virgin reader + virgin Suho (obv both of age in the story), car sex, oral m receiving

“You can’t just ignore me like that!” Suho’s temper was running out, “what an attitude you’ve got!”

“So what! why does it bother you now” you sniped at him whilst entering Suho’s parents’ car as your boyfriend indicated

Suho huffed in disbelief before shaking his head. “You’re making it awkward, everyone thinks we’re in this big fight right now”

You were giving Suho the cold shoulder, it was the only way he’d give you attention. “I’ll just stay here, go back to play your little friends” you said enhancing the word friends with a disgusted look to you, heart aching a little.

“Is that it?— you’re jealous because I’m spending time with my friends?”

You didn’t think tears would rush to your eyes so quick, maybe you missed your boyfriend more than you could realize. In attempt to keep in the tears from falling you just ignore him again, avoiding any eye contact as your eyes got glassy.

“Hey, you cryin?” Suho’s bitterness immediately turned into worry as he got closer to you, back facing him with your arms crossed.

“Baby..” he put a hand on your thigh that you immediately brushed off. He wouldn’t give up now though, your tears probably hurt him more than they hurt you.

He tried to hug you lightly which you fought off again but too strongly and accidentally pushed yourself back against him. Thinking you were going to fall off your seat, your hands travelled quickly, trying to grip anything.

“oh uh-“ “Won’t you just shut it!” You didn’t let him finish his sentence

“Babe.. you should move a little” You thought he was arguing again “And why would I-“ you looked down at your hand, fully grabbing his clothed crotch.

“oh!” You immediately removed your hand, leaving him even more embarrassed than you. “I didn’t mean that”

Suho didn’t seem to care even a little, he was so focused on making things better with you,

“You know y/n, I would leave my friends anytime for you right? Next time, just ask me.”

You felt guilty, it’s true that Suho always drops everything he does when you call him, you were just feeling bitter at him, maybe jealous of his friends because you can never get enough of him, and wish for all of him every second.

Suho would be lying if he said that your pretty and sad eyes didn’t melt his heart. All he wanted was to make you feel better. But it always played with his mind a little.

Suho leaned in for a sweet kiss, breaking your loud thoughts. His lips felt like the perfect fit for yours, and his kiss felt intimate and so genuine, it only fed into your guilt.

“m’ sorry Suho” you said breaking the kiss

“I love you, and I’m also sorry“

His voice was slightly shaky, “Babe I think you should go now” “what???” why was he kicking you out now??! “I’m sorry it’s just- I have something to do” “right now? In this car? Alone?”

Suho pressed down in between his legs whilst looking away “you wouldn’t get it” the bulge under his shorts couldn’t go unnoticed, he couldn’t cover it completely

You sat there for a few seconds, thinking of what to do, you couldn’t just leave him to himself now

“Suho, I’ll help you.” his head turned back to you in surprise. It must’ve taken him a few seconds to process what you just said, you had already kneeled down, body in between his spread legs.

“You aren’t doing this out of guilt right?” Last thing your boyfriend would want is for your first time to be a bad experience for you.

You nodded a no and his hand let go of pressing on his harden crotch. He swallowed loudly, your submissiveness turning him on much more than necessary.

Nibbling around his shorts zipper, he was hesitant to pull it down, still unsure of wether you really wanted this or no

You took the matter into your own hands and unzipped his shorts (which to you was a bold move) and, little by little, pulled down his boxers just enough for it to be let free.

You have never seen another dick before, so you didn’t exactly know how different your boyfriend’s was form others. It was.. long and large? Slightly curved? You didn’t know that curve you soon have you gagged.

Your lips reached his tip, figuring out how to give him release. Suho, on the other hand, was going absolute nuts. And it would show, his hands trying to grip on the head rests on both sides of him, holding on not to bust all over your pretty face.

He wants this moment to last as long as it could, but your flushed cheeks, teary eyes and glistening lips weren’t helping.

When you finally take his length in your mouth, Suho’s lips part and he growls. “Ughh—“ his own vision getting blurrier from the feeling. This was also new to him, but it felt right, because it’s with you.

Contrary to beliefs, Suho is a respectable young man. Still a man.. but a respectable one. When he previously had sudden images of you, intrusive thoughts of how pretty you’d look, lips wrapped around him, he’d brush the idea away. He likes to think of you as his little princess, and he treats you so.

In this very moment, seeing how his sweet love is gagging and crying on him, he’s about to lose it. Fingers finding their way to your hair, he brushed them off your face, tucking them behind your ear as you try your hardest to please him.

“Doing so good for me, shit-“

His hips snapped upwards and back down, sudden thrust into your unused throat causing you to cough on it. Suho’s head rolled back, his eyes closed shut, one hand still tangled in your hair, he looked like he was practically panting for air.

“Babe I’m gonna-“ “babe-“ “babe!” You were rocking your mouth quicker and stronger than before, sending him over the edge within seconds. His body shaking under you and you felt a jet of liquid rush in your mouth.

Suho’s body fell heavy on the seat, you let go of his dick and gave it one last kiss.

Suho wouldn’t leave your side the rest of the day, being especially clingy to you, a little softer and less jokey. Best to say your first blowjob had also touched his heart a lot.

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juliettejwnewinesa · 1 month ago

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Title: "Stay With Me"

Baek Jin x Reader (Weak Hero Class 2)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last fight nearly pushed him over the edge.

Baek Jin was reckless — always had been — but tonight, he had taken it too far. You had heard the whispers at school, seen the bruises on his face, the blood staining his knuckles. He'd told you he had it under control. That he'd walk away this time.

But Baek Jin never walked away.

When you found him outside your apartment, leaning against the wall like his body couldn’t hold itself up anymore, something inside you snapped.

“You said you were done,” you hissed, dragging him inside, slamming the door shut behind you.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, breathing hard, eyes glazed with exhaustion and something else — something darker.

“You promised me, Baek Jin.”

Finally, he looked at you. “I couldn’t let them talk about you like that.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“They said you were just another weakness. I couldn’t let them—” His voice cracked, but he bit it down, fists clenched. “No one gets to say your name like that.”

You hated him for it. Hated how he always chose violence over everything else. But you also hated how your heart fluttered when he said your name like it belonged to him.

“Idiot,” you whispered.

He took a step forward, and suddenly the space between you was suffocating.

“Are you going to scold me all night?” he muttered, his voice rough, eyes dark and heavy.

“You deserve it.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, his hand cupped your face, fingers trembling from exhaustion, from holding back. You hated how soft he became with you, how his walls crumbled when you touched him.

But tonight, something was different.

He held you too tight.

His lips brushed yours like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed you more than air. And you let him, because you knew — tonight he was holding himself together with scraps.

And then... you felt it.

You froze as his body pressed closer, hard and desperate against you, tangled in the oversized hoodie you made him wear after cleaning him up. You heard his breath catch, saw the flicker of embarrassment in his eyes.

“Jin…” you whispered, flustered.

His jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you teased softly, even though your face was burning.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck, voice hoarse and broken. “Like I’m some horny loser who can’t control himself because it’s you.”

You felt him twitch against you, and you bit your lip, fighting back a smile. “Maybe you are.”

“You’re evil,” he muttered, but his hands gripped your waist tighter, like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

You leaned close to his ear, voice dangerously soft. “Then stop holding back.”

Baek Jin’s breath stuttered. “You’re the worst.”

You smiled against his skin. “You love it.”

And maybe he did.

Because that night, tangled up in your sheets, bruises still fresh on his body, Baek Jin held you like you were the only thing keeping him from breaking.

And neither of you said a word about it the next morning — but the way he wrapped his arms around you tighter when you tried to leave told you everything you needed to know.

He was yours. And you? You were his weakness — the only one he’d never give up.

#weak hero class #weak hero class 1 #weak hero fanfic #smut #cute #fluff #beakjin #weak hero smut #weak hero angst #weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero class two #weak hero class one #weak hero webtoon #beakjin x yn #beakjin smut

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pushinpieta · 6 days ago

Text

“Bruises between us” — Geum Seongje x Fem!reader angst

warnings: swearing, violence, seongje falling for rage bait, bleeding, slightly suggestive, heavy making out

wc: 5.3k

a/n: grrr I’m back from a long hiatus. did u miss me?

Were you friends? Enemies? More? There wasn’t a label for what you were to Seongje and what he was to you but whatever it was— it kept you near each other. At first you felt repelled by him and the smell of cigarettes lingering around him when he was near but as time passed and more bruises blossomed on your knuckles and face, you came the find a familiarity that wasn’t necessarily pleasant nor unpleasant. Once, it used to be foreign being in the presence of the teeth bearing wolf— Geum Seongje— but at some point, in the midst of all the punches and kicks and profanity, you came to find a normality in your sort of “companionship” with him.

Still, he wasn’t you friend. He wasn’t your enemy either. No, not that.

Not when he subtly keeps you away from the union. He never uses his words. You weren’t stupid, you could see it in the way he moved— even the slight shift in his eyes; you noticed it all.

“We done here, princess?” Seongje grunts, standing upwards casually with his tongue poking out the side of his cheek as he throws the cigarette bud that was once between his lips onto the ground next to where one of the guys from Ilsan Technical High lied, stiff and bruised up from getting his ass handed to him by Seongje.

“I really dislike when you call me that.” You retorted walking past him out of the tunnel. His nickname for you wasn’t anything of affection— it was rather condescending but you somehow always let him get away with it because it was one of the few things between the two of you that had a name. A sort of inside joke. Something you felt like you owned and something that you felt was his way of acknowledging you as someone…something to him.

