xaratx1

[xaratx1]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. || 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯 (1)

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x𝐰𝐜: 𝟿.𝟷𝚔

x𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮. 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘴)

x𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴; 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦; 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴-𝘵𝘰-𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 + 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯/ 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵.

x𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯), 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 “𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵”.

your shoes slap the tile.

too loud. too fast. too late? you won’t know for another few steps.

“code blue, room 16. code blue, room 16.”

you’re already moving before the second chime ends, your body obeying instinct. you reach out towards the figure in motion by the doors to the PICU, grab felix hard by the sleeve of his scrubs, and yank him into pace beside you.

 “run.” he doesn’t need to be told twice.

you skid down the hall, running past the empty med cart. past the soft-lit playroom, the low hum of machines still blinking green. someone’s soup is steaming at the charting station—someone who didn’t hear a monitor flatline. felix keeps up with the frenzied rhythm of your shoes hitting the floor; too used to this to break a sweat, not used to it enough to keep the adrenaline from mixing with cold fear.

you turn the last corner.

room 16.

the door is wide open. changbin is already on the bed: knees locked. shoulders squared. arms pumping in steady, fierce rhythm that doesn’t break when you and felix enter the room.

“apnea started during a reposition,” he pants, voice tight. “she just— she just went, fast.”

you don’t stop to process the scene or fire off more questions. there’s no time for anything but action— you just throw on gloves and take position at the head of the bed.

lina. only twelve. in and out for congenital kidney failure—a regular; bright, outgoing, one hell of an artist when her hands touch a box of crayons. and now she’s in full code.

“bagging with fifteen liters. any pulse?” your voice is even, controlled. like the rest of you isn’t vibrating as you call out medical orders, waiting for the charge nurse to rush in and take over. 

you move with practiced ease into the height of the code, kneeling next to the bed where one of your favorite patients lies unresponsive. “no pulse.” changbin replies, voice tight with the effort he’s putting into compressions, “vitals crashed, nothing readable yet.”

felix dives for the crash cart as lee know bursts in, already assigning.

“y/n’s bagging,” he calls out roles and you fall into them easily. “changbin’s on compressions. felix, stay on meds. where’s our doc?”

“here.” seungmin says from the doorway, calm as ever. pulling gloves like he doesn’t even need them—always the picture of control.

another call from seungmin: “v-fib, start the code.” the room kicks into overdrive as felix parks the crash cart, prepping epinephrine.

“jeongin—get vitals.”

he doesn’t move.

you see him freeze— eyes wide, shoulders rigid. your heart squeezes for him; god, not now. he can’t do this now. there’s no time.

seungmin leads the code with flawless efficiency. “push epinephrine, point one five in her iv.”

 felix hooks up into lina’s iv line, setting up the drugs that you pray will save her life. he doesn’t hesitate. “pushing epi now.”

“next rhythm check in thirty,” lee know says. “blood pressure unreadable. sats at sixty four and falling. stay on compressions, changbin.”

“come on, lina…” you whisper as you squeeze the bag that lets you breathe for her. you keep a close eye on the rise; the fall. no resistance. you adjust her jaw, and she doesn’t fight you.

han jisung barrels into room 16, scrubs askew. “i’ve got a six millimeter cuffed tube, suction ready.” he’s breathless from the run but no less ready to handle intubation, eager to help lina breathe again.

seungmin stays cool and collected, marking his appearance. “y/n, stay on the bag. jisung, you’ll intubate.” you both nod and get to work.

you hold the bag steady, keeping air flowing. jisung slides the tube like he’s done it a hundred times. and of course, he has.

you watch the monitor with fervent hope.

voice unwavering, you call out, “color change. chest rise. placement confirmed.”

seungmin nods sharply before his next orders, “push calcium gluconate stat, 100 milligrams— this renal crash is likely hyperkalemia. we've gotta get her potassium down.” 

felix is ready at lina’s side with the medicine. “pushing calcium.”

“also give bicarb and d10 with 0.1 units insulin.”

your hands don’t stop moving in life-saving ritual: compress. bag. count. breathe.

“compressions, rotate!”

changbin drops back with a sigh, sweat beading slick on his temple. lee know takes over in an instant. relentless. perfect.

beep.

then nothing… and the room buzzes with activity in the blink of an eye.

the perfectly synchronized chaos of your code team responding would be beautiful— artistic, even—if it didn’t mean death was approaching.

seungmin’s voice is still calm, but now it’s laced with an edge of alarmed authority. “v-tach on monitor! shock at 100 joules. clear the bed!”

you step back automatically. jisung tugs you a little farther, taking you out of the fray.

“clear.”

felix’s hands grip the defibrillator. he breathes deep, preparing to deliver the charge. then— 

pop.

lina's little body jolts as the shock delivers.

there’s a moment of brief, terrifying silence as all of you hold your breath. eyes darting, you look at one another in quick succession, each of you wondering the same thing.

and then, finally, the monitor beeps again. and again. and again—her heart is beating once more.

felix leans forward, his voice cracking when he delivers the first good news in what felt like hours but was probably mere minutes. “we have rhythm. sinus tach, 112.”

the relief in the air at her pulse is palpable, enough to make you want to fall to your knees.

you’re still holding the bag—she isn’t out of the woods, not yet. you stay kneeling at the head of the bed, keeping her breathing until the rest of her body stabilizes. your eyes lock onto her favorite teddy where it rests on the floor beside your feet.

you hate the wait that follows the heartbeat. the gray area where no one knows if it’s over yet.

“jeongin, vitals. now.” lee know reminds the CNA, who still hasn’t moved from his spot in the corner. he’s still pressed against the cabinet. tears running. you meet his eyes, nod once as if to say, “i don’t blame you”. he nods back—but doesn’t speak. not yet. he just shifts and goes to the other side of lina’s bed, getting a read on vital signs.

seungmin exhales once her sinus rhythm begins evening back out.

“sats climbing back up to the 80’s,” jeongin says, the shame of not acting sooner clear in his tone. “blood pressure 90 over 58, approaching ideal range. respiratory rate looks like she’s coming out of apnea. sh-should we remove tube and place on vent?” he questions seungmin with wide, glassy eyes. you turn to look at the doctor, still polished in his white coat— though a bit more ruffled now.

you lower the bag as a tech comes in to hook her up to the ventilator. you sigh audibly, feel your knees tremble.

she’s alive. and at the very least, she’ll be stable. for now.

but in a pediatric hospital, there’s little time for celebration. always pushing forward, always making rounds; always moving on to the next patient, no matter what happened in the room you were in before them.

“hallway, hot debrief. let's go.” lee know instructs as felix stays at lina’s side, busying himself with her drips and starting vital checks. jeongin hangs his head as the group of you make your way out of the post-code mess.

the hallway outside room 16 is dim. quiet in that way only hospitals get—like even the air is bracing for bad news.

you’re the last to leave, letting the door close softly behind you. the mask comes off with a tug that feels shakier than you’d like. your gloves go next; they’re damp. not from sweat, exactly—just from everything. from the whirlwind of adrenaline that always comes with a code. 

this one was laced with something more than adrenaline, though; lina is a long-timer. a familiar face, in and out of critical care for her little kidneys that just can’t quite keep up. loved by everyone, of course— but especially your crew. there’s more than one colorful drawing in her name hanging on the staff fridge of you and your friends holding hands, all stick limbs and wonky smiles.

you lean against the wall outside her door, palms braced behind you like they might keep your knees from giving way from the switch in pressure. the rush of the moment is gone, but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo. it’s still drumming madly behind your ribs, almost echoing in the quiet hallway.

changbin claps a hand on your shoulder on his way past. “i’ve gotta head back down to trauma bay,” he says, softer than usual. “text me if she declines.”

you nod. “thanks for jumping in.”

 “always.” he disappears down the corridor, shoulders squared like nothing just happened—but you know better. changbin’s always been good at carrying weight that never looks as heavy as you know it feels.

seungmin leaves next, tugging his white coat meticulously back into place. “i’ll check on her in an hour,” he says, scanning a chart in his hands. “page me for anything.” his voice is as steady as ever, but his jaw is tight with the aftermath of coding a twelve year old. it never gets any easier for him to absorb, no matter how many of these he leads with expert precision.

that leaves just four: you, lee know, jisung, and jeongin.

lee know exhales through his nose, folds his arms. “alright. quick code rundown.”

you straighten instinctively out of professional habit, despite knowing the stoic charge nurse since your school days. so does jisung. jeongin just stares at the floor like it personally betrayed him.

lee know’s tone is clipped but even, giving away nothing of the man behind the mask yet. “compressions were clean as could be. meds were fast. airway was handled smoothly—good call on staying on the bag, y/n. we bought her enough time to stabilize. clean intubation, too.”

you nod once. jisung doesn’t speak, but you see him relax the tiniest bit at a job well done.

“she’s post-renal,” lee know continues, “still critical. we should watch her labs, especially potassium. if she spikes again, we’ll need to act faster or else she runs risks of hypoxic injury.” you all nod.

his gaze flicks over to jeongin.

and the younger boy’s shoulders crumple. like he’s already steeling himself for impact.

but lee know doesn’t raise his voice. he just steps closer, reaches out, and rests a hand on jeongin’s shoulder. the younger boy looks up, wide eyes riddled with confusion and shame.

“hey,” he says, clinical but calm. “freezing happens.”

jeongin blinks. his lower lip wobbles. sometimes, it’s easy to forget that jeongin’s still so young; but it showed today. he saw himself in lina—you caught that realization in his face when he went rigid behind the crash cart.

“but—i was supposed to get vitals, and i didn’t, and what if—”

“what if nothing,” lee know cuts in firmly—but gently. “you’re still learning this place. these floors. these codes. it’s a hell of a thing to see a kid go out that fast, and no one is blaming you.”

jisung chimes in, voice softer than its usual swell of laughter. “first time i saw a code, i dropped the oxygen tank. totally forgot how to talk, man—i even think i turned white. thought i was gonna puke all over my code leader’s shoes.”

you let yourself lean a little toward jeongin, nudge his arm affectionately. “you’re not the only one who’s ever frozen, jeongin. you’re just the one who got caught doing it this time.”

that earns the tiniest huff of a laugh from him. not much, but it’s something.

lee know’s grip squeezes once, then lets go. “the fact that you’re still here? that says more than anything you did or didn’t do in that room. so just don’t freeze next time, and you’ll be fine.”

jeongin wipes at his cheek with the back of his hand. he doesn’t say thank you; doesn’t have to. lee know is already walking back to the nurse’s station.

jeongin stands a little taller now. not much. but enough. like he’s the kid finally able to breathe on his own again, even if he’s a little older than twelve.

“come on boys,” you say with a much lighter tone than the weight you feel in your chest, “we’ve got charting to do.”

-

the walk back to the nurse station feels longer than usual; like the hallway stretched itself thin to absorb the aftershock. it’s quieter now, less adrenaline, more ambient buzz. a distant iv pump beeps in a room down the corridor. someone’s giggle—probably one of the toddlers in step-down—bounces faintly off the walls.

this part of the unit houses kids who are no longer in critical care, but aren’t quite ready to go home yet, either. it’s supposed to be quieter here. safer. but safety is a spectrum in pediatric medicine, and today’s crash proved that more than ever.

bang chan is already at the nurse station when you return, one hand cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, the other typing fluidly into a chart. his voice is melodic with measured warmth, the way it always is when he talks to lab techs or pharmacy staff. the way he talks to anyone, really: safety and kindness, clarity and calm.

“—yep, that’s right. riley conner, room 31—her labs just came in. potassium’s back in range. thank you. yep, i’ll update the board.” you must’ve caught him on the tail end of a conversation with labs.

he hangs up with a soft click and swivels in his chair—eyes landing on you before anything else. there’s a small, affectionate smile already ghosting across his lips, but it falters slightly when he sees your still-ashen face. or maybe it just softens; like he recognizes something unspoken. if anyone could see through your fronts like you’re a glass window... it’d be chan.

“let me guess,” he says, voice quiet enough that only you can hear, tone solemn now. “you were one of the ones in lina’s room?”

“first in other than changbin,” you try to play it casual, leaning slightly over the counter to log into your workstation. “how’d you know?”

his smile turns knowing, like this is something he never doubted. like he knows you better than you know yourself— and god, he does. he does. “you adore lina,” he says simply. “i knew you’d drop everything if she went into a code.”

there’s no accusation in his voice, just fact. gentle, steady fact.

and that—that soft certainty—almost makes it worse.

you huff a quiet breath; it’s almost a laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “you make it sound like i’m a bleeding heart.” you tell him dramatically, playing humor to your favor to hide how stripped bare you feel beneath his knowing gaze. 

“you are,” he says without hesitation. then: “not in a bad way— never a bad way.”

you shake your head, pulling up your next chart. “chan…” your voice is tight with unshed tears, with the well of emotions you stuffed down your throat so that you were able to deliver the best care possible.

he leans in just slightly. not enough to crowd you, never pressing your walls—but enough that you can feel his presence like a steady rhythm beside your chaos. enough to reassure you that he can see right over those walls you build.

“you know it’s okay to feel it, right?” he says, his words still low, private and gentle. “to feel anything after what just happened?”

your fingers pause over the keyboard. not typing. not ready. not willing to let down your guard when you’re barely even halfway through a grueling shift.

“i can’t afford to,” you murmur, voice softer than you meant it to be. “not while i still have patients.”

chan doesn’t argue. he just nods, slow and understanding. you know he sees you— he always does. but he lets you have your space, doesn’t pop the protective bubble you’ve built around yourself. just peers right through it at everything you’re carrying; wishing he could pick some of it up and lighten your load.