“Works done. These fuckers are weaker than I thought. They were acting like some bigshots when they called me over here.” He chuckled, walking behind you.

“If they called you over here, then why’m I here?’ You really joked. Seongje always called you up when he was near your area, not because you were friends, not because you had some sort of business together, but because he found it fun seeing you fight. He said so himself one time when you asked him why he kept you around when he couldn’t stand someone looking him in the eyes for more than three seconds. His answer was simple, teasing. Its real fun seeing you kick around, it’s rowdy and terrible, but that shit hurts so bad Its fun He said to you its like a arcade game and you’re the character, a little fuckin’ princess.

Why princess? He never answered.

“Why? You didn’t want to come? Ouch, girl, that hurt harder than your kicks. How could you do say that to me?” He joked, poking his lips out, pouting in mock sadness as he balled his fists to his face like a dog. You scoffed, somewhat irritated that he wasn’t actually hurt.

“Fuck outta here, Geum.” You picked up your pace towards the bowling alley that Seongje spent most of his time in. He rarely invited you in, for reasons obvious; he didn’t want the union boys to cross paths with the princess, you.

“Like a stab in the heart, princess. Hurt me again. Say something mean with that face” He teased, placing a hand on his chest as if he got stabbed and this time you snorted, feeling totally ridiculed. Your words were never taken seriously by the tall boy towering over you. His half-rimmed glasses showing your irritated reflection. A genuine, gummy smile spread across his face at the scowl you gave him. He was a total sadist. There was nothing he loved more than pissing you off until you hit him. Maybe he was a masochist, too? Either way, he drove you mad and excited and confused and…and some other thing you couldn't— wouldn’t name.

“Oh, I really gotta get away from this plague-bearing dickwad.” You groaned dramatically, shoving him in the shoulder and he faked a gasp rolling his eyes back with a laugh threatening to choke him.

“I bid farewell to you, princess,” He bowed, elegantly, looking ridiculous “I shall partake in a rendezvous with Lord Baekjin.”

“How courteous of you. Not very timely, now, are you? Look at the time, idiot, you’re an hour late.” You laughed this time, showing him the time on your phone. His expression was the same; unserious and mocking, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“He wont execute me, I believe,” He shrugged nonchalantly, now walking ahead of you “I am his middleman, afterall.”

You laughed, throwing your head back “Pfft, I know you’re kinda an idiot, but I didn’t know you’d say something so out of character.”

“Out of character?” His smile doesn’t falter, brows raised in curiosity as he questioned you.

“I mean, look at you…Baekjin’s middleman? You’re delusional. You’re nothing but a fighting psycho he only uses for violence. Once he’s done with you, you’re just another rando from the union that just knows how to fight.” You blabbered on, not noticing the shift in the air “You’re just a total nutjob he uses as a shield. That bastard knows how to manipulate. Lucky him for finding an asshole like you who’s willing to do anything for him. You’re like a toy. Jackpot!” You pop your ‘p’.

The wide grin on Seongje’s face falls flat. You wouldn’t lie, this was something you were not familiar with; a serious Seongje. A Seongje without a smile tugging his lips, a Seongje that wasn’t aloof. He shifts his stance, shoving his hands in his pockets. Seongje, looks down to the ground and cusses under his breath and then snickers.

“That’s a rich coming from someone like you, don’t you think, y/n?” He breathed out. Your name bitter and unpleasant on his tongue as he glares at you through his lashes. This wasn’t the Seongje you were bickering with seconds prior, this was the teeth-bearing wolf that made the thugs scurry away.

You gulped, guilt tickling your skin. You hadn’t realized how far you had gone with your words. Degrading and dehumanizing the man before you.

Suddenly, you weren’t so familiar with one another and the tension pooled in like water filling up a cramped tank. Suddenly, there wasn’t that silent kinship that you both had held onto. You were just another one of the people he passed by.

His stare bored down to the very molecule of your being, pinning you onto the ground.

“Say it again, y/n, call me a toy, go on.” He bared his teeth, stepping closer “Say it.”

“Seongje, I-” He took another step, crossing into the boundary you had built around yourself.

“What? Can’t say it now?” His head turned to the side, scoffing, he ruffled his hair. That domineering, condescending look in his eyes felt humiliating. Guilt choked at your throat.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” You defended, taking a step back, your back hitting the cement wall of the brick alley way that turned into the underpass that lead to the bowling alley “I was only joking–”

“I know I’m an asshole who does nothing but fight, but I thought we were on the same side, y’know? Cause you fight too…with me. On my side. Guess not. Guess you’re just another bitch.” He seethes. Another bitch this time, it stung you. You frowned, shrinking smaller under his gaze by the second.

“Watch your mouth, Geum Seongje.” You warned. A lump lodged in your throat from anger. You hated yourself for saying too much when you were insulting him and for becoming wordless when it came to speaking up for yourself. Why did your voice not work? Why had it been so harsh?

“A princess doesn’t talk so harshly, did you know?” He said before turning his back to you, leaving you in the darkness of the alleyway. You watched as his footsteps receded into silence, his broad shoulders, his height, his brown hair; all of it swallowed far, far away from you into the darkness where you had once met him. And for a second you realize that the alleyway wasn’t so dark when he was here— and maybe that he was the light that brought life to this dark, dead-end that you lived in.

You could have reached out. You could have ran after him. But with a fleeting being like Seongje he was everywhere and nowhere at once, there was no use in trying to ground him. It would be like chasing your own reflection— you’d never be able to catch him…keep him in your grasp and own him. He didn’t belong to anyone or anything. You had misunderstood him completely and as a result you offended him and turned him into just another passing moment in your life. All within a split second with just a few words.

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It had been a week since you last saw Seongje in the dark alleyway. You were where he left you. In that alleyway, walking home from school when you stopped in your tracks upon seeing a clique of high school boys in green uniforms huddled up. Smoke curled in the air from their cigarettes and the sound of a ball bouncing echoed. You pressed yourself against a wall, shielding you from being spotted, as you peered and looked closer you realized they were the boys from Ilsan Technical High that you and Seongje had beaten up last week and a couple other unknown faces.

“That son of a bitch needs to learn his lesson.” One growled.

“What he really needs is to fucking die.” Another joined in the same fuming tone.

“Let’s just kill that bastard.” The first suggests “Please, sunbae, help us.”

“Sounds fun to me, whatcha think, Gobum?” One with long hair asked another with slit eyebrows and round eyes.

“I’m down. I always wanted to put a fist up that prick’s mouth. That punk Geum Seongje is gonna be real fun to play with” He agreed.

You put a hand over your mouth to muffle the gasp that left your lips when Seongje was brought up. He was going to get jumped. You had to warn him.

No. You couldn’t face him. Not after what you said to him. You couldn’t forget the piercing glare in his eyes, the sort of hurt— betrayal in his voice.

“Call him up. This Thursday. After school. Make it seem like its just gonna be you and then we’ll join and fuck his pretty face up.” Long-hair said to Gobum.

“Just texted him. That bastard didn’t give it a second. Look—” Gobum turned the phone to the other boys “He replied with a ‘Okay’ and a laughing emoji. That stuck-up asshole.”

“We’ll see who’s gonna laugh after he gets his shit rocked.”

Your head spun. You had to find a way to warn Seongje. It wasn’t that he weak or incapable of dealing with these guys, it was just something in you irked. A bad premonition. It was eating you from the inside like parasites in your veins. Seongje was all alone. No matter how strong, he was still just one.

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Thursday came by fast like the snap of fingers. Still not in contact with Seongje, you grew anxious. You knew of the time and place where he was to meetup with slit-brows and his minions. There was only one way to get Seongje away from this. It was for you to step in between, cause a distraction, be an obstacle in their path. You could do it. You were fully capable. Seongje was too, but you felt like you owed him this. Which is funny because he probably would prefer to fight because of the ecstatic rush he felt, but for your own selfish unknown reasons, you had to do this. You had to keep Seongje away from the malicious intentions of these guys.

With a hood over your head, you walked into the bowling alley where Seongje was skipping school. You could see him standing in the corner, watching the crowd of people cheer for their friends. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you approached him, hood still covering your face almost entirely as you fake bumped into him, stealing his phone effortlessly from his pocket. You didn’t turn back, rushing off even though he muttered a cuss your way. Luckily for you, he didn’t notice the absence of his phone, too engrossed in the game. A part of you wished he would recognize you, and talk to you, be engrossed in you. You shake the thought of it away, opening up his phone. You thank the sky for your memory, you typed in his password you sneaked a glance of a long time away and it unlocked his phone. You type a text message to slit eyebrows.

Seongje: Meet me at the under pass. The alleyway is too crowded after school. LOL.

Gobum: OK

The guy replied almost immediately, allowing you to delete the texts from his phone so he had no way of knowing of this. You swiftly place the phone in the lost and found bin, rushing out of the bowling alley towards the underpass.

The bell for home time rang and there he was Gobum, slit brows all by himself. You look around, looking for the other three but there were no signs of them. Not letting your guard down, you lower your hood, revealing your face, your hair undone, falling over your face in wisps.

Gobum sneers, meeting yours eyes in furry irritation, “Tsk, what did he pussy-out and send his girl? Where’s Geum Seongje, little birdie”

“Not here, as you can see, fucker.” You spoke through gritted teeth, picking up your pace fast enough to aim for a kick to his head. Your left foot smashed into his shaved head, crushing the side of his face. It probably looked hilarious in slow motion and a sadistic smile creeped up on your face.

That’s rich coming from someone like you Seongje’s words echoed through your mind and he was right. You weren’t so different from him. There was an addictive rush and ecstasy that shuddered through you during a fight. You were no different from a teeth-bearing wolf. Perhaps you were worse because of your bitter words and dishonest facade. Just a pretty girl in the eyes of others. Little birdie.

Gobum yelled, in pain and shock from the sudden kick to the side of his face. It made him stagger backwards, a red bruise blooming on the side of his face so fast and so rapidly it was almost animated. He growled, stomping towards you to throw a punch but you blocked it and he went again and again. Block after block, duck after duck, kick and punch, swivel up and down— it was a mess of movements. You barely had the time to process his movements. He was fast and his punches were impactful. He got a few hits but so did you. You had the upper hand, you were analytical and had dirty tricks up your sleeves. You tripped him, you distracted him, you ran and he chased.

This wouldn’t last long. Your muscles were growing limp and exhausted from over exertion. Your legs wobbled after another attempted kick which Gobum dodged and he punched you straight in the jaw, giving you a purple bruise. You winced in pain. Tears pricked your eyes from the pain but he punched your stomach ruthlessly. Punch after punch. You smashed your knees onto his nose, with a crackle that made you flinch. Blood flowed from his nose into his white button up. He hissed.

“Not bad.” He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, charging towards you at full speed. pushing you against a wall “but can you handle this, little bitch?”

“I can handle anything.” You choked, as he held you against a wall. Dread pooled in your chest when you heard footsteps coming from behind him. The three other boys from the other day appeared. You recognized them immediately from the smell of smoke and the sound of a ball bouncing off the ground.

“That’s not Geum Seongje. That’s a girl.” The long-haired guy said to the other boys.

“It’s his bitch, she was there and beat us too.” One of the familiar guy spoke, sounding embarrassed.

“Damn. She’s kinda hot. I wanna play with her too.” He responded “Grab her, boys.”

In an instant you were cornered by four men. One on each side of you. You were helpless and you had to find a way out. Before any of them could touch you, you ducked, kicking Gobum right in the crotch earning a loud agonized scream. The others watched eyes wide, stepping back. Taking advantage of that moment of hesitation, you punch the guy on your right then grab him by the collar to push him onto his friend on the left. With full source, you head butt into the long haired jerk that dared lay a hand on you. Groans and grunts of pain bounced off the walls of the underpass, adrenaline pumping through your lungs. Heaving, you coughed out a bit of blood onto your sleeve with a light gasp of surprise. It enraged you but you had to give the final blow to their faces.

“Let me give you a warning, boys,” You spoke bitterly “Don’t fucking touch Geum Seongje.”

“Oh? He got a possessive little bitch. Ain’t that fun?” Gobum, strikes again, you dodge.

“I’ll kill you all.” It wasn’t a threat anymore, it was a promise.

“Scary—“ You punched long-hair straight in the mouth, definitely knocking teeth out. He cried, falling in his bum. Eyes full of horror.

“You two. Come at me.” You say, turning your attention to the two you had once beaten up before. Clearly, they wanted it again. You motioned for them to come forward so confident in yourself, you didn’t feel like yourself. You were somewhere else, high off the adrenaline.

For a split moment, Seongje’s face appeared in front of you. His gummy smile was so threatening and enthralling— you felt as if you were lassoed to him. You hated the truth; you wanted him to belong to you in one way. Even as a friend. Even as an enemy. Right now he wasn’t either, he was a stranger. There was no softness between the two of you but somehow the thought of him had softened you— for the slightest moment, you blinked a little more and panted a little harder too.

When the two cowards stepped closer you didn’t analyze or think. You just punched and kicked. Not one miss, they sucked. Within seconds, four men laid on the ground under you, gazing up in surrender and fear. Slowly, you leer over them, meeting each of their eyes with a domineering gaze that made each of them flinch and turn away in embarrassment.

“Did you take my warning?” You raised a brow, fixing your messy hair and hoodie.

“Can’t hear you. Should I put some more sense into you?” You say about to kick Gobum in the face but he puts his hands up to his face with a desperate sob. So pathetic.

“Y-yes ma’am.” They said in unison.

Triumphant or rather relieved you walk out of the underpass with more than a few bruises.

Your everything hurt and you collapsed the second you entered the alleyway.

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Exactly three days and three nights had passed. Due to the pain still prominent all over your body and especially your jaw, you skipped school. You were back at the alley, not certain as to why you were there. Perhaps you were looking for Seongje. You’d never admit that to yourself. A soft sigh escaped your lips, seeing the empty path, you stood staring at the dark clouds rolling up in the sky. The smell of rain and earth whirled in the air.

An all too familiar figure appeared from the far end of the alley, standing tall and casual. Seongje. He was looking directly into your eyes, unbothered, unwavering. A small smile of relief accidentally made its way to your face and you wanted so badly to slap yourself but that would only give Seongje more points.

“Long time no see.” His voice echoed, deep, reverberating through your bones. You missed it so much and you just realized.

“Y-yeah,” A stutter escaped your lips.

He chuckled, still standing, far enough to not see the bruises on your face “We haven't seen each other for two weeks and you get all shy. Didn’t expect that after all those words.”

Seongje approached slowly, calmly. Walking towards you, finally he was closer and his eyes immediately shot to your jaw and your collarbones and everywhere. Like a hungry wolf watching its prey, he took his time observing you. There was no change of expression in his eyes. His lips in a thin line, there was a flicker of something you couldn’t read.

He took a step closer.

You took a step back.

Another step closer.

Another step back.

Seongje stops, a superficial smile making its way onto his lips. Gently, he brings his hands to your jaw, barely ghosting his fingers over the bruise. The act catches you off guard, your eyes widen in surprise at how gentle he was, his warm finger trailing over your bruises. Shyly, you wince away from his ghost-like touch that was so fiery all at once. His eyes not leaving yours even for a second. Above all the bruises, and pain, your eyes showed the most hurt and he caught it so fast you wanted to run and hide.

“Who?” He asked softly, barely a whisper, his voice blowing away with the wind.

“Don’t worry about it. It was just some rascals I ran into the other day. I won. As always.” You tried to joke but the waver in your voice was so loud.

“Who.” He demanded. He didn’t need to. It was gonna slip out of your mouth anyway. His warm fingers still on your face, now cupping your cheeks. This time, you couldn’t move away, the warmth held you still. It grounded you.

“Gobum.” You replied, avoiding his eyes. He placed a finger under your chin, lifting your face up to meet his eyes.

“He must’ve been tough.” He said.

“What?”

“I mean he must’ve been a tough fighter to be able to bruise someone as strong as you.” the unexpected compliment made you gape.

“He did have three of his minions with him…” You scratched your head. Feeling pride blooming in your chest.

“Shameless motherfucker.” He hissed, eyes livid now “Ganging up on one person let alone a girl.”

“Seongje?” You said. He was speaking to himself rather than to you.

“Knew you’d win.” He said before walking off. You called out to him.

Once.

Twice.

By the third call he was out of the alley.

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A day passed. Three days passed. You haven't heard from Seongje. It wasn’t unusual anymore. It was just discomforting. The guilt still resided deeply in your conscience. The longing even worse. You loathed every second of it.

It was a Saturday, with nothing better to do, you sat inside the bowling alley, leaning against a wall. Howls and cheers filled the thick air. The smell of food and sweat mixed together. Beside you a group of guys sat, on their phones, puffing vape into the air.

“Did you see? Geum Seongje fucked up the thugs from Ilsan Tech. Fuckin’ embarrassing for them.” Your ears perked up and you leaned closer.

“That Gubom son of a bitch deserves it. Good shit, man” Another chided in.

“I heard he crippled em’ all up just a few minutes ago. Look, my friend from Ilsan sent me a video.” The one said, turning his phone to his friend.

At that you got up and interrupted their gossip to watch the video. They turned to you in surprise, but they couldn’t do much since you only butted in to see the video for yourself. You could see Seongje in his maroon uniform, kicking Gumbom just like you had on his shoulder over and over. Cussing him off with all sorts of terrible degrading words. The yelps of pain came out loudly through the phone speakers and you just watched. Eyes glued to the screen. The teeth-bearing wolf had his glasses off. He was serious. Then it zooms into another clip where Seongje breaks the Long-haired guys fingers, one by one. You could almost feel the pain. The boys watching the video all made sounds, as if they too, were feeling the pain.

You turned away, unable to watch anymore. Sprinting out of the bowling alley, you turned up at the Union’s hideout Seongje had once briefly shown you. He admitted to spending a lot of his time napping there. And you knew, just from the lingering smell of cigarette sticking to the brick walls outside, Geum Seongje was inside. And inside you went.

To your surprise, the door was unlocked as you slid it open. The place stunk of old ramen and men’s cologne and smoke. You coughed, swatting the air in front of you in pure disgust. On the black leather couch sat Seongje with his head thrown back blowing out smoke onto the ceiling. A cigarette in his hands, almost halfway done. He gave you a full view of his neck and Adam's apple, you couldn’t keep your eyes off. You ran your tongue along your bottom lips, wetting it. Seongje had his uniform off, now just in a black t-shirt that revealed his arms that had cuts and bruises. Did they have a knife fight too?

He looked at you when he heard your voice, an amused expression on his face. Seongje patted the spot on the couch next to him for you to sit like it was the most normal thing on earth, for you to just be walking into a hideout like this. You complied anyway, sitting next to him, your weight dipping to the leather. The atmosphere became warm and sticky— not in a displeasing way but in a familiar way. Like it was something you were used to; being by Seongje’s side.

Your hands immediately darted towards him. Reaching out to cup both his cheeks, squeezing him like a baby. Your eyes softened, heart tender and broken. It was rare to see him this bruised up.