“then let me hold it for now,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “until you’re ready.”

you straighten a little, smile polite even if it’s a bit forced. “i’ve gotta go check on my vent kid in 20. he always gets fussy with his mask after meds.” it’s true— ian, eleven, hates having his independence stripped from him by a machine. but you’re dodging, and chan knows it.

chan just nods, accepting the gentle redirection for what it is. “of course.”

but as you walk off, you feel his gaze linger—not heavy, just present. like he's already memorized your tells and knows when you're deflecting. like he’ll let you have your space, but not your silence, not forever.

like he’ll still be there when you’re ready.

you don’t look back as you walk away from the nurse’s station.

not because you’re avoiding anything—even though you are—but because you know chan is still standing there. watching. and if you look, your walls might crumble just a little.

you tuck your hands into your pockets instead. try not to think about how they’re still faintly trembling. if anyone asks, you’ll blame it on adrenaline.

the hallways are quiet again. not the urgent kind of quiet that follows a code—just the ordinary hush of a post-ICU stepdown ward on a slow day. life-sustaining machines hum softly behind closed doors; monitors beep in comforting rhythm, tracking hearts and breaths and vitals. someone is playing a cartoon rerun too loud in room 17, but no one really seems to mind.

as you pass by room 18, you hear han jisung’s voice float into the hall—warm, animated, full of life. “no way you beat me at uno again, davie! you’ve gotta be cheating—are you hiding draw fours under your pillow? lemme see, bud!”

there’s a burst of giggles from inside. the lightness of it tugs a reluctant smile from your mouth.

you keep walking.

funny, you think. how this place used to feel enormous when you first started. how sterile it looked. how far away your people were—scattered across rotations, programs, departments, miles away from here. but now?

now it feels like home.

not because the work is easy—it never is. not because the days don’t leave marks—they do, every time.

but because… somehow, you all ended up here. together.

you didn’t all start in the same place, though. not really.

changbin, lee know, jeongin, felix—those were your nursing school years. the long nights in library basements together. the early mornings on community health rounds. the stress-eating huddle during pathophys finals. you practiced bedside manners, memorized veins and arteries, learned how to check pulses and hang fluids and pretend you weren’t on the verge of tears together.

and chan.

god— chan. your guardian angel on bad days, your closest and most trusted friend on good ones.

you met him your first week of school, sitting on the hallway floor outside your sim lab as you waited for the door to open, both of you in your first pair of scrubs and clutching your orientation papers like they might vanish.

he looked over, offered half his granola bar, and said, “fancy meeting you here. are you an early riser too?”

you’d nodded, thanked him nervously, accepted the half of his snack with grateful hands; and that was it. 

“i’m bang chan,” he said with a smile so warm it felt like a hug.

“y/n.”

you didn’t even know it at the time, that you’d instantly rewritten your entire life when you gained his friendship sitting in that hallway.

but you’d smiled back anyway.

he was your first clinical partner. your first source of backup. the first person who ever noticed when your hands started to shake—before you even knew they did. you’ve seen each other through exams and all-nighters, heartbreaks and hospital floors. 

he never blinked when you finished nursing school a semester early, never blamed you when you went off to pursue a second degree in respiratory therapy. he just nodded, smiled, and asked you to keep texting him during your lunch breaks— and of course you did.

then came the bridge program. your addition of RT to your brand-new RN badge. respiratory therapy training was a blur of ventilators and gas laws and twelve-hour clinicals through the nearby med school. and it was there that you met the others: jisung, seungmin, hyunjin. the med-side kids with their clipped badges and coffee orders, their notes scribbled with horrific handwriting on post-its and whiteboards, and too many unanswered questions about what they were supposed to become once they got the titles attached to their names.

somehow, over hospital shifts and overlapping rotations, lab calls and cafeteria nights—your worlds meshed. lines blurred. friendships formed; you never meant to be the common thread, but you were, and they all thanked you for it. nursing allies crossed over with med school members, and your circle grew outward.

and then came the miracle: years later, finally getting somewhere in your careers, you all applied to different wings of the same hospital, and every single one of you stayed.

somerset children’s hospital.

it doesn’t make sense, really. not statistically, not logically; that all eight of your best friends somehow, miraculously, wound up working under the same roof. it’s unheard of.

but you don’t need it to make sense. it’s your miracle.

because right now, in a ward full of kids learning how to breathe again, your people are only a few steps away. checking vitals. adjusting lines. comforting parents. tossing each other protein bars and inside jokes, swapping stories and sandwiches like tomorrow won’t be just as hard as today.

and you?

you’ve got another patient to see.

-

room 20 is dim when you enter.

you knock anyway, knuckles soft against the doorframe—more out of habit than necessity. the room is quiet except for the mechanical whirr-sigh-whirr of the ventilator, measured and even, like the sea pulling waves of breath after breath into the young boy in the bed.

ian blinks over at you when you walk in. no panic; just that stubborn, huffy kind of boredom that only eleven-year-olds can muster after a major surgery.

“hey, buddy,” you say gently, already washing your hands at the sink. “you hangin’ in there?”

he shrugs, barely—a small movement of one shoulder that doesn’t disturb the bundle of leads, tubes, and carefully positioned spinal support. you can see it in his face that he hates not having any freedom.

you dry your hands and tug on gloves, slow and easy. no rush, no flurry of movement. just the soft rhythm of caregiving. “you got your pain meds right on schedule, so i’m guessing you’re feeling okay physically. is it the mask that’s bugging you now?”

he nods.

your eyes move to the vent settings out of habit, trained to track subtle shifts in compliance and effort. he’s not breathing over it, which is expected— he’s still early post-operation— but the settings are low enough that it’s more of a supportive nudge than a lifeline now. just enough to take strain off his airway, give the swelling some time to ease. you’d be surprised if he’s still intubated by morning tomorrow.

but kids don’t live in the clinical timeline: they live in the now. and in ian’s now, this is misery.

you move closer, careful to stay in his line of sight as you tuck the blanket a little higher over his chest. “can i check your tube, ian?” you ask, even though he can’t answer. but he nods again, and that’s enough.

you check the securement at his mouth, peek at the position marker to confirm depth, adjust the soft strap that’s started to crease his cheek. he lets you work in silence, eyes tracking you the whole time with that annoyed edge in them.

and then, when you reach for his chart to see when his next med pass is so you can let seungmin know, he picks up the purple crayon beside his bed.

it’s a dull nub. the label’s peeled halfway down.

he scribbles something crooked across a torn page from a notebook, then turns it toward you for you to read.

“this suckz. i just wanna talk out loud.”

“i’m all better now, right?”

your heart pulls tight in your chest.

you squat down a little so you’re more level with him, hands braced lightly on the side rail, voice soft but steady as you try to comfort ian.

“i know it really sucks to not be able to talk,” you say, and the honesty is a balm. “and i know it feels like you’re all better now, because your pain’s gone and you’re wide awake and being so, so brave.”

his eyes flicker a little, a hint of pride warring with his frustration.

“but your body’s still healing,” you explain, “even when it feels like it’s fine. we’re waiting for not just your back to get all better, but your throat, too. that uncomfy breathing tube had to go in deep, remember? and when we do big surgeries like yours, sometimes the inside of your throat and chest gets puffy—like how your ankle might swell up if you fall riding your bike. and if we take the tube out too early... you might not be able to breathe well on your own.”

his fingers tighten around the crayon.

“you’re not gonna stay on it,” you add quickly to assuage the scare. “your numbers look great, kiddo. you’re getting stronger. we just wanna make sure we don’t rush it.”

he scribbles something else. it’s messier this time.

“but i feel fine.”

you nod. “you do feel fine. and that’s amazing, ian; i’m really glad you feel so good. but breathing’s one of those things where we don’t always notice trouble until it’s... well, really big trouble.”

you tap the ventilator gently with your knuckle, the sound hollow and soft. “this guy’s here to keep you ahead of the game. he’s not forever. he’s just your pit stop crew while we change out your tires.”

ian stares at you. then, slowly, he wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm.

you offer him the little board they sometimes use on this unit— a piece of plywood covered with velcro squares of symbols and emotions. he takes it reluctantly. doesn’t touch the "pain" square. doesn’t reach for "scared." he just pulls off the one that says “frustrated” and sticks it next to the image of the ventilator.

you smile. “yeah, fair enough.”

you adjust his pulse ox probe while you’re there, making sure it’s not pinching his finger. “wanna help me pick your weaning music later?” you ask, making it sound like it’s a fancy privilege. “some kids pick movie soundtracks. some go full popstar.”

he stares at you a second longer, then scribbles madly on the back of the notebook page: “kpop plz. i <3 shinee.”

you laugh just a little—you wouldn’t have pinned ian as a k-pop stan. “you want a k-pop playlist?”

he nods, eyes mischievous now. you nudge his shoulder very, very gently.

“good taste.”

as you update the chart at the foot of his bed, you watch him settle a little deeper into the mattress. his hand drifts back to the notebook, but this time he doesn’t write anything. just doodles in lazy purple spirals, the kinds that say: i’m annoyed, but not panicked anymore.

you take that as a win.

your eyes flick to the monitor. his sats are steady. heart rate’s calm. the vent sighs again, and you feel it match your own chest: in and out, slow and sure.

on your way out, you brush a hand against the rail.

“hang in there, ian,” you murmur. “you’re almost in the clear, little man.”

you leave the room the way you entered— gently. but your heart feels a little fuller than when you came in.

even if he can’t talk yet, ian’s still saying plenty. you just have to know how to listen.

you slip out of ian’s room quietly, like leaving too loud might unravel the calm you just built. you peel off your gloves, toss them into the bin, and flex your fingers once before curling them around the chart in your hand. the shift still is far from over. there’s still more to do.

the hallway is somehow brighter now, lights reflecting off the polished linoleum that squeaks against your shoes every few steps. you pass ginger, the peppy, freshly post-grad phlebotomist— she waves happily, like she doesn’t draw blood for a living. 

you glance down at your clipboard to see who’s next on your list of kids to visit. you scan down below ian’s name to see the name and room number: natalie, room 24, still recovering from a lung volume reduction surgery.

she’s not on the vent anymore, just high-flow now. oxygen at 4 liters via cannula; labs are stable. lungs are recovering. but her mood? questionable.

you square your shoulders, tug your badge straight, and start walking.

a tiny sound down the hall catches your attention—someone’s TV humming, jeongin’s laugh from behind the desk, a parent talking low into a phone near the playroom. all normal. all safe.

you trek past the mural wall with the painted-hand butterfly projects the long haul kids did last month. past the laundry cart that an overworked staff member left still half-blocking the corridor. past the stretch of bulletin board paper where someone wrote in blue pen:

“this is a healing place.”

you believe it. some days, you help make it true.

room 24 comes into view.

you smooth your hair, knock twice.

and the moment you step inside, you feel the frustration in the air—tiktok echoing, teen girl scowling, eyes rolling before you even get words out.

uh-huh; so it’s gonna be like this.

it’s natalie time.

you know her far beyond the details tucked away in your clipboard: fifteen. chronic respiratory failure. formerly the captain of her school’s youth dance team—now a patient, post-lung volume reduction surgery, tethered to an oxygen cannula and stuck in a room she hates more with each passing minute.

you step in quietly, even though she clearly doesn’t care if you’re there, chart already half-pulled. “just checking on your meds, nat. you feeling okay today?”

nothing.

the tiktok on her phone keeps playing. you can somewhat make out a group of girls doing some viral shuffle in matching sweats from where you stand by the door. natalie watches them blankly, then rolls her eyes a second time like she’s physically allergic to the concept of joy.

then, wordlessly, she pops one earbud in and stares out the window. the message is clear: i am done with you hospital people today. leave me alone.

you pause a moment longer, unsure whether to speak again. eventually, you retreat. not out of defeat— you just… need a new strategy.

you find felix halfway down the hall, crouched to fix a beeping IV pole for another kid’s room. his blond hair bounces a little when he stands.

“hey lix,” you murmur, falling into step beside him. “got a sec?”

“for you? always.” he shoots you a sideways grin. “what’s up?”

you chew your cheek. “it’s natalie. i tried to check her meds, but…”

felix lifts an eyebrow. “let me guess, you got the classic eye roll and silent treatment?”

“right into the earbuds maneuver,” you confirm, sighing. “she didn’t even flinch.”

“oof. the ice queen is frigid today.”

“i can tell that she’s frustrated,” you say, watching your words carefully. “still recovering from the LVRS. she’s on enough oxygen to keep her stable, but she hates being stuck here. hates the vent history, the monitors, all of it. she’s seeing her friends do fun things on tiktok while she’s stuck in that hospital bed.”

felix’s smile dims with sympathy. “hmm. can’t be easy for a kid to feel that way.”

“especially for a dancer,” you add. “i think seeing all those viral dances on tiktok just makes her feel like she’s watching her life go on without her.”

felix hums, pensive for a second. then:

“well,” he says, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from his scrub top with the flair of someone plotting a scandal. “guess it’s time to embarrass myself in the name of pediatric healing.”

you blink. “felix—what are you planning?”

but he’s already heading toward room 24.

“felix–!”

“trust me!” he calls, making his way down the hall.

you follow, apprehension bubbling up even though you know damn well that felix is one of the best nurses in the building.

inside the room, natalie doesn’t look up when the door opens, although you note with some satisfaction that she doesn’t have her earbuds in anymore. she doesn’t register much when felix saunters in with an exaggerated strut, hands clasped dramatically behind his back like he’s about to give an inspiring TED talk.

“miss natalie,” he intones, bowing slightly to the queen of cold shoulder. “your presence has been requested on the dance floor.”

nothing happens; tiktok plays on.

felix claps twice. loudly.

natalie blinks, startled. finally looks up.

he reaches behind him and—god help you both—pulls out his phone. he taps the screen; music starts blaring. the unmistakable beat of a current tiktok dance fills the room.

“felix—” you hiss, even though you’re holding back a disbelieving laugh.

but it’s too late.

felix starts doing the dance.

or… well, maybe the better word would be trying to do the dance.

his arms flail in what might be a tiktok dance, might be a wild bird’s mating ritual. he spins too early, throws a finger heart too hard and smacks his own chest. he completely misses the beat on the hip rolls and almost trips over the IV cord, swaying like a madman.

but you have to admit that when he commits to the bit, he commits hard.

natalie stares. open-mouthed. wide-eyed. horrified.

you brace yourself for expletives, for teenage drama, for the sigh of the utterly unimpressed.

and then—

“oh my god, what is that—” she bursts out, a choked laugh ringing out through the tense room.

a laugh. actual, genuine laughter. sharp and unfiltered, just shy of a cackle. she clutches her ribs.

felix pauses mid-dramatic windmill. “you know this one?”

“yeah, but you don’t! you butchered it!” she gasps through peals of laughter.

he winks. “well, good thing we’ve got an expert here to coach me.”

natalie tries to suppress her grin. fails spectacularly— you feel your heart stretch three sizes. “that was the worst rendition of a body roll i’ve ever seen.”

“please,” felix scoffs. “that was my signature move. you just don’t know talent when you see it.”

you finally speak, unable to help yourself from falling into a fit of giggles. “you looked like you were wrestling a ghost, lix.”