And all because of you. Tears pricked in your field of vision and you just let it fall.

“Why’d you do this?” You sniffled, turning his face one side to another to spot every injury. You reach for the medicine box that was conveniently hidden under the table in front of the sofa. Grabbing a cotton swab, you dab some medicine over the cuts on the side of his face. He hissed in response but he let you anyway.

The both of you stay in silence, only your occasional sniffles could be heard like little adlibs in the silence.

“I didn’t do it for you. I just wanted to finish what that asshole started.” He finally answered but he didn’t meet your eyes and a foreign warmth crept into his tone as he continued speaking “I don’t get why you did what you did, though. Did you feel sorry for me?”

“I— I just, I just couldn’t be a bystander…” He scoffed at the response.

“Y/n, don’t do that shit again. I’m not trying to see you hurt because of a fight that I started.” He mumbled, your fingers brushing his bottom lip as you circled your fingers around a bruise with an ointment.

“I’m sorry about what I said before, Seongje.” You started again, you wanted to get your words out before they choke you “I didn’t mean to call you a toy. Didn’t mean to turn you into such a worthless dick. I hope you know that’s now how I see you.”

“I know.” He smiled, so slightly it wouldn’t be possible to notice unless you were close to him.

“Do you ?” You ask, lifting his jaw up to meet your eyes. Just like he did the other day. The ball was in your court now.

“Of course I know, look at the situation we’re in, y/n. None of this would have happened if we weren’t both so fucked in the head” At that you both chuckled, he flinched a little at the pain.

The laughter felt like something you didn’t realize you lost until you got it back. The normality of laughing with him, being by his side, and not needing a label for what you were— all of it felt like an answer to your questions that you blocked off for so long.

The silent and unacknowledged wait for him was over because he was always there where he belonged; right next to you.

Seongje’s face was centimeters away from yours. This was the closest he’s ever been to you, his warmth and scent radiating onto you. The air no longer tense or awkward— just back to what it was, a comfortable familiarity. A routine. His eyes bored into yours for as if he were contemplating. Your eyes shot down to his mouth, glossy from him licking and biting it.

The sound of the air conditioner blowing suddenly got blocked out with your dizzying thoughts as his breath fanned your face. Your hands were still on his face. Seongje was impulsive and without a plan in everything he did. Just like now, when he grabbed your jaw and kissed your lips. Your world went so still, so silent, and so warm you could hear your own heartbeat.

Seongje placed his hands on the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he pressed another short kiss on your lips to test the waters, to see how you reacted. You closed your eyes instinctively, allowing him to kiss you once more. For a short moment you open your eyes to see him already staring at you and then your lips as if to ask if you wanted this or not.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out feverishly.

His lips found its way home into yours, rougher and greedier this time. There was a desperation in the way he kissed you, your lips smacking onto each other making wet sounds. His slid along the bottom of your lips, slithering into your bottom teeth, then tangling into your tongue. He groans into your mouth, hot and wet, swirling his own tongue with yours. He was in full control now. His hands on the back of your head and the other holding your waist. You hand your hands wrapped around his neck now, pulling him closer to your chest.

Seongje sucks on your tongue and then your teeth and lips and everywhere. Both of you are dizzy and frantic, wanting more by the second. He groans and you moan. Making out, eating each other alive. You grab a handful of his hair with your hands tugging him as you tongue each other. Spit swirling lewdly inside your mouths. Drool pools the side of your mouth and Seongje licks it off without a second of hesitation. Nasty and thirsty. Slurping up all your saliva.

You’re out of breath about to pass out, you push him off for a second to breathe. A string of spit connect the two of you and you stare into his eyes for a prolonged moment, admiring the mole, his lashes, and those dark eye rises that you had grown to yearn for.

You finally realized then, that there didn’t need to be an answer to your question with words when Seongje had always shown that you were something to him the whole time with his actions.

“Didn’t know the princess kissed so well.” He teased pushing your back down onto the couch to resume kissing you.

reposts appreciated >w<

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sknyuz · 2 months ago

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before the storm | na baekjin

pairing — na baekjin x gn!reader

genre — angst, hurt/comfort (don’t expect too much of the latter), found connection, canon to whc2 events

cw — major whc2 spoilers, violence (off-screen), blood, character death, emotional distress, gang activity

wc — ~4k (don’t ask...)

a/n — #neededthat in-depth baekjin backstory and wanted to give him more of a background to his humanity so viewers can empathize with "donald na" that the show lacked so much :c ily na baekjin <333

playlist — astronomy - conan gray | the night we met - lord huron | as the world caves in - sarah corthan | sa susunod na habang buhay - ben&ben | promise - laufey (main)

part of the “i can fix him!” trilogy

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

update !! ⤷ read cheers to youth here (prequel to this)

the rain’s loud tonight, like it always is when you want to be left alone with your thoughts. it’s relentless, drumming against the windowpane like it’s trying to tell you something. but baekjin doesn’t seem to notice. he stands by the window, looking out, his arms crossed, folded infront of his chest. the city lights reflect off the rain-soaked streets, but his eyes are distant, like he’s not really here at all.

you’re behind him, watching him, waiting for him to turn around. you hate seeing him like this—cold and unreachable. you know what tomorrow is, what it’s going to mean. the fight. eunjang high. baku. si-eun. you know it’s been building up, and you know he’s not going to walk away from it.

but you’re still going to try.

you take a step closer, voice barely above a whisper.

“baekjin, please. you don’t have to do this.”

your words sound too soft against the noise of the storm. his fingers twitch, like he’s heard you, but he doesn’t turn around. not yet.

“you don’t understand, do you?” his voice is low, cold, like it’s been coated in something bitter. “they won’t stop. they’ve pushed me for too long. tomorrow is the only way to settle everything, i have no say in refusing to fight.”

you know why he’s doing this. you’ve seen it in his eyes every time he talks about it—the anger, the frustration, the years of being torn down until there’s nothing left but this. he can’t see past the fight, the need for closure. the need to serve the union.

but you’re still trying.

“i know what this means to you, baekjin. but this isn’t the way.”

you take another step forward, your fingers brushing against his arm. the contact is tentative, unsure, like he might pull away at any second. “you don’t need to do this. you’re better than this fight. we’re better than this.”

he doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. his shoulders are stiff, his back rigid like he's trying to hold himself together, even though it’s all falling apart.

“i never wanted this,” he says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself. “but it’s the only language they understand. they all know what i can do. they know i’m not going to back down.”

you hate the way he says it. like this is the only choice he has left.

“i know how you fight, baekjin. but you don’t have to fight this way. you’re so much more than that.”

you reach up, fingers brushing the side of his face. his skin is cold, like the rain. he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but you see his eyes close for just a moment. that tiny crack, that hint of something more. it’s enough to make you take another step closer, your hand resting gently on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“you’re not heartless.”

he finally looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s something softer in his eyes. it’s not much, just a flicker of something that’s been buried for so long, but it’s there. you know him better than this mask he wears, better than the anger and the pride. he’s not just the fight. he’s the boy you met in your first year of high school. the boy who let you in even when he didn’t want to.

“this isn’t who you are,” you whisper, your voice catching. “you don’t have to do this alone.”

he pulls away, slowly, like he’s unsure of the comfort you’re offering. you want to reach for him again, but you don’t. you just stand there, waiting for him to decide, even though you’re terrified he’ll walk away from you.

“i never asked for you to save me,” he says quietly, his eyes hardening again. “i don’t need saving. i just need to end it. i need this to end, y/n. one way or another.”

he sounds so sure, so determined. but you can see the cracks. you always could. you know him better than he knows himself sometimes.

you don’t know what else to say.

you just hold him, pulling him into your arms like you’ve done so many times before. his body’s stiff at first, hesitant, but then his arms come around you, pulling you close, burying his face in your shoulder. you breathe in the familiar scent of him, the rain, and something else—something broken that’s been there all along.

“i’m not asking you to change who you are,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “but i need you to know that you’re not alone in this.”

he stays quiet, his breath warm against your skin. the storm outside seems to die down a little, but inside, it’s still too loud. too much. the tension is thick, like something’s about to snap, but you’re holding onto him, holding onto whatever pieces of him you can.

you pull back, just enough to look him in the eyes. his gaze is conflicted, torn between the fight and the person standing in front of him. and you’re scared, because you don’t know which side he’ll choose.

“i’m here,” you say softly, your hand brushing against his cheek. “i’ll be here, no matter what happens.”

for a moment, you think he might say something. but instead, he just nods, a barely noticeable movement. his gaze flickers to the door, like he’s already thinking about tomorrow. about the fight.

“then i’ll be there... in case you change your mind,” you whisper, your fingers slipping from his skin.

baekjin doesn’t say anything more. he doesn’t need to. he walks away, his figure swallowed up by the shadows, and all you’re left with is the rain pattering gently on the window and the silence. you don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but you know you’ll be there. even if it’s too late.