“jealousy looks bad on you,” he shoots back, still doing the running man like his life depends on it.

natalie shakes her head, icy exterior completely melted. “you’re both insane.”

but the tension has cracked. the frost in her posture has loosened into something calmer, more alive.

felix bows again, more graceful this time. “at your service.”

“you’re not off the hook, mister,” she warns, eyes twinkling. “next time you try that, i’m filming you and putting it on my story for all my followers to see.”

“deal,” he says. “but only if you promise to duet me once you’re cleared to move again.”

natalie doesn’t answer, not really. but she doesn’t say no, either.

and that’s something. all thanks to felix— the patron saint of pediatric nonsense.

you step closer to check her chart while the last echoes of felix’s tragic dance fade into the quiet. her sats are strong; color’s better. those sassy dancer lungs are recovering nicely.

“meds on time,” you murmur, voice gentle again now that she’s more at ease. “you’re doing great, nat.”

she nods, just once.

before you leave, you pause by the foot of her bed.

“hey, if you want to teach him that dance properly—” you thumb toward felix, who’s fanning himself like he just finished a full stage set—“i’ll happily supervise and judge from the sidelines.”

“i’ll think about it,” she says, rolling her eyes again. but her voice is lighter. more teasing, less stone-cold. the wall she’d thrown up earlier now has a sizeable crack in it.

felix blows her a kiss as she flips him off half-heartedly.

you smile.

this is what healing sometimes looks like. not just oxygen saturations and medications and fearful, breathless codes on patients whose bodies can’t always handle it— but light. breath. laughter.

this is why you chose pediatrics: to breathe some life into scary hospital corners and make the kids feel safer while they’re here, remind them they don’t have to grow up too fast in the face of illness or procedures. you love the job, even on days where it doesn’t love you back.

on your way out, felix murmurs, “told you to trust me.”

“you’re ridiculous.” you shoot back.

“and effective.”

a sigh from you. “unfortunately.”

you head back to the station side by side, and you both glance back once—just to see natalie still grinning to herself.

you’re still smiling when you break off from felix’s path to round the corner toward tyler’s room—room 26— the sound of that godawful dance routine still echoing somewhere in the back of your head.

natalie laughed.

you’ll carry that little miracle with you for the rest of the shift—tuck it somewhere deep in your chest, where all the hardest moments tend to burrow. not to weigh you down, but to remind you why you keep walking into rooms like these.

because now, as you reach tyler’s door and glance through the glass, that bubble of lightness deflates all at once.

tyler is only six years old; here for a brain injury that got him rushed to the ER a few nights ago. he’s a few days post-op from neurosurgery… and his prognosis isn’t good. he’s only got half a shot at waking up, and despite the little guy being a fighter, you don’t know if his young body can take it. the odds of him waking up are bleak.

you wipe all knowledge of this off your face as you step in, seeing his mom is seated in the chair closest to the bed, a trembling paper cup of hospital coffee clutched in one hand as the other whiteknuckles the bed rails. she hasn’t taken a sip. her eyes are fixed on her son like if she blinks, he might disappear. or maybe—just maybe—if she stares hard enough, he’ll wake up.

the dad stands behind her, one hand on the back of the chair. he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just watches the monitor with a flat, unreadable expression, eyes vacant. you’ve seen it before: how some parents distance themself when they know their kid might not make it. 

when you knock gently and fully enter the room, your smile vanishes without a sound.

“good morning,” you say, voice quiet but even. you nod at both parents, give them the soft kind of smile you reserve for ICU rooms—one that says i see you. i’m here. i’m sorry.

 “i’m just here to check on tyler and make sure he’s still getting everything he needs.”

they nod, or something like it. tyler’s mom forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. the dad doesn’t move at all.

you step past them and to the bedside, already scanning the ventilator numbers, the IV drips, the lines feeding into ports and pumps. everything looks as it should, mechanically speaking. but the room is still too still. it’s the kind of stillness that makes your skin crawl. the kind where a six-year-old doesn’t so much as twitch— the kind of silence that keeps you up at night.

you adjust his sedation, flush his lines. his vitals are stable, but that doesn’t mean much—not when his brain is the part in question. because without his brain up and running, the vitals are only a reflection of the machines that keep his lungs moving and his heart beating. not a true reflection of him. of his healing, or lack thereof.

you glance back at the mom. “he’s tolerating the vent well,” you offer like it means something. “his oxygenation’s holding steady.”

she nods again, lips trembling. she easily reads between the lines.

“and his scan’s still scheduled for this evening,” you add, gentler this time. “it’ll give the team a better sense of how he’s healing. sometimes it takes a few days for all the swelling to start going down.”

or sometimes it doesn’t go down at all.

she hears what you don’t say. you can see it in the way her eyes flick toward the bed and back again, fresh tears brimming. “do you think he’ll wake up?” she asks, and her voice is barely above a whisper. it snaps your heart clean in two, but you shove the break down, pack it away to only be examined in the quiet of your bedroom when your shift is over.

you hesitate to answer her. just for a second. but it’s long enough to feel it in your gut.

“i think… the brain is complicated,” you say, and it’s not quite an answer. “but kids are resilient. and we’ve seen some amazing things happen here. we’ll know a lot more after the scan.”

you lie with your tone, not your words.

you give a little hope, even if it proves to be false, because she needs something to hold onto. just until tonight. just until the next shift walks through the door and tells her whatever truth the images will show from tyler’s brain scan.

you finish charting at the foot of the bed, writing things you could do in your sleep: vent settings, sedation level, pupil response. (unreactive to light. no change.) you linger a second too long.

then, quietly, “i’ll be back later, but if you need anything before then, just press your call light, okay? i’ll come. even if you just want a fresh coffee.”

the mom thanks you softly. the dad doesn’t say a word.

you leave room 26 with your heart slipping down your scrubs.

the door clicks shut behind you, and the hallway feels colder than it did a few minutes ago. the fluorescent lights overhead now feel overbearing. the beep of machines just out of view feels incessant. it’s all so loud now, so bright and hollow.

you turn toward the nurse’s station. your feet feel heavy. there’s no bounce left in your step, no trace of the small joy you left natalie’s room with.

the moment you round the corner, you see your friends chatting idly at the desk: jeongin, curled into the swivel chair like he’s trying to disappear, and chan beside him, one hand gently resting on his arm. their voices are too low to catch from here, but the shape of the interaction is familiar. it’s comfort, given freely. the way chan always gives it– the way chan always gives everything.

they look up when they hear your footsteps.

chan’s eyes meet yours—and instantly, his brow pulls inward.

whatever he sees on your face, it sobers him immediately.

you don’t say anything.

you just sink into the nearest chair, hands clasped tightly in your lap, and exhale like maybe that’ll make the ache go away.

it doesn’t. and like it or not, you know that you’ll still feel hollow after you go on your lunch break.

it’s been a hell of a morning.

–

you swipe your badge on the screen and punch out to start your lunch break, that hollowness still rock-solid in the center of your chest. chan follows you wordlessly; it’s tradition that you take breaks together wherever possible. helps both of you to shoulder the burden a little better.

the break room hums with half-hearted energy– dim lights, an overworked microwave, a vending machine buzzing somewhere behind you with a dull, mechanical whine. the air smells like burnt coffee and old leftovers and antiseptic. someone left the fridge cracked open just enough for it to rattle softly, like it’s shivering.

you think, absurdly, that you know how it feels.

you drop your worn lunch bag on the counter. unzip it. dump out the contents on the break room table: peach yogurt, a sad banana, nutty granola bar. you stare at the contents like you don’t know what you’re looking at. your hands move on autopilot, pulling things out, setting them down, grabbing a plastic spoon. but your chest feels packed full—like you won’t be able to force a single bite past the weight of what’s settled inside it.

chan doesn't ask what’s wrong; he never does. he doesn’t need to. because he knows.

he opens the fridge, pulls out a takeout box from the night shift shelf, and peels the lid off with the practiced ease of someone who’s eaten a thousand hospital meals before. he pops it into the microwave. presses the same three buttons. he leans back against the counter as it spins, arms crossed loosely.

he watches you without really watching. like he’s clocking your breathing, not your face. like he knows what you’re thinking before you even have to put it into words.

the microwave beeps too loud in the stillness. you wince.

he slides into the chair beside you without a second thought, placing his container down without letting the lid clatter. no one else would notice how quiet he’s being— how deliberate. but you do.

he’s giving you the floor to talk. or to keep quiet— but the choice belongs to you either way, his silence says. and you can’t begin to describe the well of gratitude that pools for him beneath your grief.

you toss the banana in the trash after only three bites. your yogurt cup follows. you don’t bother trying to finish them when you can hardly eat past the crushing weight between your ribs.

you keep the granola bar, but only because you need something to clasp in your hands. you tear one corner of the wrapper open and then don’t move again.

for a long while, you both sit in silence. not comfortable, exactly, but not dangerous either. it’s the kind of silence that’s heavy without threatening to break. the kind you’ve shared a million times before. the kind you let yourselves fall into on days where the air is too full of what you can’t say out loud without cracking wide open.

chan eats quietly beside you. calm, methodical; not rushed. not pausing for performance. like he’s just—there. he always is.

when he finally speaks, his voice is soft.

“twenty-six?”

you don’t look at him; you can’t without crying just yet. so you just nod once, barely perceptible. your eyes stay on the table, on the granola bar you’ve been turning over in your hands.

“yeah.”

you whisper it. like if you say it too loud, it’ll undo you, break your carefully constructed composure.

he doesn’t follow up. doesn’t ask for details; just lets it hang there, suspended in the thick air.

you hate how your throat burns. how your eyes sting. how easily your body wants to betray you. this has always been part of the job, always been an occupational hazard. but some days it hits harder than others, how closely you work with life and death. how heavy it is to keep a child breathing in between the two.

you tighten your grip on the granola bar and force yourself to say, “i lied to her.”

chan doesn’t move. he knows exactly what you’re talking about, but lets you lay it on him at your own pace.

“tyler’s mom,” you go on, your voice scraped rough like gravel. “when she asked if i thought he’d wake up. i lied.”

you expect something in response– pity, maybe. or reassurance. something too-warm and falsely bright. but all chan does is nod; one slow, steady motion. not permission. not agreement.

just a small motion, to let you know he’s listening.

“i didn’t lie with the words,” you go on, “but with how i said them. i let her think… i don’t know. that it meant something. that there’s still reason to hope when the truth is that her child isn’t even breathing on his own anymore.”

“there is a reason,” chan says, but not as correction. not as hope. just… as a fact.

you shake your head once, too fast, too sharp. “not really. not when his pupils haven’t changed since yesterday. not when he hasn’t twitched once. he’s six, and his brain just—” your voice cracks, so you stop. you don’t finish the sentence: his brain just gave up on his body. we won’t be getting him back.

your chest feels thick, like you’re filled to the brim with something sharp and hot and stuffy that you can’t spit out. like you’re choking on all the grief you can’t name, because it doesn’t belong to you. it’s not your child in the bed. it’s not your life dangling at the edge of the machines.

but it feels like your heartbreak. and that’s what makes it worse.

“his mom looked at me like i had answers,” you say, almost to yourself. “like i could tell her he was going to be okay. and i—i let her. because if i didn’t, what else would she have? how could i take that away from her?”

chan shifts slightly beside you, not speaking yet.

you run your palms down your thighs in a soothing motion, trying to rub comfort into your body, then scrub your hands over your face like that might reset something in you. your hair falls into your eyes. you leave it there.

you don’t cry. but god, you want to.

“i hate how still he is,” you whisper. “i keep thinking about how he must’ve looked before. running around a pool deck, yelling something about goggles or snacks. he came in with those ducky print swim trunks. i bet he had one of those little cartoon-themed towels. i bet he had—” your voice hitches. “i don’t know... a favorite swim lane. blue ribbons. someone he was trying to beat.”

you pause; force yourself to breathe. it’s shaky.

“and now he’s just... a little body in a too-big bed. and i let his mom believe he was going to wake up. i let her hope—” you clamp your mouth shut before you snap clean in two, forcing the wave of tears down before it rises and spills out through your eyes and rolls down your cheeks.

chan’s hand drifts toward you, slow and hesitant, before settling just beside yours on the table. he doesn’t touch you. just leaves it there, palm up. not demanding. not expecting.

just offering. offering to help carry your sadness, in his own gentle way.

“you didn’t lie,” he says finally, voice like cool water. “you gave her something to hold for a little while.”

you blink hard.

“but what if all i did was make things worse in the long run?”

chan doesn’t answer right away.

when he does, his voice is even softer. you let it wrap around you, hold your seams together.

“then she’ll still remember that someone was kind to her while she waited.”

you look down at his hand. still open. still steady. you don’t take it.

but you don’t move away, either.

a lone tear slides down your cheek, and you don’t bother wiping it.

he notices but doesn’t comment. just leans forward a little, elbows on his knees now, voice pitched so low it almost disappears into the static of the breakroom.

“you don’t have to carry it alone, you know.”

your jaw tightens. you swallow hard.

“i know.”

and you do know that— that chan is always here to help you shoulder the load.

but knowing doesn’t make it easier to part with it. to stop it from swallowing you whole.

he sits with you anyway.

not pressing. not fixing. not prying.

just staying.

and maybe today, that’s enough.

—

𝗺𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗴𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗿𝘆.

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽: @mochirecs, @mineyoonghi, @skzfflovers, @starlostjisung, @vxyselectric, @saeyyoo, @ta3mint, @parkboraya, @tsunderelino, @meloncremesoda, @sayuri122014, @tajannah-price1, @lovemepie67, @ilovvesleepp

— 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚍𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

-> 𝗰𝗼-𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 @mineyoonghi <3 love you pookie, it’s so fun writing with you!!

[xaratx1]

Masterlist

Last posted: 26/7/25

˙⋆✮ SKZ Fics

General Trope: Leaving Out of the Blue

Bang Chan: Not Even for You

Lee Know: Promises Can be Broken

Felix: Part of You Knew

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊ TBC ₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡˚

Others

x queer idol! Y/N: Part 1 (Freedom), Part 2 (Happy)

₊˚⊹ ᰔ ATEEZ Fics

General Trope: Seeing Them After the Breakup

Hongjoong: Love in the Dark

Seonghwa: Silence is a Powerful Weapon

Yunho: Soar

Yeosang: Do You Love Me?

Wooyoung: Unavailable

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊ TBC ₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊‧₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊⋆⁺｡˚

[xaratx1]

Unavailable

pairing: Wooyoung x gender neutral! reader word count: 2603 trope credits: @atinyno1likeme (insecurity in relationship) TW: none

a/n: i got this plot idea before i started reading the book You've Reached Sam but wow i'm in the midst of reading it and it is GOOD so if you've ever read that book please know it will be 100x better than this </3

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Wooyoung let out a sigh as he turned to his other side. But the end result was him sitting up in bed, rustling his hair in frustration. 4 days into the week, and 4 days without a nice 8 hours of uninterrupted sleeping. Between his schedules and spending time with his members, this was the first time in weeks that he actually had the day off. He had been looking forward to this for ages, a fact his members wished he would stop bringing up as well.

But now that it’s here and he could get the rest he had wished for, he couldn’t find the sleepiness that had drowned him all week. With every toss and turn, he found his mind wandering with hundreds more thoughts. Every attempt to mute said thoughts ended up futile - listening to music, rain sounds, or even just the faint sounds of Hongjoong and Jongho arguing in the living room trying their best to be quiet knowing he was in bed yet failing horribly. 

Giving up, Wooyoung grabbed his phone and laid back in bed. They say don’t be on your phone at least 2 hours before sleeping, but he was hoping the activity might actually end up boring him into it. Somehow.

Minutes turned into an hour, and Wooyoung could feel his intentions coming true as his eyelids started drooping. He had been doomscrolling his Instagram feed and all he saw were gossip pages, some of him or his friends. Well, he knew the truth behind all the topics of discussions so honestly, it didn’t interest him. 

That was until he scrolled to an account that wasn’t about gossip.

The familiar strokes of a certain someone’s face was shown in the post, kissing the cheek of another’s. The caption read, “Happy 1 month with the best person I’ve ever met ♥️”. What made it worse was the song of choice being If Without You. 

His eyes widened as Wooyoung shot up in bed, the drowsiness that had finally started reaching him once again flying out the window. He knew who that other was. He couldn’t believe the audacity of that other using HIS song while apparently having been together with HIS ex for at least a month. 

Wooyoung’s eyes trembled ever so slightly as he went to the comments of the post, but was immediately brought back to reality when he saw their own account having left a comment of their own.

“Thank you for picking me up at my lowest 6 months ago. Happy 1 month <3”

Right. 6 months ago. That was when they ended.

***

“Woo, can we talk?” came Y/N’s voice. Wooyoung looked up from his phone. He had picked up the worry in their voice which matched their current body language of having hidden their hands into their sweatshirt and wrapping their arms around themselves. “Of course, jagiya, what’s wrong?” he asked as he motioned for Y/N to sit next to him. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I know what I was getting myself into when I asked you out,” Y/N started. “I’ve just been… thinking a lot lately. About our relationship and having to hide it. I’m not asking you to announce it, because I don’t think I could handle the publicity either. Just…”

Wooyoung watched as their eyes darted around rapidly like they were trying to find the right words.

“Do you have to be so flirty with everyone else?”

A few moments of silence passed, before Wooyoung burst into laughter. Y/N’s brow furrowed. They weren’t joking. Which he also realised when he finally noticed his laughter was the only one echoing in the bedroom. “What do you mean?” he asked after clearing his throat in embarrassment. 

“I watch all your content, you know that. And it always looks like you’re a little too comfortable with your members, staff, and your fans. With the rest of ATEEZ and your staff, I get it. It’s the dynamic you have with them and I would never want to ruin that. But with your fans… I’ve seen the clips of you asking fans for their numbers jokingly or the way you look at some of them. Again, I know it’s fan service and no one really takes it seriously. I just… Ugh.”

Y/N angrily buries their face in their hands, trying to hide their embarrassment. “You know what, it’s stupid. I’m stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, no you’re not,” Wooyoung reassures as he gently pulls down their hands so he could look them in the eye. “I get where you’re coming from. It’s hard for you to see me act that way with others who don’t know about us. That’s totally valid. But remember, I’m yours and yours only. There are sides of me only reserved for you. That’s what makes you different from them and what makes you the only one I look forward to seeing. Thank you for telling me this, jagi. I’ll do my best to tone it down a little, hm?”

A soft smile bloomed on Y/N’s lips as they leaned in to give Wooyoung a grateful kiss. 

—

Silence hung in the air as Wooyoung and Y/N stared at each other, its sharpness drowning out every other thought in their heads. Wooyoung let out a nervous gulp, unsure of how to react. He could see a storm brewing in Y/N’s eyes but he couldn’t quite figure out what colour the clouds were. On the other hand, Y/N knew exactly what was going on. And they could predict every movement Wooyoung was going to act out from his nerves.

“You’re on the We Got Married reboot.”

He nodded hesitantly. 

“You’re in the teaser, which means this has already finished filming. So this happened at least a month ago.”

His nods became shorter. 

“And they paired you with F/N (female idol name). The idol you’ve always been shipped with, and who the Internet has been wanting you to end up with since I don’t know, at least a year when you went viral for gently blowing an eyelash off her.”

He didn’t respond.

“Which you reassured me after meant nothing, only for you to then be caught by Dispatch hanging out with her.”

“We didn’t do anything, Y/N, I swear.”

The most bitter and piercing laugh escaped Y/N’s throat. “In the teaser, it’s you who said you enjoy her company. You said she’s a great person to be around and she’s one of the few you feel really safe around so you looked forward to filming the reboot with her. Tell me I’m wrong, Wooyoung.”

“It’s the whole concept of the show. Y/N, I promise you, I was forcing my smile the entire time I filmed it. She’s not you. She won’t ever be you. I was begging it to be you the whole time.”

“Then WHY was it so hard for you to tell me that?” Y/N wailed. 

Wooyoung was stunned into silence. 

“I always accepted my fate that I might have to hide us forever. I didn’t like that idea, but I love you. And if I could be with you, the only person in this entire world who could make me feel like me, I would give that up. For you. But what I didn’t sign up for, Wooyoung, was having to see you go out there and act like you’re available. I get it, you can’t be too obvious you have someone. But it didn’t mean you had to go this far to keep up that act. I am tired of getting it, Wooyoung.”

“I couldn’t fight them off, Y/N.” Wooyoung’s voice fell into a pained whisper. “Please believe me. I really tried.”

“Then why couldn’t you be upfront about it with me?” Y/N stared at Wooyoung. If looks could kill, the desperation bleeding out of Y/N’s would have turned him into nothing. “Why did you have to lie about where you were?”

He didn’t know what to say. He could lie again, like he had so many times before that it could almost be second nature. Or he could break out of the mold and be the boyfriend Y/N needed and he had failed to live up to. It sounds easy, doesn’t it? But Wooyoung doesn’t know why he started lying nor why he continued. 

He has no doubt in his heart that he loves them. God, he meant it when he said there was no one else who felt like home than them. He loved being in their embrace, just lying there together as their breaths synchronised like two halves of a whole finding each other after a long day of loneliness. He knows what he feels. 

And yet, he was now in the dark about how to respond to a simple question. 

“I don’t know.”

That was partly the truth. But not something Y/N expected to hear. They nodded in defeat, sinking into the couch. Honestly. How were they supposed to react? Should they start crying or maybe start throwing things around in anger? Or take the stupidest route and run back into his arms and tell him he’s forgiven? Y/N kind of wanted to do all of that, but they didn’t know where to start. So instead, they grabbed their bag and headed for the door. 

“Where are you going, jagi?”

“No. Don’t call me that, Wooyoung.” The sudden finger pointed at him scared Wooyoung into backing up a step or two. “I am not your jagi. You can use that name on whoever else you want. I’m too tired to care anymore. Live your best solo life, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung just stood there, his mouth slightly agape but speechless as Y/N stormed out of the door and left the slam ringing in his ears.

***

As he continued to stare at the post, it felt like the universe was putting the answer to that question in his head. About why he started lying to them. He got comfortable. Too comfortable, and too stupid to have been playing a game like that with them. He doesn’t fully know when he got the twisted idea that Y/N would never leave him but the fact that he didn’t realise it existed meant it was truly his fault why they ended. 

Maybe that was why he had been struggling to sleep. Sure, it’s been 6 months but has it really? When Wooyoung could remember every single detail of the fight that ended it all, down to the sound of Y/N’s feet when they walked out despite the last sound he heard being the slamming of the door?

While he had been lost in his thoughts, he somehow found himself staring at their contact in his phone. He hadn’t deleted it, couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t even found the strength to change the nickname. It had remained that name in his phone even before they started dating because that was what he saved them the day they exchanged numbers. Because he fell for them almost immediately, but it had been Y/N’s courage that led to their beginning. 

The same courage that led to their ending. 

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed while his finger hovered above the ‘Call’ button. Why did he want to call them? There was nothing left to say. At least, not from them. That much he knew. They got everything out that day. He was the one who left them with no answers. 

That’s why he had to call. For his own closure, maybe just to hear their voice again, or for that tiny selfish spark of hope in him hoping Y/N somehow felt the same even after all this time. They needed the answers, and he couldn’t give it then. He could now. 

As long as they picked up, he would hold onto that spark. And if they didn’t…

Wooyoung held his breath, as he finally pressed down onto his screen and held the phone by his ear. Their dialing tone was still the same. Please, this has to be a sign that not everything can change in just half a year.  

(a/n: play the sound if you would like some realism?)

“The number you have dialed is unavailable.”

—

His phone has been blowing up with likes and comments ever since the post. I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as I grabbed my own and scrolled through some of them. They were basically all positive and congratulatory, with an occasional tease that I could do so much better. That I’d disagree with. I don’t think I’ve ever found anyone better.

Until I scrolled through the likes and saw his username. I could feel my smile vanishing as I stared at it. Right. Instagram doesn’t let you see their profile once you’ve had them blocked, but it still lets you see their activity on public posts. 

I couldn’t stop staring at it. There was a part of me that wanted to unblock him just to see what he had been up to. My time as an ATINY stopped the same day he did it to my world because seeing him was a painful reminder of everything that happened. Every moment of joy he brought and every piece of my heart I gave that longed to be returned, regardless of its state of anguish or happiness. It wasn’t until I met my current boyfriend that I moved past that stage.

But that stage is now staring at me indirectly through his profile picture. He changed it. It looks like it’s recent. He looks good. 

“Babe, dinner’s ready,” I hear him call out. I tear my eyes away from my phone but they ended up wordlessly on him. And again, I just stared silently. 

“What’s wrong?” came his voice as he walked over to me. “Wooyoung liked your post,” I replied, still keeping my eyes on him. I was just terrified I would do something rash otherwise. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“Oh. Yeah, we’re acquainted through a mutual friend.” He looks back at me and I can feel him observing my responses. “Does it make you feel uncomfortable? I can block him if you want me to.”

“No, it’s… It’s okay.” I manage to peel my eyes away from him too and land them on the floor. There’s so much I want to say but none have the strength to leave my throat. “It’s unexpected, that’s all.”

“Hey,” he calls out again, but softer this time, as he kneels and holds my hands so that we’re making eye contact. “I’ve been with you for a month but I’ve known you longer than that. So I know the trust you have in me, especially what happened between you two. Believe me now when I say I'm fine if you want to talk about him.”

The tears I didn’t know had gathered rolled down my cheeks. He has no idea how much those words healed me. And in a split second, everything felt right. Too soon and dramatic to say I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but comfortable and safe enough to say that he’s deserved my trust. 

“I don’t miss him,” I pointed out firmly. “He was… chaos and charm and he made me feel loved until he started playing stupid games and turned the tides in our relationship. But now…” I found myself smiling again. A genuine, childish, and maybe a lovestruck one.

 “I think I’ve found the right peaceful storm to give my heart to.”

[xaratx1]

if i had stayed

pairing : boyfriend! hongjoong! x fem! reader

synopsis : You left. He waited. Now he’s dying, and you’re too late.

genre : slice of life, angst, heartbreak, bittersweet love

warnings : heavy angst, terminal illness, prolonged mourning, depression

author’s note : first member for my ateez angst series ! hope yall like it 😋💝

word count : 1.4k

masterlist

You left.

Not because you wanted to. Not because you didn’t love him.

But because the world had finally opened its doors, and for the first time in your life, it was calling your name.

A scholarship. A studio abroad.

A city that pulsed with everything you’d ever dreamed of.

You told yourself love would wait.

That he would.

When you told him you were going, he didn’t cry.

He just tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your forehead like he was already saying goodbye.

That night, he slipped a note into your suitcase. You didn’t find it until halfway through the flight, pressed between your sketchbooks.

go,

and be every version of yourself i already love.

You pinned it to the wall of your new apartment. For a while, it comforted you.

Until it didn’t.

Until the calls slowed.

The messages stopped. And the silence began to grow between you like a wall neither of you knew how to climb anymore.

You got busier. And so did he.

You convinced yourself that he was moving on, that you were doing what was right.

But then, years later, a message arrived.

“It’s about Hongjoong. You should come back. While you still can.”

And just like that, your entire world shifted off its axis.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The hospital is too bright.

The air smells sterile and sharp, too clean to be comforting.

Your hands shake on the doorknob. You almost turn around — but then you see him.

Pale.

Smaller than you remember. A navy beanie pulled down over his ears, wires cradling his arms.

Time has taken pieces of him, but when his eyes find yours —they’re still the same.

Still deep, still soft, still holding the kind of quiet love you never deserved.

“You came,” he whispers.

You nod, tears already slipping down your cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

He smiles, faint. “You always were.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

He asks you to stay.

Just for a week. Just until his body gives up.

He doesn’t want farewells. Doesn’t want hospital talk or apologies.

He just wants to pretend — to spend these last days in a version of the world where you never left.

So you do.

You unpack your bag in the corner of the room.

Hang your coat by the door like you used to.

You pull your chair close to his bed and listen to him breathe at night, as if that rhythm might hold you both together.

The hours are slow, unkind. But you savor them.

He still listens the way only he does — not with interjections, but with stillness. Like your voice is the only thing that exists.

You bring up things you never thought he’d remember: the bookstore with the cat in the window, the crooked streetlamp outside his apartment, the playlist he made you with the stupid pun in the title.

He remembers them all.

Of course he does.

He remembers you.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

On the second day, he gives you a notebook.

It’s old. Frayed at the edges.

You recognize it — he used to scribble poems in it when he thought you weren’t looking.

You thought he stopped writing when you left.