— freshman year.

you had transferred midway through the semester, and already, you felt out of place. the private academy was stiff, everyone was too serious, keeping to themselves, absorbed in their studies. you tried to smile at a few people, but no one seemed to care. and now, after weeks of struggling to catch up, you were staring at a test paper—the grade glaring at you, a constant reminder that you were too far behind. you sighed, dropping your pen, sinking back in your chair. everyone else seemed to breeze through it, their papers already turned in. you had barely managed to finish. it was a mess. a failure.

when the test was graded, the score was worse than you expected. you didn’t even look at the sheet at first. you just stared at the red ink, the marks that burned into the paper like a reminder that you were out of place here. the teacher called you up after class, giving you a look that said everything: you need help, and you need it fast.

later that afternoon, you were told baekjin would be tutoring you. great. na baekjin, the guy with the sharp eyes and the reputation that seemed to follow him like a shadow. he was known around here—not just as the smart, mysterious guy, but also for his involvement with some kind of shady organization. you didn’t know much about it, but you’d heard the rumors. he was always busy, always in some kind of trouble, always surrounded by people who made you nervous.

but here he was, waiting for you in the library after school. you’d walked in, feeling awkward, unsure of what to expect, he had his legs crossed and was leaning back in his chair, his phone in hand, eyes focused on the screen. you weren’t even sure he’d noticed you.

you hesitated before sitting down across from him. there was no greeting, just the sound of his fingers tapping the screen. his face was slightly twisted as if he had just read something that displeased him. when he noticed you, he didn’t say anything at first—just let out a soft sigh, like the last thing he wanted to do was be here.

“sit down,” he finally said, his voice low, still glancing at his phone. “let’s get this over with.”

you sat down hesitantly, glancing at him. he wasn’t looking at you, his attention still on his phone as he swiped through the screen, clearly frustrated. when he finally put the phone down, his gaze finally settled on you—properly, this time. those cat-like eyes, sharp and calculating, now focused directly on your figure. you weren’t sure if it was the way you were sitting or if he was actually acknowledging you now, but there was a moment of pause before he spoke again.

“i’m not sure why i got stuck with you, but here we are,” he muttered, his voice quiet but firm. “answer these sample questions first. show me where you’re at. i’ll see if it’s worth my time, i’ve got places to be.”

he pushed a set of papers toward you. you stared at the first question, feeling a tight knot in your chest. none of it made sense. you looked back up at him, but he was already looking at his phone again, clearly uninterested in your hesitation.

“go on,” he sighed. “don’t waste time.”

you started scribbling down answers, trying your best, but the words felt like they were slipping away. you couldn’t keep up with the pace, couldn’t understand it the way you needed to. baekjin, however, didn’t seem to care. he only glanced up briefly, then back down at his phone.

“this is pointless,” he muttered, clearly displeased by what he was seeing. “okay, stop. you’re really not getting this, huh?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out another exasperated sigh. for a moment, he just stared at the papers, thinking. then, his expression softened—just barely—and he stood up, grabbing his own set of notes.

“fine,” he said, his voice quieter now, a little more patient. “i’ll explain it to you, but you need to actually pay attention this time.” he sighed again, as if this was the last thing he wanted to do, but when he explained, it was clear and precise. you followed his lead, bit by bit. things started to make sense—slowly, but surely. it wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

the session ended quietly. baekjin picked up his phone again, still not really looking at you. “don’t expect me to do this every day,” he muttered as he stood up. “next time, figure it out yourself. i helped you once because mr. park said so, so don’t get used to it.”

you nodded quickly, feeling relieved that at least it was over for today. but as you gathered your things, you thought the worst was over. maybe you won’t see baekjin one-on-one for a while, at least.

but the next day, when you walked into the library again, there he was, sitting at the same table, phone in hand. no greeting. no complaints. just baekjin—ready to tutor your sorry ass again. you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“don’t get comfortable,” he muttered without looking up, as if reading your thoughts. “this doesn’t mean anything. just get it together.” (정신차려)

you weren’t sure what to make of it, but you knew one thing for sure: na baekjin wasn’t just leaving you to fend for yourself and fail. and maybe, just maybe, you might finally be able to make him warm up to you.

—the aftermath.

you felt cold.

the field was empty now. the fight was over, and the only evidence left were the puddles of rainwater, mixing with the mud, reflecting the fading light from the sky above. discarded broken umbrellas littered the ground, abandoned like everything else. the air was thick, heavy with the last remnants of the storm, but the rain had finally stopped, leaving only a damp chill behind.

there was a figure lying in the middle of the field, chest barely rising and falling. you barely recognized him at first—the blood staining his clothes, his face battered and bruised, eyes closed. but it was him. it was baekjin.

your heart raced as you ran to him, your legs shaky but determined. tears blurred your vision as you knelt beside him, hands trembling as you reached out to him, touching his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin beneath your fingers. raindrops, mingling with the tears already streaming down your face, fell onto him, mixing with the blood and grime, staining his face in a way that seemed unreal.

"baekjin," you whispered, voice barely audible, but desperate. "baekjin, please... wake up. you can't... you can't just be like this."

you were in denial, your mind unable to fully grasp what was happening, what had already happened. why? why did it have to end like this? he had to win. losing this fight was never an option. you knew what losing this fight would entail—the union wouldn’t let him get off so easily. they couldn’t. not with the tension within the ranks already building up the past few weeks.

you couldn’t fathom what would happen to him. the cold, hard reality of it was creeping in on you, but you couldn’t accept it. no, you wouldn’t accept it. "please, don't give up on me." you were shaking, but you couldn’t let him go—not now.

and then, with great effort, he coughed, a weak, wet sound that sent a wave of relief through you. his eyes fluttered open just slightly, meeting yours with an intensity that cut through the fog in your mind. a smile, small and faint, twisted his bloodied lips. it was weak—broken even—but it was there.

his hand reached up slowly, trembling as he felt pain shoot up into every muscle, as if it took everything he had just to touch you. his thumb swiped under your eye, gently, as if trying to wipe away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen so freely. but when you looked at him, you saw red. his thumb was smeared with blood, and the smear stained your cheek too, just under your eye.

the blood was fresh, a stark contrast against your skin, and it hit you all at once—how real this was. how brutal the fight had been. how close you were to losing him. your breath caught in your throat, and all you could do was shake your head, still in disbelief.

“baekjin, no…” you whispered, voice breaking. “you can’t… i can’t lose you.”

the thought of him slipping away—of losing him—squeezed the air from your chest. you clenched your fists, and before you could stop yourself, they gently thumped against his chest, not hard, but enough to feel the weight of your frustration, of the desperation bubbling inside you. the betrayal of it all—how could he? how could he do this to you when he promised?

“you promised…” your voice cracked with the rawness of it. “you promised we’d leave all this behind... after graduation. we’d leave it behind, together... there’s barely a year left, baekjin-ah... please.”

and somewhere in your mind, that promise plays again.

you were curled up on the office couch in the back of the bowling alley—the one baekjin always holed himself up in after late-night deals and longer days. the place was a mess. no decorations. walls painted a sickly kind of white, like someone had tried to bleach the past away and gave up halfway through. his textbooks were stacked on the floor. your own was half-open in your lap, one hand flipping through the pages, the other clutching onto him like you needed the weight of him to stay grounded.

his arm was around your waist, thumb tracing idle circles into your back. absentminded, but gentle. like he always was with you when the world finally left him alone.

“this place is a mess, jinnie,” you muttered, frowning. “when are you really gonna stop?”

he didn’t answer right away.

“we’re almost seniors…” you added, softer this time. there was no judgment in your voice—just worry, just that ache of hoping too hard for something that kept getting pushed farther out of reach.

baekjin looked at you then. just for a second. then his textbook hit the coffee table with a soft thud. the hand around your back slid up to your shoulders, the other falling to your thigh, warm and grounding. he tugged you closer until your head rested under his chin.

“after graduation,” he said, and he said it like he meant it. like it was already a plan written into the sky. “we’ll leave this behind, you and me. we’ll have stupid quiet lives. cute campus couple stuff. matching outfits, photobooth pictures… you’d like that, right?”

he glanced down at you, and for once, his piercing gaze softened. searching your face. waiting for your answer like it mattered more than anything else in the world.

you nodded. a little unsure, a little hopeful. and that was enough for him.

baekjin leaned down, lips pressing softly to your forehead. he lingered there, breath warm against your skin as he whispered,

“thank you, darling.”

he wasn’t one for affection—not really. but his thank you held every star in the universe. your presence, a light in a boy who had forgotten softness until you showed him, for seeing the na baekjin underneath all the sharp edges, the one who never got to be soft, or scared, or saved. you were a rare kindness in the life of a boy who was taught the world would never be kind back.

thank you for finding me. thank you for failing that stupid test. thank you for understanding. thank you for not cowering away or fearing me.

thank you for loving me.

he didn’t say it out loud—na baekjin barely used his words to express his feelings. but you felt every word in the way he held you tighter, like you were the only thing keeping him from slipping into the dark all over again.

tears blurred your vision again, and you leaned into him, needing to feel his warmth—anything to prove this wasn’t the end. but just as you tightened your grip around him, holding onto him as tightly as you could, a sound cut through the stillness.

the low rumble of an engine. distant at first, but growing louder, closer.

you froze.

“y/n…” baekjin’s voice, hoarse and weak, barely reached your ears.

“baekjin...” you whispered, your voice trembling with panic. “no! please... no, baekjin!” as you held him tighter by the collar of his leather jacket, the faint beat of his heart the only proof that he was still there with you, he was here. baekjin was alive underneath you.

the sound of the engine roared louder, and you felt the reality of it sink in. the union. you knew what this meant. you knew the danger was still there—the threat, looming over you both. they wouldn’t let him go. they couldn’t. even more so after losing this goddamn fight.

and you knew, deep down, that if they came for him now, if they took him, you might never see him again.

the black car appeared around the corner, its sleek body cutting through the gloom. your breath hitched in your throat, and you pressed yourself harder into baekjin, as if that would keep him here, keep him safe.