He didn’t.

Your name is on nearly every other page.

i waited by the window until the sky forgot her name

you used to call me whole — now i am a half with no home

sometimes i wake up with my hands reaching for ghosts

they always feel like you

You close the notebook with shaking hands. “You shouldn’t have held on.”

He smiled weakly.

“I didn’t know how to let go.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

One evening, you bring your sketchbook.

You draw him as he naps — the slope of his nose, the softness in his brow, the fragile way he curls into himself like someone trying not to disappear.

When he wakes and sees the drawing, his eyes water.

“You always saw me better than I saw myself,” he murmurs.

You touch his wrist, barely. “I never saw you enough.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The fifth night, he’s quiet.

Not tired — just far away, like part of him has already started fading.

You lie next to him in the small hospital bed, careful of the wires, careful of everything. He lays his head on your shoulder.

It fits like it always did.

“I tried to fall in love again,” he says, almost too softly to hear. “I went on dates. I smiled at other people. I really tried.”

You close your eyes.

“But it was always your ghost I saw,” he finishes. “Everywhere.”

The silence afterwards is devastating.

You don’t ask for forgiveness.

You don’t deserve it.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The sixth night was the last.

You know it when he doesn’t open his eyes right away.

When his breathing comes in shallow stutters. When his hand in yours doesn’t squeeze back.

You press your forehead to his and whisper every version of I love you you never said when you should have.

He barely speaks now. But he gathers enough breath for a final promise:

“When I see you again… let’s pretend this part never happened.”

And then, just like that.

He’s gone.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You stay in the room long after.

The nurses whisper around you.

Someone closes the blinds. Someone else hands you an envelope, sealed with your name.

His handwriting is shaky, but still his.

If you’re reading this, it means you stayed.

And that’s everything I ever wanted.

I don’t need forever. I just needed this — a few more sunrises with you.

I want you to live. I want you to keep making beautiful things. I want you to fall in love again. Even if it hurts.

If you ever miss me, look for me in soft places — quiet light, falling rain, the space between songs.

I will always be there.

Yours,

Hongjoong

You read the letter once.

Then again. And again.

Until the ink bleeds into your skin.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You don’t go back to the city.

You cancel everything — the shows, the commissions, the interviews.

Your friends try to reach out, but you don’t respond.

You stopped painting.

You try, once. Months later.

You stare at the canvas until your eyes blur.

Nothing comes.

Not a line. Not a color.

Your hands feel like they belong to someone else now.

You keep his beanie folded in your top drawer.

The notebook in your coat pocket.

The hospital bracelet in your bedside drawer.

You wear his ring on a chain around your neck.

You don’t take it off.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Time passes.

Or maybe it doesn’t.

Maybe it just circles the same wound over and over.

People say grief softens.

That eventually, the ache turns into something quieter.

But for you, it doesn’t.

For you, it stays sharp.

It never leaves.

Not in your sleep. Not in the mirror. Not in the silence that fills your home like static.

You think about what would’ve happened if you’d stayed.

What it would’ve looked like.

What it would’ve felt like to grow old beside him. To hear his laugh soften into years. To brush grey from his temples.

But you didn’t.

And now you carry that weight like a second skin.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You visit his grave once a year.

White carnations. Always in the rain.

You never speak.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You never loved anyone again.

You try. Once.

But when they look at you, they don’t see you — not the way he did.

No one ever will.

And in the quiet hours of the morning, when the world is still, you find yourself reading the letter again.

Tracing the lines. Whispering the words.

“I will always be there.”

But he’s not.

Not when you reach for him in the dark.

Not when your voice trembles for someone to say your name the way he did.

Not when you wake with your heart cracked open and no hands to hold the pieces.

He’s not there.

And you never healed.

Not even close.

© lcvejjoong, 2025

series taglist [open!] :

[xaratx1]

Do You Love Me?

pairing: Yeosang x gender neutral! reader word count: 2115 trope credits: @atinyno1likeme (emotionally unavailable) TW: none

a/n: DO. YOU. LOVE. ME. I LOVE YOU! From the mo- (please someone get the reference)

· · ─────────────────── ·✶· ─────────────────── · ·

A quiet hum could be heard buzzing throughout the atmosphere, as the group shared a laugh at the anecdote shared by one of their own. But forgotten amongst the happy eyes were Yeosang’s. His were fixated on another, his glass of beer paralysed by his mouth. He watched their smile, their laughter, their hands. 

It had been years since the two had even stepped into the same room. The friends they shared knew what happened, and no one dared to bring it up unless one of them said it first. Nobody ever did and as the time passed, so did everyone’s memory of it. Now that they’ve gathered again - the class of 2018 - all anyone cared about was catching up on each other’s lives and looking into the lives of those who once claimed the spotlight in their cohort. 

Not him. 

Yeosang isn’t quite sure why he even agreed to come to this meetup. He had hundreds of reasons to choose from as to why he must decline, but the second he heard that they were also coming, he couldn’t remember a single one. Wooyoung took his silent blinking as an agreement, and now here he was. 

But Yeosang’s mind hadn’t focused on any of them the moment he caught sight of them. And the one next to them. He had gripped his glass so hard Seonghwa had to physically pry the glass away so that he wouldn’t break it. His eyes hadn’t left theirs since, and no one noticed the winces he gave whenever the two got too close for his liking.

***

“Y/N, please hear me out on this,” came Yeona’s sigh. Y/N rolled their eyes as they closed their locker and unwillingly turned to face her. “You’ve got 5 minutes to the next module, and that is how long I’m giving you before I walk away,” they smiled sarcastically. 

Yeona’s eyes brightened. “Okay. You remember Dr Jung’s assignment. We need to be partnered up. I’m thinking that you should partner with Yeosang.”

“Your TWIN BROTHER Yeosang?”

“Well yeah!” Yeona shrugged like it was the most perfectly normal thing in the world. “That Yeosang.”

“Have you gone mad?” The words rolled off their tongue before they even considered it. 

That somehow got a laugh out of her. “I saw it coming and I laughed anyway. God, you’re so predictable, Y/N.”

“So, you’re joking?”

“Yes, my dear friend, I was joking,” Yeona sighed again. “Please learn to take it. I know you and Yeosang have barely interacted. And for someone who cares so much about their grades, I know better than to ask you to pair up with someone you can’t guarantee can secure your marks.”  

“Well, at least you know me,” Y/N mumbled under their breath. Yeona jokingly slaps their back. “Cheer up, bestie. I bet you already have someone in mind.”

“For what?” came Yeosang’s deep voice. As she turned to face her brother, Yeona conveniently failed to notice Y/N stiffening at his arrival. Or the way they immediately averted their sight. 

“Mrs Jung’s assignment. I was just jokingly telling them that they should do it with you.”

“Oh, well, why joke? I’m down.”

Y/N choked on air as Yeona raised an eyebrow at him. Her twin brother who avoided girls like the plague (and loved using her as a shield to do so) wanted to do a paired assignment… with her best friend. Now, Yeona may not be as book smart as her friend, but she did know a thing or two about the man who shared the most DNA with her. 

“Hm. What about you, Y/N?” Ah. Now that Yeona was fully facing her friend, she carefully observed them. Y/N’s eyes attempted to play dull but she could also read the person who’d been her friend for 7 years. 

“I’m fine with whatever.”

A playful smirk played on Yeona’s lips as she understood the situation. God forbid a girl liked to play Cupid once in a while, especially for some of the people who mattered most to her. 

“Sounds like a deal! You are right, Y/N, your 5 minutes are about to go off any second now so how about you come over to ours after school today to kick start it off?” Yeona disappeared from her position before Y/N could even blink, leaving them to stare at Yeosang. He nodded slightly at them before leaving for his classroom, and Y/N was left speechless by the other half of the Kang twins.

—

They looked up at the door after hearing the lock click. Yeosang creeped in, pausing as he saw Y/N sprawled on the couch half awake. 

“Yeo, you’re late again.” Their voice was laced with exhaustion and frustration, though he couldn’t quite tell which emotion was dominating at the moment. Which may or may not say a lot given that the two got together almost 4 years ago with Yeona’s encouragement. 

“I’m sorry.” Those two words had been said so much that they didn’t even feel like words to them anymore. Letting out a sigh, Y/N shifted their position so that they could face Yeosang. 

“You have to throw me a bone here, Yeo. This has been happening everyday for the past few weeks. What’s going on?” 

“I promise you there’s nothing happening, darling. Do you want to go back to sleep in our bed?” 

Yeosang went to hang his coat, yet again missing the look of exasperation Y/N shot them. The worst of scenarios had been playing through their head as soon as they noticed the pattern, but Yeosang refused to discuss them every time it was brought up. Right now, it was a battle between if he was cheating or if he just genuinely didn’t care. 

“Who is she?”

That made Yeosang finally slow down his movements, as he turned to face Y/N. “I… What?”

“Is there someone else?” The tears were evident in their voice even if he couldn’t see them shining in their eyes. “Have you met someone new who is making you reconsider our relationship?”

“My God, Y/N, how could you ever think I would do that to you?”

“I’m not entirely sure you are thinking of me at all, Yeosang,” Y/N laughed bitterly as they pulled the blanket around them a little tighter. “You haven’t been there for me at all recently.”

“Y/N, what are you saying? Of course I care about you.” Yeosang moved over to sit next to them, but they shook their head. Yeosang’s eyes fell at the motion. Something was tugging at his heart to do it anyway, but he wanted to respect their boundaries. 

“You don’t talk to me. You don’t listen to me. We made so many plans all those years ago, Yeosang, do you even remember them?”

He blinked in surprise, falling silent as he tried his best to recall it all. There were so many of them, but he never really placed any sort of priority in any of them. To him, as long as he was doing it with them, that was all he needed. 

“I’ve just been busy with work, Y/N, you know that,” finally came his response. 

“I’m working too, Yeosang.” Their voice broke under the weight of their feelings. “You don’t see me not trying to spend time with you. It’s starting to feel like I’m the only one who cares in this relationship.”

Yeosang’s eyes darted around rapidly, trying to figure out what to say. 

“Do you love me?”

His eyes snapped straight up to meet theirs. And for the first time in weeks, his response was immediate. 

“Without a doubt.” 

“Why don’t I feel loved?” 

Thousands of words were stuck in Yeosang’s throat as he once again fell silent. He desperately wanted to get them out, the most important ones being “Because I’m not showing it to you. I’m sorry. I want to be better and I will be, I want to be there for you.”

But all that hung in the air was silence. Y/N nodded quietly, looking away to swallow down their emotions. That was all the answer they needed. Even in the most defining moment in their relationship, he couldn’t be there for them. He couldn’t acknowledge what he had done wrong. And in that moment, 4 years of happiness came to a screeching halt.

“I’ll sleep here tonight. I’ll pack up my things and leave first thing tomorrow. You won’t ever have to bother yourself with me anymore. I’m sorry for being an emotional burden on you.”

“Y/N, I… Please don’t do this.” Yeosang’s final begs landed on heartbroken ears as they turned to their side and closed their eyes in defeat. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. He slept on the floor right next to them, but by the time he woke up it was too late. 

Yeosang swore he felt the cold wind that just blew in fill the emptiness in his chest. 

***

At that point, no one really cared when Yeosang fell silent. They always took it as him spacing out as he liked to do. The only one who knew that wasn’t his hobby was Y/N. They always knew how to bring him back in the subtlest and gentlest way. It was one of the many things he missed when they left. His silences dragged on longer and longer until someone remembered he too was a participant and talked to him. But this time, Yeosang was able to bring himself back when he heard one of their classmates teasing Y/N about their relationship. 

“Oh, I have an announcement to make, actually. Uh, B/N and I are engaged! He proposed to me just yesterday, and was the one who told me to show off the ring today.” 

The giggles that escaped their lips froze in time around Yeosang as he did his best to process the words that had been mentioned right before. He remained silent as all their friends and classmates congratulated the happy couple. 

Not once did Y/N make eye contact with him. But he felt the looks of pity thrown his way by his friends. And the one currently piercing him by his sister. He was a man of few words and tended to hide his emotions as a result. So, he would play that part to perfection today. And act as if that wasn’t the very trait that drove them away. 

“Congrats, Y/N.” The flatness in his voice made Yeosang cringe internally, but he used every ounce of energy he had to conceal it. Finally, the two stared into each other’s eyes. One pair filled with excitement and love for the next chapter of their life, and another drowned in sombreness. 

This wasn’t the ending either of them had expected.

***

I watched as Yeosang excused himself for the bathroom, and found myself staring after him even as he disappeared from my line of sight. I couldn’t deny it, it was certainly bittersweet to him again after so long. It’s a terrible feeling, really, meeting someone who used to be everything and knowing that now they were just… Someone who you could have had everything with. 

The class eventually started making their way to the catered food, as B/N stayed by my side. I hadn’t even noticed the tears falling from my eyes until he wiped them away. 

“Why are you crying on such a happy day, my love?” he asked softly. I didn’t know how to respond for a little while. It was like every thought I had was fighting for the right to be verbalised, but I couldn’t figure out which one to prioritise. 

“It’s him, hm?” 

He truly knew me so well. 

“Yeah,” was all I could squeak out. After a few more moments, I cleared my throat to finally explain.

“I’m just… I don’t know. It’s been so long. I’m happy with you, you know I am. Seeing him again just… made me feel a lot. I’m sorry, I know it probably feels really weird for you to hear that.”

“Not at all. I’m just glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me.” He broke out into a soft smile, the exact smile that made me fall for him 5 years ago. “You know you can always tell me anything. I’m here for you.”

“It is nice to know I don’t ever have to fight for attention,” I joked as I rested my head on his shoulder. It was comfortable. It felt right. 

It was right for me to have chosen someone who could see me without begging. 

[xaratx1]

Soar

pairing: Yunho x gender neutral! reader word count: 2218 trope credits: @atinyno1likeme (over-possessiveness) TW: none

a/n: posting twice in two days... I've been very angsty LOL

· · ─────────────────── ·✶· ─────────────────── · ·

Yelps of excitement echoed throughout the room followed by a singular groan of defeat. Yunho stared at his palm in disappointment while his members all teased him in their own way. “Looks like lucky charm’s out of luck,” Seonghwa smiled playfully. Yunho rolled his eyes jokingly, sighing as he got up from the floor. “Whatever. Just tell me what your orders are.”