“don’t…” you begged, barely able to form the words through your sobs, crying against his chest. “baekjin, please… don’t let them take you...”

his hand, weak but still there, found its way to the back of your head, pulling you closer as best as he could. the warmth of his touch was the only thing grounding you to him in this moment of terror. you could feel the tremor in his arm, the effort it took for him to hold you. you wanted to pull him up, carry him, do anything to protect him, but you knew you couldn’t. not now. not like this.

his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, and though his body felt frail, his grip on you was unwavering. in that moment, he was the only thing holding you together.

“i’m sorry... i broke it... my promise,” he whispered, his voice cracking, but he still managed a faint, apologetic smile. “i’m sorry, i love you, y/n.” tears already streaming from the corner of his eye, his eyes shutting as his body wracked with sobs together with yours.

despite all this, baekjin’s thumb gently brushed the back of your head, trying to soothe you, even though his own voice was barely audible. “i’m here,” he repeated softly. “i’m always gonna be here, darling...”

you could feel the blood staining your skin, the streaks of red marking where his thumb had wiped your cheek. but in that moment, with his arm around you, holding you close, you didn’t care. all that mattered was that he was still there. still breathing.

you knew his words were a lie. but you held onto them like a lifeline. the raw, painful desperation filled you as you clung to him, refusing to let go. you pressed your face into his chest, your body wracked with sobs, hot tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. you could feel his body, weak beneath your touch, but you didn’t care. you needed him here.

just then, the sound of footsteps drew closer. you felt strong arms grip you forcibly, pulling you away from him, and you screamed, the rawness of your voice echoing across the empty field. “no!” your body twisted in their hold, thrashing wildly, trying to reach him again. “baekjin! baekjin, no!”

please, please, please. please let him go. please, he’s just a boy.

you struggled against the grip that was tearing you away, but they held you tight, forcibly dragging you, thrashing against you with no mercy. you watched as baekjin was practically thrown around with no regard, his body being pushed roughly toward the waiting black car, his eyes barely open, but still locked on you. you screamed his name again, your voice breaking, almost unrecognizable with the fear and desperation.

“baekjin… BAEKJIN, NO!” you cried, your voice raw, as you were yanked away. your feet slid through the mud, your body slamming against the ground, but you didn’t care. all you could think about was him—his face, his eyes, pleading with you even though he was so far from you now.

they pulled you back, tighter, holding you to keep you from running, from reaching for him. but your hands still stretched out, desperate to touch him, to make him see that you wouldn’t let him go. “BAEKJIN!” you screamed again, thrashing with every ounce of strength you had left. but your body was weak from the panic, your limbs refusing to cooperate, his eyes slowly fluttering close in surrender, as the black car’s door slammed shut on his defeated figure.

you were so focused on keeping him safe, on protecting what little time you had left, on clinging to every moment like it wouldn’t slip through your fingers the second you blinked. you were too busy holding onto him to realize you never got to say it back.

and now he’s gone, he disappeared without ever hearing it.

without knowing that you loved him just as much as he loved you.

and that was the last time you saw na baekjin.

the next time you saw his face, it was framed. adorned with flowers, surrounded by people who had come to mourn him. the world felt hollow as you stood there, staring at his peaceful face, knowing the price of this fight—knowing that he had given everything for something that you didn’t even understand. and now, all you had left were memories and a lingering pain in your chest.

you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t think. all you could do was stand there, as the cold reality sunk in.

the promise of leaving everything behind. of escaping. of being free. it was gone. baekjin was gone. your baekjin. and now, you were left alone, standing in the ruins of everything you had dreamed for.

because the truth was—no matter how tightly you held him, how many times you whispered that he deserved more—baekjin had always been in pain. maybe he was just good at hiding it. maybe you were just good at pretending not to see how deep it ran.

he was just a kid. just like you. trying to survive a world that asked too much and gave back nothing but scars.

you were two kids in love, trying to dream a future into existence—one with matching hoodies and late-night takeout and photobooth strips and polaroids taped to your would-be college dorm walls. a future somewhere far from the violence, far from the weight he was forced to carry.

but this place—this twisted, brutal position he’d been trapped in—it never let him go. no matter how warm your arms were, how soft your voice sounded when you said his name, it was never enough to save him. you couldn’t save him.

and now all that’s left are the echoes of that dream, scattered around your feet like glass. and all you can do is kneel there in the shards, clutching the memory of his voice in your hands—“thank you, darling.”

like that alone could stitch the pieces back together.

edit: changed the divider to soft bae nara as compensation for my readers crying under this fic 🥺🤏 sorry 2 everyone’s hearts xx

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3 it helps my works and writing spread to other ppl very effectively !!

a/n — it’s literally 3 am... edit: i’m sorry for making you guys cry (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) i reread this before publishing with the playlist and homestly teared up too ㅠㅠ

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu @dhaliaa1211 @seokminfilm @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez

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honeyscara · 1 month ago

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❝ TUTOR ❞ — Yeon Si eun

-weak hero full length fic

Synopsis: You’re forced into tutoring with Yeon Sieun—a boy your mother praises like a god and you instinctively can’t stand at first. What begins as simple tutoring sessions turns into something else and you find yourself with sieun up against dangerous people & situations. But it's not all bad as you end up finding unexpected friendships and love.

Content: strangers(?) to lovers, si eun × female! reader, follows s2 storyline so spoilers!!, shit goes from 0 to 100 real quick

Tw/cw: angst, suggestive, mentions of physical violence and SA, trauma, strong language, blood.

Masterlist ּ ֶָ֢.

Chapter 1 Chapter 10

Chapter 2 Chapter 11

Chapter 3 Chapter 12

Chapter 4 Chapter 14

Chapter 5 Chapter 15

Chapter 6 Chapter 16

Chapter 7 Chapter 17

Chapter 8 Chapter 18

Chapter 9 Finale

A/n's note: Will update the chapters soon<3 let me know if anyone wants to be added to the taglist

Whc masterlist

#honeyscara masterlist #honeyscara works #weak hero class #weak hero #sieun weak hero class #sieun x reader #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #whc2 x reader #whc x reader #whc2 #whc2 spoilers #whc sieun #whc angst #weak hero class season 2 #weak hero class 2

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slytherinshua · 2 months ago

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꒱　BRUISE YOU BLACK AND BLUE　( 서준태 )

genre hurt/comfort , juntae x fem!reader cw spoilers for weak hero class 2 ep 8 (takes place during ep 8 events) , bruises , fighting , crying wc 977 request no note juntae broke the writers block let us all rejoice, i'll always come out of hibernation for my cinnamon roll boys. i've been listening to the weak hero osts since i finished watching last night this morning and i've never been so destroyed net @kstrucknet

Your heart always faltered whenever it took more than two rings for Juntae to pick up. For someone as organized and smart as him, it never meant that he simply forgot to charge his phone. Something must have happened. Whenever he didn’t pick up, you knew he wasn’t okay.

You worried about him more than he would’ve liked you to. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him or his friends, or thought he couldn’t handle himself or that he was weak. He was stronger mentally than you could ever be and his quick thinking was admirable by anyone. But physically, he was always bested. He didn’t have Humin’s strong punch or Hyuntak’s agility. When combat arose and the options were fight or flight, his body picked freeze.

Today was the day Eunjang would fight against the Union. There was fear, anticipation, and something akin to excitement in the students’ minds. They had the chance to end it once and for all. It was now or never.

You had Juntae’s location on your phone. When he didn’t pick up the first time, you tried texting him. When he didn’t pick up the second time, alarms were ringing louder than ever in your head. He wasn’t with the rest of the boys. Why the hell was his location showing the bowling alley?

You swore you had never ran faster in your life. Your legs carried you on adrenaline while your shaky hands dialled your boyfriend’s number every 5 minutes. You remembered weeks ago how Juntae had made you swear to not get involved, how Hyuntak warned you that the risk was too high for you to get entangled in it. You were breaking those promises now, feet aching in your sneakers as you ran faster, the alley soon coming into view.

You’d have to ask for Juntae’s forgiveness later.

The building was quiet when you walked in. Bowling balls were scattered on the floor and one of the Union guys was knocked unconscious in the middle of the room. Your eyes locked onto Juntae’s tattered shoes sticking out from behind a shelf of balls. You heard his shaky breaths, his soft grunts of pain. You saw the uncomfortable shift of his legs, trembling and weak. You didn’t take anymore time to rush to his side.

“Juntae, are you okay? What happened?” Your voice quivered. Hands instinctively reaching to hold him, your touch gentle and held back. It was different. You would always run into his arms, throwing yourself onto him with full force, knowing he would catch you and hold you tightly, laughter escaping both your lips. But right now, you were scared to hurt him, scared to cause anymore stress or concern. You were scared that he wouldn’t want you there.

“Why are you here? You should leave. You’ll get hurt.” He sounded exhausted— murmurs coming out amidst pained gasps. Tears filled both your eyes, yours escaping to slowly fall down your cheek while Juntae held his back.

“I’m not leaving. Not without you,” you said firmly.

Juntae knew you better than to think you would change your mind, even if he begged you. He gave a solemn nod, accepting it without further discussion. You let out a sigh of relief.

“How badly are you hurt? Can you stand on your own?”

He shook his head, “Everything hurts. I can’t walk well.”

“Shit, it’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get out of here, okay?”

He could only muster a few nods, holding back laboured breaths and stinging gasps. You got him to his feet, managing to hold him steady although he couldn’t support himself. You gripped his waist tightly and guided his feet up the stairs. You caught every stumble, hushed every whimper, held him tight as if he would disappear if you didn’t. You reached the bus stop on the sidewalk after a few stumbling minutes, and gently lowered him onto the bench. He wouldn’t let go of your hand.

“W-we should meet the others. It’s not too far from here,” he gasped, still clutching his side.