“You mean you haven’t remembered our orders in the past 8 years of knowing us?” Wooyoung clutched a hand to his chest in fake agony. “How dare you, Yunho.” Yunho let out a smile, pushing Wooyoung to the side. “Send me your orders, idiots.” With that, he headed for the door while the members erupted into discussions on what to drink. He couldn’t help but shake his head as he chuckled, knowing Hongjoong would end up being the one who had to gather and compile everything within that chaos.

A soft hum left his lips as he strolled down the street to the nearby cafe. It was a good day. Certainly felt like one, the skies were clear with the sun beaming down strong enough for a subtle warmth but without the intensity to cause a flood of sweat. And there was a gentle wind that hit his face with every corner he turned. They were practising the choreography for their upcoming comeback, which was his favourite part of the preparation given his passion for dance. So, yeah. Life is good.

Yunho took his phone out to read the list of drinks Hongjoong had sent over as he walked through the doors of the cafe. When he raised his head to greet the cashier, his face froze. His lips hung open ever so slightly, as if wanting to say something but his voice was stuck at the tip of his tongue. The cashier’s response was no better. Their eyes were fixated on his while their fingers had paused in place over the buttons on the screen.

Somehow finding the strength to break free from the trance, Yunho cleared his throat as a quiet “Hello” finally escaped his throat. The cashier nodded in response. “Uh, I need to order 8 drinks,” he continued as he read off the list of drinks in the text. The cashier silently keyed in each and every order, their fingers moving in a suspiciously fast manner. 

“For the last drink, it’s an-”

“Iced caramel macchiato with whipped cream?”

Yunho’s arms dropped to his side as he awkwardly tried to stuff his phone into his pocket. “Um, yeah. Exactly.”

The slightest hint of a smile played on the cashier’s lips as they typed the order in. “Guess some things just don’t change.”

“I suppose they don’t.” Yunho observed the cashier as a silence fell over the duo. 

“That makes your total $25.60,” they informed him. Yunho fumbled for his card before swiftly paying. The cashier passed the receipt over to him and their hands made contact for a brief moment. He swallowed nervously as he quickly retracted his hand. The cashier gave him a slight nod before heading over to make the drinks. 

His eyes traced their movements as the memories washed over him.

***

“For God’s sake, let it go, Yunho!” Y/N yelled in frustration. Yunho stopped to a halt before them, his arms crossed. They could see the anger bubbling in his eyes, the same anger that hadn’t been extinguished in the past week. All the days in that week were an endless loop of the exact same situation - them yelling, and him fuming. And every time, Y/N would sit through their anger but Yunho preferred to add the fuel to it.

“How many times have I told you not to get close to him? I said I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Yunho retorted back. “Why won’t you listen to me?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T CARE ABOUT HIM!” Y/N screamed. That made Yunho pause. He had gotten used to their raised voice from the past week, but this was beyond that. And yet, Yunho never liked losing a fight.

“What about me?” he scoffed. “I’m trying to protect you. Don’t my feelings matter too?” 

“Oh they seem to be the only thing that matters nowadays, doesn’t it?” Y/N laughed as they finally turned around to look at him. For the first time, Yunho saw something he couldn’t recognise in their eyes. A new kind of emotion - not anger but not quite sadness. His heart softened ever so slightly. There hadn’t been a single moment in their relationship where he couldn’t read them, but now…

Now it felt like he was looking at the shell of who he had been loving all these years. 

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he repeated softer this time. “I trust you, you know that.”

“No, Yunho, I don’t think I know that,” Y/N heaved out, their voice almost a whisper but almost as if it was choking on the words stuck in their throat. “It hasn’t felt like you trusted me at all this past week.”

“Y/N, I… I’m just…”

“This isn’t protection, Yunho. You keep turning every guy around me into your competition and then you go out of your way to isolate me from them. I wish I knew what sparked this, I really do. We’re a team, Yunho. I would’ve worked with you to get rid of whatever fear it is you have that’s making you act like this.”

“I just love you so much, Y/N,” Yunho replied quietly, his arms dropping to his side like a puppet. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you. That’s why I’m holding you so close to me.”

“You’re suffocating me.” 

A choked gasp left Yunho’s lips at those words. He slowly stepped closer to Y/N, but his heart broke into another few pieces with every step they took away from him. 

“You don’t mean that.”

“Not at first.” The tears that had been welling in their eyes the entire time finally found their way down their cheeks. “The heart wants what the heart wants. And it’s you that I want, Yuyu. That’s why I have been ignoring every single warning sign that’s been thrown my way. By you, by my friends, hell, even from the ones you keep telling me to steer clear of. I convinced myself that you were right. You’re protecting me. 

“But the truth is, Yunho, I’m not in need of saving. So running to whatever safe haven you’ve been putting me in has done nothing but deprive me of things I need to live my life.”

Yunho closed his eyes, his nails digging into his palm as he used whatever strength he had left to swallow down his own tears. 

“So what are you doing now?”

“I’m walking away,” Y/N gulped. This time, they moved forward to Yunho and gently grabbed his hands. Their touch awoke Yunho in surprise, as he ended up staring once again into their eyes. This couldn’t be. It can’t be the end. They’ve barely started.

“You said you’d work it through with me.” He had lost all the strength to keep up his shattering persona. “I’ll be better. I can do better. Please stay with me.”

A deafening silence fell over them as Y/N averted their eyes and silently dropped Yunho’s hands. Yunho’s eyes shifted from his hands to them. They just stood there. Eyes facing the floor. The floor of his house that belonged to them the second they moved in. As the quiet dragged on, Yunho shook his head in disbelief. 

“Please don’t do this, Y/N.”

“If you could be better, you would’ve tried the moment I brought it up in our first argument,” they finally responded. “It shouldn’t have taken you this long to realise. And I suppose that’s also on me for choosing to stay despite all that.

“I’ll stay at a friend’s tonight. And please don’t try and find out who it is, Yunho. I’ve lost enough connections because of you already. I’ll come back in the morning to pack up my stuff.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to fight for us?”

“I have been fighting for us.” The anger returned in Y/N’s eyes as their voice dropped to a low hiss. “Don’t you pin this on me, Yunho. I’ve been on your leash for longer than any self-respecting person should have been.”

Without another word, the slam of the door rang in Yunho’s ears. The most bitter of consequences had finally reached him - he was alone. 

***

“Yunho, your order’s up,” Y/N called out as they placed the bag of drinks on the counter. Yunho shook his head slightly, as he walked up to grab the bag. “Shouldn’t you be calling out the order number?” he smiled. Y/N actually returned the smile as they grabbed a towel to clean up the area. “You’re the only customer here.”

Right as he turned around, he stopped. Yunho let out a soft sigh as he tapped his fingers on the bag’s handles in thought. Finally, he turned back around and headed up to the counter where Y/N was assembling another drink.

“Y/N, I…”

“Hey babe!”

Oh. Yunho watched as Y/N’s eyes lit up at the voice and their smile grew bigger and more genuine as they ran out from behind the counter straight into the arms of another. He witnessed as they threw their arms around the person, placing a small peck on his lips the way they used to do to them. For a split second, he could feel the ghost of their lips on his. And the heavenly moment faded almost as quickly as his hope did. 

“Oh, babe, let me introduce you to Yunho,” Y/N smiled as they held his hand gently and pointed over at him. Yunho gave a small smile accompanied by an awkward wave. The man smiled back, giving him a small nod. 

“I should get going,” Yunho coughed out softly. “The members are waiting for me with their drinks, and you know how Jongho gets when he goes too long without his coffee.”

The smile on their lips dimmed ever so slightly, but the light in their eyes continued to shine. “Of course. It was… nice to see you again, Yunho.”

“Same here.” Yunho basically sprinted out of that cafe as soon as the words left his lips because he couldn’t stand the effects of that lie on him. He followed the same path back to the company. The sun shone with the same strength but instead of feeling its warmth, all he noticed was the lack of it. 

He knew it was him who drove them away. He had been working on the over-possessiveness that he used as some sort of twisted key to try and keep them with him. He had been telling himself all those years that he’d be better for the next one who came into his life like that. The truth was, he wanted it to be them who returned that way. But now he could see that was never going to happen. 

They had found someone who knew how to let them soar the way they deserved.

—

“So that’s THE Yunho, hm?” my boyfriend chuckled, raising an eyebrow at me. I nodded in response, my eyes subconsciously following the path he ran. I didn’t think I’d ever return here. Life works in mysterious ways, so much so I ended up working at the cafe I knew my ex and his bandmates liked to get coffee from. Trust me, this wasn’t on purpose. I had kept my chapter with Yunho so deeply buried after everything that I kind of forgot what this place was. 

“How does it feel seeing him again?” His words shook me back. 

“What?”

“How are you feeling?” he asked again. “He meant a lot to you, babe. I’m sure you must be feeling a lot of things right now. And if you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear them if it eases your pain.”

“You don’t know I’m in pain,” I laughed softly. 

“Don’t I?” His eyes glistened with the ghost of a joke, but the concern and interest overshadowed them. “I take pride in knowing you better than you know yourself. And I love and trust you enough to know it’ll help to talk about it. You can spill everything with me.”

And this, ladies and gentlemen and everyone else in between, is why I fell in love with him. 

“You’re right,” I sighed in defeat as I sat at the closest table to us. “I am feeling a lot.”

“What’s the biggest thought you have right now?”

“How I would’ve run back to him as soon as he walked through those doors if this happened years ago.” I glanced back at the same damn doors. “I don’t think I ever loved anyone as strong as I loved him, and that’s why I kept hoping he’d be better. I wanted him to be better. But now…”

I turned back to face my boyfriend, and I could feel every inch of me relax as I stared into the eyes that now made me feel loved and comfortable. 

“Now, I’m grateful that I chose my own freedom.”

[xaratx1]

Part of You Knew

pairing: Felix x fem! reader word count: 2465 TW: none (censored swearing if that counts? and a mention of heart attack)

a/n: this plot idea has been stuck in my head for months but I couldn't let it out the basement due to school </3 but when I was writing the breakup section it felt very Chenford coded (if anyone is a The Rookie fan!) so... disclaimer??

· · ─────────────────── ·✶· ─────────────────── · ·

If you’re South Korean, you would know how popular personality tests are. The most popular one by far is the MBTI. The very first alphabet in your results shows you if you’re introverted or extroverted, which in simpler terms, means if you like to socialise with others. I, for one, do not ever believe these kinds of fads. My younger brother does, and he forced me to take it. My results said I’m an ISFP. 

Given that he believes in this and I don’t, I would say it’s really ironic how he therefore forced me to come along with him to this party I’m currently at with the excuse that I must be an E since I don’t trust it, and how as I currently hide in the corner of this room, I cannot even fathom being 1% E. 

The lights here are too loud. The music and chatters are too busy. I take another sip out of my cup and unconsciously wince at the alcohol. Ugh, I asked him to grab me water so either he’s messing with me again or it’s the bartender who thought he was joking. Because out of the two of us, he’s clearly the party animal. 

I let out a sigh as I observed the room. My brother was nowhere to be seen, of course, and there’s not a single pair of eyes I recognise. I don’t even remember why I agreed to come here. He must’ve bribed me with something, and I’m definitely going to fight him for something if he didn’t. 

If I can’t find him in the next 5 minutes, I’m getting out of here. Maybe him having to find out how to go home without his designated driver will be all the compensation I need.

Those 5 minutes were the slowest of my life. No one bothered to talk to me, which I was grateful for, but the signal in this place was terrible which prevented me from going on my phone too. Honestly, who hosts a party like this? 

“Everyone, may I have your attention please! Let’s welcome on stage your host for tonight, Felix Lee!”

The air fell still, as did my limbs. There was no way. It has to be someone else. Fine, we’re not in a Western country but there’s bound to be more than one person called Felix in here, right? My 5 minutes are up, I should go. I need to go.

But my feet remained frozen in place as I watched the stage. And I watched as he climbed up the stairs and waved at the crowd which cheered back in response. My heart skipped a beat and I really wish I could blame the alcohol for that. 

Yet, it was him. 

—

“Lix, what are you doing? Where are you going?” My cries echoed in the air around us as I helplessly followed him around as he went from room to room, emptying item after item into his suitcases on the floor. Felix refused to answer me, heck, he didn’t even look at me as he glided throughout the layout of the house effortlessly. 

With every passing second and every desperate request that left my mouth, I felt the patheticness swallowing my being. I had always taken pride in being an independent woman and here I am, begging someone to stay. 

“FELIX LEE YONGBOK!” I finally screamed out, the tears I failed to hold back rolling down my cheeks. Finally, he stopped. A soft sigh left his lips, as he turned to look at me. I stared back into his eyes, the eyes that used to hold so much love and admiration for me that were now just empty voids. 

“...What are you doing?” My voice was barely a whisper. 

“I’m leaving.”

I blinked in shock, as he swiftly resumed his packing. It took me a moment or two to catch up to him, as a sudden wave of anger washed over me. I grabbed his suitcase and tossed it aside as all his clothes and belongings scattered out.

“Why?” was all I could choke out in contrast to my violent act. “What are you doing? You’re just going to leave me here with no explanation? What the f*ck is wrong with you?”

Felix paused again. I don’t swear, and he knows that. I’ve never sworn at anyone, especially not at him. And yet, he looks like he didn’t care at all. 

“I’m going back to Australia,” he finally said after a few more moments of silence. “The company has offered me a position back there.”

“And you were just never going to discuss this with me?”

“There’s nothing for us to discuss. I’ve decided to move back there. That’s why I’m packing.”

“What about me?” My voice had lost all its strength by this point. “What about us? How can you do this, Lix? Why are you leaving me?”

He turned to look back at me again, but this time I saw the crack in his facade. He doesn’t want to either. So why is he doing this? What happened?

“I can’t ask you to uproot your life here for me. It’s too cruel for me to even expect you to do that.”

“What if I want to? I love you, Felix.” My voice broke at his name, as if the weight of it was crushing my strength. “I love you. Please, don’t… Don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, darling.” His voice dropped dangerously low, an octave I recognised only happened when he was holding back tears as well. He walked over to me and pressed his lips against mine. I instinctively returned it, closing my eyes as I soaked in his touch for the last time. This can’t be happening. 

As we pulled away, he left me standing there as he re-packed the luggage I chucked aside. Even as he grabbed the rest of his suitcases, I remained where he kissed me. Right before he left, I finally found the strength to drag myself to the door and all I could do was watch as he gently left the keys to our apartment on the counter and walked away from what I thought would have been our forever. 

—

That breakup almost killed me, and I mean it. I spent months crying over him, and my chest ached every day of that period. I once almost thought I had a heart attack, but the doctors said it was probably broken heart syndrome and advised me to try and take care of myself. Easy for them to say. They’re not the ones who experienced their boyfriend leaving them out of nowhere.

So to suddenly see him like this… He didn’t even tell me he was back. But I suppose I shouldn’t have expected that, it’s been almost 10 years after all. I quietly eyed my cup, before downing the rest of it. I guess it’s good to see he hasn’t changed much, given that he’s out here hosting parties again. 

I need another drink. 

I made my way to the bartender as Felix’s voice echoed throughout the room. What were the odds of us seeing each other again? Okay, let me rephrase that. What were the odds of us ending up in the same place again? Because he hadn’t looked at me once in the 5 minutes he’s been up there talking about whatever it is he was saying. Did he really not see me, or was he pretending to not have?

By the time I finished another 2 drinks, he finally finished his speech and got off the stage. My eyes had been glued to him the entire time. He looked… happier. We were only 22 when he left, but we had been together for 7 years at that point. I thought I had seen every side of him, but the day he left me was the day he turned into the most distant stranger I had ever met. Young love unfortunately has its effects.

Now that he’s here again, the person he left in that apartment that day was screaming her lungs out to talk to him. And perhaps that’s when the alcohol started taking its effect, because I found myself slowly making my way to him. Every relationship I tried to be in after him failed because they weren’t him. No one could make me blush the way he did nor could they make me feel as heard as he had. After all this time, I still wanted it to be him and I wanted him to choose me. Please tell me he would choose me again.

My steps slowed to a halt when I saw the crowd that surrounded him. He talked to every single person in that swarm, making sure he would at least reply to their questions and statements despite the rapid firing of words. I could feel the tears poke the back of my eyes again as I quietly cursed at the fact that I didn’t bring my cup with me. 

He hasn’t changed. He’s still so eager to talk to everyone no matter who they are, and while that’s technically a merit, it becomes a red flag when you’ve been the one who he neglects to talk to because he’s chosen to proceed with someone or something else. 

I love him. I haven’t stopped loving him even after he broke my heart, and that was what I hated most at this moment because I’m watching him from afar like some idiot and I can’t bring myself to get angry with him. He’s Felix. He always has been and he always will be. The Felix that I fell in love with when I was 15 and the Felix I love now at 28… 

My train of thoughts were cut short when my younger brother finally emerged from the crowd and ran straight over to me. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I nodded ever so slightly, my eyes still fixated on him. My brother followed my line of sight, and his shoulders sagged. He knows exactly how much Felix put me through.

“Do you want me to beat him up?” he whispered. That earned a chuckle out of me. This sweet devil. 

“It’s okay,” I replied quietly. “I think I should leave. You need to drive, I’ve been drinking.”

He turned to look at me in panic as we made our way to the door. “What? But you’re supposed to be the driver, that’s why I invited you!”

“You really think I would’ve let you bring someone back home?”

“That… I wasn’t going to!”

I let my thoughts about Felix fly out my head as I continued to banter with my brother. The person he left in that apartment may have successfully fought her way to the surface in that moment of courage to approach him, but the 28-year-old who knows better now resurfaced. 

Part of me always knew I should’ve let it be over, but I refused to accept it. After today? It’s time I officially moved past the one who gave me my biggest heartbreak and life lesson.

***

I spotted her right before she left through the door. Her younger brother was by her side, and I think they were arguing by the way she turned towards him. Wow. I can still read her after all the time that’s passed. I wanted to run after her and stop her. But they were gone when I turned back to look at the door. 

I can’t believe I let her go again. The tears stung the back of my eyes as I finally excused myself from the crowd and basically sprinted out the door. When I made it to the street, I couldn’t find a trace of her anywhere. Just like that, I’ve lost her. 

It was never my intention to leave her. I had wanted to slip out quietly the day I did because I couldn’t bring myself to face her knowing what I had to do. But she came home early. So I tried the ‘bad boy’ approach because I hoped she would turn me into the villain and leave me in anger rather than anguish. But then she begged me to stay. I could never forget the look in her eyes when she did. I was so close to doing so, I really was. 

But I needed the job. The truth was that the offer had been out of the blue for me too, but they only gave me 2 days to accept it. And the reason why I didn’t discuss it with her was exactly as I told her - I couldn’t ask her to leave everything just for me. I didn’t know how to bring it up, and it was my offer and life that was expected to make the change, not hers. 

I’ve regretted it every day. I have never loved anyone as much as I love her. On the days I was exhausted and alone, I wanted to call her and ask her about her day. All I needed was her voice. But I had made the decision and so I had to stick with it. But I wished everyday I had been selfish enough to ask her to come with me or even had been strong enough to bring myself to continue the relationship with her long distance. The option never popped into my head because of how focused I had been on the fact that I couldn’t be right next to her. 

That entire feeling is why I never sought a relationship back in Australia. No one was like her. No one could ever be her, and it’s her that had a space in my heart. When I came back, I had to find her. I didn’t want to risk having contacted someone else in case she changed her contact details, which was why I threw the party.

My connections were enough to draw enough people, and I did my best to ensure there would be people in our previous social circles who could spread the word too. I won’t lie, I was really scared she wouldn’t show up because I knew how much she hated socializing. So, okay, maybe the party wasn’t the best idea. Perhaps part of me was hoping she’d come anyway, somehow for old time’s sake given that’s how we met and got together. 

She did. She came, she stayed, and she left. I’m not sure if she saw me at all and that was why she left or if she just had enough of everything. A frustrated yelp rose in my throat. I found her, but I couldn’t talk to her. God, how terrible could I have been at this?

After all, I threw this party for her. 

[xaratx1]

Happy

pairing: Hyunjin x lesbian! OC (platonic-ish?) word count: 866 TW: none

a/n: hello! i think this is kind of the standard format for posting fics which I should've probably followed the first time i posted... forgive the tumblr noob </3 anyway, this is part 2 of my previous fic (Freedom) which is from the producer gf's POV!

· · ─────────────────── ·✶· ─────────────────── · ·

“Alright, that’s everything I needed, thanks Hyunjin,” she smiled. Hyunjin returned the smile, but he watched as the producer turned around and appeared to meet eyes with the MC who was standing by his leader’s side. He had noticed earlier that the MC had been watching her from the moment the director yelled ‘Cut’, and now, while he wasn’t facing the producer, he could sense the change in their demeanor. She appeared lighter, like she could breathe again, and as he recalled a joke she made earlier about if he would be okay if they used a certain angle since it was the MC’s best one, he knew. 

He also knew it wasn’t any of his business, but he was curious. Unlike Chan, he didn’t really have experience in that aspect of life especially since he debuted. And in their line of work, there were some things that never changed no matter the gender of the partner. 

“Are you two happy?”

The producer let out a small yelp, startled by the suddenness. She blinked at him in confusion, before Hyunjin motioned to the MC who had turned to face Chan fully instead. Oh. The producer lowered her head in fear and shame, as she quickly cleared her throat. 

“Um, I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re with her. I can tell.”

The producer’s eyes fell, as she turned to look at Hyunjin with a look he couldn’t quite tell was worry or pleading. 

“You can’t tell anyone, please. It’ll ruin her.”

Huh. Her first response… was to protect her. 

“I wasn’t planning on it. You haven’t answered my question, PD-nim. Are you happy with her?”

The producer turned back to look at the MC, and Hyunjin once again watched her relax as she monitored her every movement. 

“I suppose I am.”

“I don’t mean to overstep, so just let me know if you don’t feel comfortable answering. But you’re… You’re happy. Even if you have to keep yourselves hidden?”

“If she were a guy, and I were straight, and we were in this situation, we’d still have to hide, wouldn’t we?” The words that left the producer’s smile were laced with the slightest hint of bitterness that Hyunjin almost missed. 

“Yeah. But do you ever wish you didn’t have to?”

“Of course I wish I didn’t have to,” the producer replied almost immediately, turning to look Hyunjin in the eye, her own eyes filling with some sort of hurt and outrage at how he even dared to suggest she was ashamed of her relationship. “I want to show her off to everyone. But besides this country’s societal rules on that, the number of people who would count as everyone to me is nothing compared to the number of eyes on her.”

Hyunjin nodded slightly. “You’re willing to… give that up for her? I’m sure if it were anyone else, even if you kept the relationship hidden, it wouldn’t be till this extent.”

The producer stared at him for another few moments, before a soft smirk played at her lips. “Oh, you sweet innocent boy.” Those words made him indignant for a split second - she’s calling one of the writers for Red Lights and Escape innocent after all - until her next words made him realize she was right. 

“You’ve never been in love, have you?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth to retaliate, but he couldn’t find any words. She was right. He’s had some crushes before, every young boy did, but he certainly hadn’t felt anything strong enough to classify as ‘love’ yet. At least, that’s what he thinks romantic love would feel like. Either way, the answer was no. 

“I guess I haven’t,” he slowly replied. 

“Then you have no idea what you’d be willing to give up to stay with the person you love,” the producer sighed back softly, as she gathered her items to wrap up the last of the shoot so she could leave with her. “I love her. There’s no doubt about it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, even if it means giving up everything.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” Hyunjin jokingly shot back, catching a quick glimpse of his members gathering to prepare to leave for their next schedule. The producer paused, as she returned his look for a final time. “There just have to be sacrifices made sometimes,” she said quietly. “We’ve both agreed on it, and we worked through what we wanted to compromise together. At the end of the day, I still get to be with her even if no one else knows. That’s what matters most, doesn’t it?”

Hyunjin blinked, not expecting her response. The producer sent him a teasing wink, as Chan called him over to join the members. He watched as the MC helped grab some of the producer’s items before they left together. To the untrained eye, you would’ve never noticed how close they were standing and what it meant to not be able to even hold hands despite that distance.

After a few more seconds, Hyunjin finally rushed to regroup with the members. The lessons life teaches you sometimes can come in the most unexpected ways, as he learnt quite well that day. 

[xaratx1]

Freedom

The cameras stopped rolling, and the staff started packing their things up. Amidst the calls of ‘Good job’ and ‘We’re done for today’, her eyes searched for another’s. When she caught them, the smile that formed on her lips was impossible to miss. It was probably the happiest and most genuine one she’s had the entire shoot. 

As the guests (SKZ) started relocating from the front of the cameras to the back, one of them made their way to her side.

“You and her, huh.”

The sudden volume made her jump, as she turned to meet his eyes. The smile on his lips had a slight playfulness to them, covered by some form of… pride.

“Hm?”

“You two. You're together aren't you?”

She could feel her cheeks reddening as she lowered her head in embarrassment. She really had to get better at hiding how she felt. 

“That obvious, huh?”

“Only to someone who's experienced.”

Now we’re talking. She looked back at him, the same mischief glistening in her eyes. “Sounds like you've got a story of your own too.”

“What's wrong?”

The mischief disappeared almost as soon as it appeared, as all she could do was blink in shock.

“How...?”

“That look in your eyes you have right now. Only known again to someone who knows. You're scared.”

She turned to search for the pair of eyes again, but this time, they didn’t return her gaze as they had turned away to start clearing up their equipment, discussing with the other producers about the episode of the variety show they just filmed. Probably some creative decisions about the angles of the guests, but definitely with a snatch or two about her best angles. She knew she always did that, even though she never asked for it. In her words, she loved doing it so that everyone knew how beautiful she was in her eyes.

“Maybe I am.”

“Of what?”

“That she wants more.”

“You can't give it to her?”

That made her pause, as the thoughts and worries she’s had the past few days came flying through her mind again. She never told anyone about it because she had kept this part of her life so hidden, but carrying it alone was driving her insane given she didn’t have anyone else to talk about it with. 

Sure, a relationship means trusting your partner, but there are just some things you can’t bring yourself to mention because you don’t want to feel stupid. And even if that partner has never shown any less love to you because of that stupidity, it doesn’t mean you like presenting yourself that way. 

“I don't know.”

“What more does she want?”

“Freedom.”

It was his turn to blink in shock. “What?”

“Look at it, Chan.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper, as if the walls were filled with recorders that could pick up even the faint beating of her heart. The look in her eyes, it had evolved from a gentle worry to a brewing storm of anxiety and fear. “I'm still an idol in the public's eyes.

“Being in a relationship in this industry is cutthroat enough. But being in a queer relationship in this country while in this industry? It’s a literal death threat.”

Oh. Chan fell silent, unsure of how to respond. He wouldn’t deny that he did kind of forget about where they were for a second, and that even though they were both in a similar situation there could be someone who had it worse.

“Has she shown any signs that she wants it?”

“No,” she replied, her eyes still fixated on her girlfriend as she rushed towards the exit to catch up with one of the Stray Kids members to ask something. “I just don’t know what to do if she ever decides that she does.”

“Why?”

“Because she would be in the right to want it,” she responded again, finally peeling her eyes away to study Chan’s response. She was just curious given that he seemed to understand. “I’ve been keeping us hidden this whole time. She’s stuck with me through all that. But she isn’t wrong to want to at least be seen in public with her partner. To find someone that can show her off in at least some way.”

Chan let out a soft sigh through his nose, shifting his position to have most of his body weight on one foot for more comfort. “I suppose that’s an unfortunate occupational hazard for us.”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “It’s kind of sad to think that in a way, relationships will never work for us.”

“Right person wrong time?”

“I don’t think there ever will be a right time in this job,” she let out a soft chuckle, turning back around to search for her again. “I just don’t know how willing I’d be to let her go if that ever happens. I mean… Just look at her.”

Her voice softened even more somehow, and Chan could hear the pure love and admiration in it. 

“She’s just so… perfect. I’ve kept a bunch of relationships hidden, but this is the one I’ve wanted to show off the most. I love her, Chan.”

He hummed in response, his mind trailing off ever so slightly to the one person that he had that made him relate to that exact moment. 

“I hope a day comes where we can all just love freely, regardless if that change happens in this industry or country,” was all he said after a few more moments of silence. 

She nodded, eyes filling with gentle tears as she watched her continue to work her magic before she officially packed up and the two could go home together.

“That's all I want to give her.”

[xaratx1]

Until I die...