“Not until you can walk on your own,” you uttered. “Hold still.”

You slipped his jacket off his left arm and lifted his shirt over the area he held in pain. The entire side of his stomach trailing up to his ribs was covered in fresh bruises, his skin agitated and reddish purple. You winced at the sight, imagining how violently he must’ve been thrown across the room to form them.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” you said, meeting his tearful eyes. Juntae watched you rush down the street, disappearing into the convenience store. Time seemed to slow as soon as you were out of his sight. He was alone with his thoughts to picture all the possibilities that scared him so much. Would the plan really work?

You came back with a cup of ice in your hands and a box of pain medication— the same kind Juntae had insisted you take the last time you had a cold. He was worried sick about you back then, even though you swore you were fine. It was your turn to do the same for him.

“Here, take this. It’s good to ice bruises as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. You pressed the ice to his side as he swallowed one of the pills. His head fell to your shoulder and you spoke in soft murmurs.

“Do you think they’ll really beat Baekjin and the Union?”

“We have to. It’s our only chance,” he said softly. “Baku will do it. I know he will.”

“I’m proud of you, Juntae. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Really?”

You looked down, noticing the small smile on his face, one that you simply adored.

“Really. I’ve seen it for weeks now,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his forehead. “It’ll all be over soon.”

k-drama taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @candewlsy,, @cosmicwintr,, @blossominghunnie,, @parkjennykim,, @seunghancore,, @emmylksblog,, @bananabubble,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @hrtsvivis,, @hursheys,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows

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08luvmailz · 2 months ago

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★ ﾟ๑ CONSOLE ME , AND THEN I'LL LEAVE WITHOUT A TRACE ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you after a year of leaving you behind ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ third part ／ I'd do anything just for me to see you again ──⠀ angst / no comfort , set on ep1 of s2 , sieun's pov ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ the first part was supposed to be just a oneshot, i have no place to make this whatsoever but since many requested and i have a plot, i decided to make it. hope you all enjoy, kindly read the first one to have more background of what happened.

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

At first, I never really cared for her. She was just a classmate — someone I talked to during group work, someone who laughed a little too brightly, who asked too many questions.

I would see her in class, voice too loud for the hour, laughter spilling like sunlight on polished floors. I saw her in hallways, always walking ahead or brushing past — never too far, never too close. I didn’t mind her. She was just… ordinary. Just another face in a sea of faces, nothing to remember. At least, that’s what I told myself.

And then I started noticing her more often — not intentionally, not all at once. Just… little things. The way some girls whispered behind her back, voices sharp with envy or something close to cruelty. “I don’t care,” I told myself as I slipped my earphones in, letting the music drown out the world. But as soon as I wrote down words in my notebook, my thoughts strayed — not to formulas or sentences, but to her.

I barely knew her, and still, I thought… she didn’t deserve that. I didn’t care, I told myself again. But somehow, she stayed in my mind longer than she should have.

And then I saw her go quiet. I didn’t think much of it — she was just a classmate, nothing more. But slowly, people began to drift away from her like she carried some invisible weight they didn’t want to hold. I told myself I didn’t care. Still, there were moments I’d catch myself looking — really looking.

She’d lower her head, pretending to sleep, but her shoulders would tremble ever so slightly. She must’ve been crying. I didn’t ask. I didn’t move. I didn’t care… or at least, that’s what I kept saying. But sympathy crept in like a whisper, and I hated that part of me that noticed — because she was still just a classmate. Nothing more.

Then, for a while, I stopped looking at her. She faded back into the noise — just a normal classmate again.

I went on with my routine: sleep, eat, study. Eat, study, sleep. On and on like clockwork.

But somewhere in between the silence, I started to hear her voice again — light, bright, almost chirpy, like birds in spring. She was talking to someone… Suno? No — Suho, I think. I didn’t care enough to know. But I noticed something. Her smile — it was different. Wider. Softer. Maybe that was her real smile. Maybe that’s how she looked when someone made her feel seen.

I glanced at her talking to him, her smile — it was pretty. But before I could even let the thought settle, I quickly averted my gaze, focusing back on the formulas I was scribbling in my notebook. Still, my mind kept crawling back to her, like an ant drawn to a sugary fruit, helpless to resist. She's pretty, I thought. But she's just my classmate. Just that. Nothing more.

And then she noticed — caught me staring. Our eyes met, and for a split second, I forgot how to breathe. She smiled. Soft, like it meant nothing at all, like it was the easiest thing in the world. I looked away. Maybe she thought I was a creep. Maybe she was smiling at someone behind me. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Because the truth was, her smile made my chest ache in a way I didn’t understand, and I didn’t know what to do with that.

But for a moment, I felt like I was dreaming, like the world around me was moving too fast. Everything blurred — her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke, the sound of her voice — it all tangled together, slipping through my fingers like water. I couldn’t quite grasp it, but I couldn’t look away either. It was as if I was standing on the edge, watching something beautiful unfold, yet too scared to step forward.

The table I used to sit at during lunch, it was just me, my food, and my book.

It was peaceful, and I was determined to study, to block out the noise of everything else. But in the blink of an eye, there were three people sitting there. I didn’t mind it one bit. Is this what it felt like? I hadn’t felt this in ages — the warmth of people around me, sharing the same table, eating the same food, chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was simple, something I had forgotten in a while. But, this is what i needed — what i wanted.

Her annoyance, Suho’s bland jokes, Beomseok’s laughter — it was a rhythm, a melody he never imagined he’d be part of, yet here he was. The moments were so simple, but in their simplicity, they held a weight he couldn't explain. Just the four of them, laughing, teasing, existing together — and he cherished it.

It was the kind of warmth that crept into his chest, quiet and steady, something he never knew he craved until it was there. The noise, the chatter, the feeling of belonging — it was everything he hadn’t realized he needed.

But then, with every sunny day, there was a shadow that stretched long and unyielding. A darkness that he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried. It was the kind of dark that clung to him, tightening its grip until he could barely breathe.

It was a nightmare, relentless and suffocating, one that twisted and turned with every breath he took. No matter how much he wanted to wake up, no matter how much he fought against it — he never did.

And then, it all crumbled. I remember the last time I saw her, the last time I felt her.

She stood there, in front of Suho’s bed, her arms wrapping around me in a way that made the world pause. I could feel the warmth of her embrace, like a sanctuary, something I had forgotten existed. It was the kind of warmth I didn’t deserve. Her presence pulled me in, and for a moment, I tried to block everything else out — the guilt, the fear, the suffocating weight of it all. But no matter how hard I tried, it crept in like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of my mind. It was my fault. I couldn’t escape it.

We stayed there together, outside Suho’s room, for hours. Her hand in mine, her fingers steady and warm, grounding me. Her hand on my shoulder, her touch gentle, like she was trying to tell me everything would be okay.

My head rested on top of hers, just for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did I. There was nothing left to say, not when everything was falling apart. But all I could feel was the warmth of her, a fleeting comfort that only made the gnawing guilt inside me worse.

And then, she had to leave. Her parents came, pulling her away from me, from this moment. The last thing I saw was her mouthing the words, “It’s going to be okay,” but I couldn’t bring myself to believe her. Not then. Not now.

After that, everything was a blur. Like the world spun faster than I could keep up with. I tried to focus, tried to do what I was supposed to do, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. I transferred schools, thinking it would make everything easier, as if running away from the memories would somehow fix me. But it didn’t.

Every day felt like I was sinking deeper into a pit I couldn’t escape. My mind kept returning to her, to the way she felt in my arms, to the sound of her voice, to the warmth she gave me that I didn’t deserve. I shut it all out, but I couldn’t shut her out. She lingered in the back of my thoughts like a constant ache.

But deep down, he knew. He didn’t want to talk to her—not because he didn’t care, but because he was afraid of what his words would mean. Afraid of what it would do to her, to them. So he kept ignoring her, pretending it was for the best. He found comfort in the silence, but it gnawed at him.

One day, she reached out again. At first, I thought maybe this time would be different. Maybe I could reply, tell her the truth, apologize. But the guilt slammed into him all over again. Every message, every word she’d sent, was like a reminder of how I’d failed her. Of how I pushed her away when she needed me the most.

I started looking for excuses, for reasons not to reach out, even when I saw her messages pop up on my screen. At first, I thought maybe I could talk to her, tell her what had happened, apologize. But every time I saw her name, the guilt was there, suffocating me. It was easier to ignore her, to let the silence between us stretch on, to convince myself that this was what was best for her.

I told myself it was for the better. But, it hurts so much. I need her.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Every message she sent, every question she asked, it felt like a weight pressing against my chest. I wanted to reply, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face her like this, not when I was falling apart. Not when I had ruined everything.

Every time he saw her name pop up on his screen, he felt like his chest would collapse in on itself. He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to ignore her, pretend she wasn’t still trying to reach him, trying to hold on to the past that he couldn’t fix. But the messages were endless. 9 p.m., 11:30 p.m., 2:14 a.m., morning. She was always there, always waiting. And every time, it hurt.

So I did what I thought was easiest — I put her on spam. I tried to forget her, tried to convince myself that ignoring her was the right thing to do. But every night, as I lay awake, I found myself scrolling through our old messages, through the photos we shared, through the times when things were easier. And it hurt, more than anything.

His heart heavy with every word, the bickers they had. Even if he was the dry texter. He remembered the way she asked him for help with problems, the way they’d share laughs, the late-night hangouts just the two of them. Back then, everything had felt simple. Pure. But now, looking at her name on the screen, it felt like a reminder of everything he’d lost.

He cried when he saw them. The hours of unanswered messages. His phone screen became a constant reminder of the fact that he couldn’t be the person she needed. He couldn’t give her the closure, the healing, the peace she deserved. And he hated himself for it.

She told me that she would always be there for me, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me.

I cried, more times than I could count. I cried because I missed her. I cried because I knew I’d never be the person she deserved. I cried because of the nightmares. And I cried because I was too weak to make it right.

"I ignore her. She’ll hate me. That’s good. She deserves peace after this," he told himself. But it didn’t make it hurt any less. The more he tried to convince himself it was for the best, the more the ache in his chest grew. He didn’t want her to hate him. He didn’t want her to leave him behind.

But he couldn’t stop the spiral. He wanted her to move on, to live her life without him, without the weight of their shared past.

But how could he ask her to do that, when he couldn’t even let go himself?

And then he heard her voice. At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or another dream he couldn’t escape. But then he stepped outside, and there she was. He froze. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, each beat painfully distinct. He didn’t even run. He just stood there, staring at her—at the tired figure standing in front of him.

She looked different, somehow. Her jacket slipped off her shoulder, the bags in her hands clinking softly with each step. And was that... a flower in one of the bags? The urge to reach out, to hold her, almost overwhelmed him. His body screamed for it, but his mind... his mind couldn’t allow it. Not yet.

Then his mother's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. "Is she your friend? You didn’t tell me she was coming?" And just like that, it all came crashing back. The promises he'd broken. The ignoring. The leaving. The silence. Guilt wrapped around him tighter, and for a moment, it was suffocating.

Without thinking, the words slipped from his mouth. "I don’t have any friends. I don’t know her."

The words were like daggers. His voice was steady, cold even, but his gaze... his gaze was locked onto hers. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to say it. But somehow, it came out.

And when he looked at her—really looked at her—he saw the hurt in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped slightly, as if the world had just grown heavier. She looked so small. So vulnerable. And he had done that to her. He had pushed her away when she needed him most.

He did it. But, it hurts. It really does.

She turned, slowly, as if she was trying to give him one last chance. But she didn’t say anything. She just... left. And he stood there, paralyzed, as the door clicked shut behind her. He could feel the emptiness in the air, the crushing weight of everything he had just destroyed. He wanted to call out, to run after her, to tell her it was a mistake. That he didn’t mean it. But his body wouldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the very guilt he had been carrying for so long.

His mother said something, but he didn’t hear her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All he could feel was the cold air around him, the deep ache in his chest, the echo of the words he wished he could take back.

He didn’t move. He just turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last, each one feeling like shards of glass beneath his feet. He told his mother that he needed to study. But every step on the hallway seemed too long. The silence too thick. He wanted to scream, to disappear, to escape from everything he had done.

But he couldn’t. All he could do was retreat into his room, lock the door behind him, and bury himself in the darkness. His bed was the only place that felt familiar, but even then, sleep was out of reach. He tossed and turned, restless and tormented by the image of her walking away, and the sound of her voice fading as the distance between them grew.

And somewhere in the quiet, he realized—he had already lost her.

And when he finally lay on his bed, it all came rushing back.

The warmth.

The first time their eyes met, the way her smile made everything feel brighter, even in the quietest moments.

He remembered how she would come up to him, randomly, asking questions—always wanting to learn, to understand. And he would answer her, speaking the words she needed.

She’d sit beside him, always so eager to learn, and he thought she found him boring, especially after her endless questions turned into silence. She became quiet, and that, too, felt like a shift he didn’t know how to navigate.

Then came that one time when she wanted him to explain something in English, and as he did, she blurted out, “You should speak more. Your voice is like marshmallow.”

Her smile made his heart stutter. He felt like he was on clouds, his chest light but his stomach tightening in a way he couldn’t explain. He had to break eye contact, focusing on his book to hide the heat rushing to his cheeks, but the sentence he was trying to read? He couldn’t focus. It felt wrong. It wasn’t like him.

The candies she would give him. “Mint is good for focus. Suho told me.”

The way they’d share food, her small, quiet gestures always speaking louder than words. And the lunches. She’d sit next to him, and it was always just the two of them—until Suho showed up, and Beomseok too. His table, once empty, was now filled with them, and he didn’t know if he should be thankful or terrified. They were there, and he couldn’t push them away.

Then there were the rainy days. The shared umbrella, too small for the both of them, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her getting sick. So he tilted it toward her, just a little closer, not thinking twice about the consequences.

He almost got a call the next day for missing school, but he hadn’t cared. He just wanted her to be okay.

It was all slipping away now. His hands gripped the sheets as memories tangled with regret. The tears started, hot and heavy, before he even realized they were there. He didn’t know when the sobs came, but they were there now, uncontrollable, as he lay in the dim light, overwhelmed by everything he had lost.

He glanced at his phone. The time was 7 pm and he glanced at the lock screen. It was her. Her smiling face, hair loose, the one she’d stolen from him when she’d gotten her hands on his phone. She’d set it as his lock screen, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and he hadn’t minded.

In fact, he’d never wanted to change it. Not until now.

His hand shook as he unlocked it, staring at her face for one last time. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

Without thinking, he deleted the lock screen. The image of her was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, empty blue display.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling as the heavy silence of his room pressed against him. His phone, now locked with a cold, indifferent blue display, sat on his nightstand. It felt like a physical weight in the room, an anchor to a past he desperately wanted to sever. Yet, in the hollow of his chest, something long forgotten ached—something that belonged only to her. The memories would rise like unwelcome ghosts, flickering at the edges of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push them back.

He hadn’t meant for it to come to this. The distance, the silence—it was supposed to be the easy way out, wasn’t it? She didn’t need him in her life anymore. She deserved better, a future without someone like him, someone who couldn’t even manage to keep the people closest to him safe. He clenched his fists, the ache in his chest flaring like an open wound. I don’t deserve her, not after everything I’ve done.

I’m sorry, he thought, his chest tightening. I’m so sorry.

But he never said it to her face.

A year has passed.

Sieun didn’t keep track anymore. He only counted time in therapy sessions, pills swallowed, hours spent pretending to sleep. But that day, he found himself outside Suho’s hospital room again—his usual spot on the bench across the door, his head bowed, hands clenched. The log sheet was new. He scanned it out of habit. Her name wasn’t there.

She must have stopped coming.

A dull ache settled in his chest. It was for the best, he told himself. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?

But fate is cruel when it chooses to be kind.

Because just as he finally sat down, the door creaked open.

There she was.

She stepped out of Suho’s room like a memory peeling itself off the wall. Still in that uniform—their old school uniform. Her skirt a little longer than the standard, her cardigan slightly oversized, she dyed her hair the way she wanted and asked the three of them if she would look good on a light brown look. He remembered the way beomseok and him nodded but then suho contradicted that she would looked like she's wearing a wig— a kick on his face was the answer for that.

She looked the same but older. The same but distant. The same but not his.

Their eyes met.

And for the first time in months, he felt like he could breathe.

But it was a cruel kind of breath, the kind you choke on.

Time slipped.

And suddenly he felt like he was in junior high all over again.

Instantly, he remembered the very first time he saw her.

He had been standing outside the teachers’ faculty room, arms full of worksheets the teacher asked him to return. But his grip faltered, and the stack scattered like brittle leaves onto the cold floor.

He’d dropped to his knees, flustered, reaching for the pages scattered like fallen leaves. Shoes passed him, careless, stepping on some of the sheets — he didn’t care.

Not until the door creaked open. He flinched at the sound, and when he looked up, there she was. Standing still. Her eyes found him, wide and startled, not with pity, but something gentler — concern.

She knelt down without a word, her small hands brushing against his as she helped gather the pages. Strawberry clips in her hair, low pigtails framing her face. She didn’t smile, not yet. But her presence was enough to make him forget the hallway noise, the sting of embarrassment, the weight in his chest.

She was really pretty.

He didn’t know her name back then. But her kindness made his chest ache in a way he didn’t yet understand.

She handed me the worksheets with a soft smile and tilted her head, “You okay, Sieun? Do you want me to help you carry some?” Her voice was light, almost teasing.

I blinked at her, confused for a second — how did she know my name? But then I saw her eyes flicker down to my name tag, and I felt stupid for even questioning it.

Still, for some reason, my mind blanked. I felt like I was turning dumb, just standing there with my hands full and my thoughts even fuller.

But just as I was about to say something — anything — a voice from down the hallway called her name. One of her friends, waving her over. She glanced back at me with that same bright smile and gave a small wave, “Watch your step, Sieun-ah!” she said, lighthearted and cheerful, before running off.

I stood there for a moment, frozen in place, clutching the stack of papers like an idiot. I didn’t move. Not yet. I just... stood there, feeling the echo of her smile linger a little too long in my chest.

But that was then.

Now, the girl from that memory stared at him like he was a ghost.

Her face was blank. No smile. No worry. No softness.

Just a tired look—like seeing him drained her.

She pulled her headphones on without a word.

And walked passed right pass him.

Not a glance back.

He didn’t call after her. Didn’t move. Just sat there, hollowed out, trying not to show how badly it cracked him open.

Right, he thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in his throat. As he looked down at his phone, that he was messaging Suho.

As he typed the words. "I just saw Dokja, She's really pretty with her brown hair. But, we don't talk anymore."

"She’s not my 'friend' anymore."

And there he remained.

Alone in the hallway.

Just him.

And the past they once shared—now sealed behind Suho’s door, like a memory too fragile to touch.

♡ note ───── Come on, don't leave mе, it can't be that easy, babe. If you believe me, I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city, excited to see your face. Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, would upload the parallel version.

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy

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