Pairings: Boyfriend!Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Genre: Heavy Angst, drama, infidelity, illness.

wc: 12,7k

Summary: You loved him more than anything, even when you knew he was slowly falling out of love with you. You kept quiet through the heartbreak. Through the illness. You worked through your pain and smiled so no one would worry. But when your time began to run out, you did the only thing you could do: Leave something behind for each person you loved.

Warnings: Angst (heavy), Terminal illness/death of main character, Grief and loss, Medical descriptions (mild, non-graphic) Infidelity (Hongjoong cheats on reader) Emotional abuse/neglect from a romantic partner, Depressive thoughts/emotional pain, Bittersweet ending

a/n: Hi, lovely readers! I just want to start by saying… yes, I did cry while writing this. And yes, I do enjoy writing angst.

I know, I know—maybe I need help. Or a hug. Or both. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it (even if it broke your heart into a thousand sharp little pieces).

If you liked it, please let me know—scream in the comments, throw tissues at me, or, you know, ask me to write more angst. I’ll probably say yes and suffer through it again for you 🥲

Join my Taglist: Here

“I’m sorry, what?” You ask again, slower this time, your voice barely a whisper.

The words don’t sound real. They hang in the air like fog, thick and heavy, impossible to breathe in.

The doctor shifts forward, his eyes full of practiced sympathy.

“Your tests confirm late-stage Acute Myeloid Leukemia,” He says gently. “It’s... blood cancer, Miss Kang.”

Blood cancer.

Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. You blink once. Twice.

Blood. Cancer.

That can’t be right. You only came here because you’d been dizzy for a few days, a little fatigued. Bruising easier than usual, sure, but you thought maybe it was just anemia. Or a flu. Overwork.

Not cancer. Never cancer.

He keeps talking, though you barely hear a word.

“There are some medical options,” He continues, his tone careful. “Low-dose chemotherapy, mostly for symptom control at this stage. A possible stem cell transplant, but the success rate is low given how advanced it is. We can also refer you to hospice care to prioritize your comfort—”

His voice fades. Distant. Like he’s underwater.

Your eyes are fixed on the floor, and your hands are gripping the edges of the chair even though you can't feel them anymore.

You should be crying. You should be panicking. But your brain... it’s stuck on something else.

Three months. ATEEZ’s comeback is in three months.

You’re part of the production team. There’s producing meetings, recording timelines. You promised to check Hongjoong’s revised lyrics tomorrow—he worked so hard on that track.

You can’t die. Not now. Not when things are just getting good for them.

And Yeosang. Your brother’s birthday is next month. He’s turning twenty six. You haven’t even gotten his gift. He mentioned wanting a custom watch—it was expensive, but you were going to surprise him.

And then, of course, Hongjoong.

Your boyfriend. Nearly two years together, though lately he’s been... distant. Busy. Distracted. You haven’t even told him how sick you’ve been feeling.

You blink again. Was it really just a flu?

Your nails dig into your palms.

Cancer.

You're dying.

But all you can think about is how you’re going to fit chemo into a production meeting. How you’ll cover for your absences so no one—especially he—notices.

You don’t want to be a burden. You just want to hold onto what little you have left.

“Miss Kang?” The doctor’s voice pulls you back. You force yourself to meet his eyes.

He’s waiting—waiting for you to fall apart, maybe. Waiting for grief to flood in.

But all you say is: “Can I go now? I have a deadline.”

He hesitates “Of course. But we do recommend starting treatment as soon as possible—”

“I don't want any, don't want to be a burden.”

You stand. Your knees nearly give out, but you mask it with a quick breath and a weak smile. Your hands are trembling as you gather your things. You don't even remember putting your bag down.

As you step out into the hallway, the lights feel too bright, the world too loud. Your phone buzzes.

Joongie🖤: Studio all night. don't wait up.

You stare at the message, expression unreadable.

Cancer. Blood cancer. You’re dying.

But all you reply is: “Okay, love you.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You’re in the booth with Mingi and Seonghwa, helping them smooth out a harmony layer on the bridge. The air is dry, heavy with the static buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint hum of the condenser mic.

You’ve run the track three times now—your eyes are tired, your head pounds, and there’s a high ringing in your ears you’ve been trying to ignore since morning.

You press the intercom “One more run, okay? Then we’ll double it and move on.”

They both nod, focused and trusting. It’s a rhythm you’ve shared for years. But just as Seonghwa hits the high note and Mingi drops into the lower octave, it happens.

A sharp sting behind your nose. Then a slow, warm trickle.

You blink.

Red.

It stains your fingers before you realize what’s happening—your hand comes away wet. The blood drips onto the soundboard, splashing across the control dial.

“Shit—” You mutter, jerking your head up.

Seonghwa is the first to notice. His expression shifts in an instant from focused to horrified. He yanks his headphones off and rushes out of the booth, pulling tissues from the stack beside the mixing desk.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, gently pressing the tissues to your face. His hands are warm and steady, but his voice is tight with concern.

“I’m fine,” You say quickly, trying to laugh but your throat is dry. “It’s probably just the heat. You know how weather messes with your sinuses sometimes.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply right away. He just looks at you. And in that moment, you know he doesn’t buy it, not really. The little crease between his brows gives him away.

Before he can press further, the booth door creaks open. Mingi’s head pops out, brows raised.

“What happened?”

“Just a little nosebleed,” You call out, raising a hand with a thumbs-up, blood still drying on your knuckles. “Nothing major. Give me a sec and we’ll get back to the recording.”

Mingi hesitates, his gaze flicking between you and Seonghwa, who’s still crouched in front of you with stained tissues.

“You sure? You look… pale.”

“I’m always pale,” You tease with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Studio lighting hates me.”

They chuckle a little, but it’s thin. Tense. The kind of laugh you give when you want something to be normal, even though it clearly isn’t.

You clean the soundboard with a tissue, careful not to smear the blood further. Your hands are trembling just slightly, but you hope neither of them notice.

And then, just like that, you sit back down, press the intercom, and say:

“Let’s go again.”

The room is quiet for a beat. Then Mingi sighs and slips the headphones on. Seonghwa does the same, reluctantly taking his seat. He watches you for a second longer before turning away.

You don’t scream. You don’t cry. You don’t explain the pounding in your chest or the ache crawling up your legs.

You just breathe, press play, and pretend that nothing is wrong.

But you can feel their eyes on you now—careful, worried, watching.

And for the first time this week, you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to keep pretending.

⋆

It’s almost midnight when you finally step into the smaller recording studio, the familiar hum of wires and soft glow of monitor lights greeting you like an old friend.

Hongjoong is already there, seated at the mixing desk, headphones draped around his neck, scrolling through the demo layers with an expression you know too well.

Focused. Detached. Somewhere far away from you, even though you’re in the same room.

You haven’t seen him properly in days—just quick glances in hallways, brief texts about edits or schedules. It’s been weeks since he kissed you goodnight. Months since you felt like you had his full attention.

Still, tonight matters. It’s your first one-on-one session in over a week. Sure, it’s for work. But it’s him. And you’ve missed him so much it aches.

You walk in quietly, clutching your notepad and tablet. Your legs feel like lead. Your bones hurt. You would give anything to sleep, just sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

But none of that matters now. Because he’s here. And you want to be here with him.

“You’re late,” He murmurs without turning around.

You blink, caught off guard “Only by five minutes.”

He doesn’t answer. Just clicks into the instrumental and adjusts his mic levels.

You set your things down and take your place behind the desk, syncing the track. Your fingers move on instinct, but your vision blurs slightly when you glance down, the lights of the soundboard feel too bright, the colors too sharp.

“You look tired,” Hongjoong says, finally glancing at you. His tone isn’t warm. It’s not concerned. It’s just… an observation.

“I am,” You answer honestly, letting the words hang between you. You’re hoping—just hoping—he’ll soften, just a little.

Ask why. Ask what’s wrong. But he doesn’t.

He shrugs “We all are.”

Right.

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek “Let’s do a run-through, yeah?”

He nods once and heads into the booth, you hit record.

The beat pulses through the speakers, his voice layering smoothly over the base. He’s good, always has been, and this track is personal for him. You can feel it in the way he bites down on each verse, dragging emotion into the syllables.

And yet, as he sings about struggle and perseverance, about finding light in the dark, your chest burns. You wonder if he means a single word of it anymore.

The second take ends. He peeks out of the booth, resting his hands on the doorframe.

“How’s the timing?” He asks.

You try to answer, but your mouth feels dry. Your head is pounding. The room is spinning just enough to make you feel unstable.

You clear your throat “It’s good. You hit that second verse cleaner this time.”

He nods. No smile. No praise. Just a nod.

You stare at him for a second longer, heart thudding, and finally whisper, “I missed you.”

It slips out before you can stop it. Small. Vulnerable.

He blinks “What?”

You force a smile “I said the mix is almost done. Just need to level out the chorus.”

Lie. Coward’s version of the truth. He doesn’t press. Just turns away, going back to the booth.

You exhale, shakily. Look down at your hands. They're trembling again. You close your eyes and rest your head in your arms for a second, just a second, but Hongjoong’s voice through the mic pulls you back up.

“Don’t sleep on me,” He says—light, almost teasing.

But there’s no affection behind it. No warmth.

Just a reminder.

You're not his girlfriend tonight. You're the producer.

You swallow the lump in your throat and press record again.

And you wonder how it’s possible to be this close to someone you love and still feel so completely alone.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s rare to have a quiet evening, let alone a meal outside the studio. But Yeosang insisted.

“You’ve been skipping too many dinners,” He said when he called. “I’m picking you up at seven. No excuses.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue, not today. Not after another dizzy spell in the breakroom. Not after you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and barely recognized the pale, fragile version staring back.

So now, you're sitting across from him in a small Japanese restaurant, the kind you both used to visit when you were younger.

It’s warm, quiet, the kind of place that smells like miso and nostalgia. He orders for both of you—he always does—and you let him, too tired to pretend you care about the menu.

He chats about Ateez's schedules, about San’s newest obsession with cooking, about the funny disaster that was Wooyoung’s attempt at laundry this week.

You nod and laugh in the right places. But your limbs are heavy, your stomach barely handling the miso soup you’re swirling in front of you.

Then it happens. You reach for the cup of tea, and your hoodie sleeve slides up. Just a few inches.

But it’s enough.

The yellow-purple bloom of the bruise on your forearm is stark against your skin, impossible to miss.

Yeosang goes still. His eyes lock onto it, and for a moment, he doesn't say anything, just stares.

Then his voice drops, cold and quiet “What happened to your arm?”

You freeze. Quickly pull your sleeve back down.

“It’s nothing,” You say with a too-fast shrug. “I—uh—I hit it on the kitchen counter a few days ago.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t believe you.

“In the kitchen?”

You nod “Yeah. Just… clumsy, you know?”

He leans back in his seat slowly, watching you carefully now. His jaw tightens.

“You sure that’s it?”

You blink “What else would it be?”

He doesn’t answer. But you see it. That flicker in his eyes. That horrible, fleeting thought that passes through his mind.

Did someone do this to you?

Did he?

“Yeosang,” You say quietly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” He lies, voice tight.

“Yes, you are. And I promise, no one hurt me. Especially not Hongjoong.”

You smile. It takes effort. It hurts.

He doesn’t smile back “I’m your older brother,” He says after a long silence. “If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

You nod “Of course.”

But the truth is already rotting inside you. It’s in your blood. Your bones. The way you can’t even finish a bowl of soup without feeling like you’re going to collapse.

And it’s killing you—slowly, quietly.

And you're lying to the one person who would do anything to save you.

—

The mirrors are fogged at the edges, the air thick with the rhythm of stomping feet and sharp breaths. The members of ATEEZ are halfway through the final run of their choreography when San finally calls for a break, dropping to the floor with a dramatic groan.

“Five minutes,” The choreographer calls out. “Drink water. Stretch. Don’t die.”

Yeosang wipes the sweat off his forehead, reaching for his water bottle, but his eyes keep flickering to Hongjoong—the leader sitting off in the corner, completely checked out, thumbs tapping away at his phone like the world around him doesn’t exist.

He sighs. Something’s been off for weeks—with you, with him.

The bruise on your arm flashes in his memory again. Too dark. Too fresh. Too big for a simple kitchen bump.

He swallows and turns to Seonghwa and Mingi, who are stretching nearby.

“Can I ask you guys something?” He says, keeping his voice low.

Mingi nods, looking up “What’s up?”

“It’s about my sister,” Yeosang says slowly, choosing each word. “Has she seemed… off lately to you?”

The moment the question leaves his mouth, Seonghwa stills. Mingi, too. Then Seonghwa shifts, sitting up straight.

“What do you mean by ‘off’?”

Yeosang hesitates “She had this bruise on her arm this afternoon. Big one. Said it happened in the kitchen, but... I don’t know. She’s pale. She barely touched her food. She looked like she was going to fall asleep at the table.”

Mingi makes a noise—not quite surprised, not quite confused “Dude,” He says, glancing at Seonghwa. “She had a nosebleed the other day. In the recording booth. Just started bleeding mid-take.”

“And she said it was because of the heat,” Seonghwa adds with a frown. “But I don’t know, man. She looked exhausted. Like, barely-standing, exhausted.”

Yeosang’s expression darkens “She told me she was fine. Said she was just tired.”

“She’s always tired lately,” Seonghwa murmurs. “She’s not okay.”

Mingi nods “You think something’s going on? Like… is she sick or something?”

“I don’t know,” Yeosang admits. “But I’m going to find out.”

In the silence that follows, they all glance toward Hongjoong.

Still glued to his phone. Still tapping out replies, smiling faintly at something on the screen—completely unaware of the conversation happening a few feet away.

“Should we tell him?” Mingi asks quietly.

Yeosang watches Hongjoong for a long beat. Then he shakes his head.

“He won’t care. Not right now.”

Seonghwa frowns “You think something’s going on with him too?”

Yeosang doesn’t answer. Because he already knows the truth—or at least part of it. He sees the distance.

The coldness. The way you still light up when you talk about Hongjoong, like you’re trying to convince yourself he's still the man you love. And the way Hongjoong barely even looks at you anymore.

He sees it all.

And he’s afraid of what it might mean.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The door closes behind you with a soft click.

You drop your bag by the entrance and lean against the wall, breath trembling. Your whole body aches—not the usual muscle strain or fatigue from long days. It's deeper. Like your bones are rotting from the inside out.

You peel off your hoodie slowly, wincing as the sleeve sticks to the sweat on your arms. Bruises decorate your skin like splattered ink. New ones, old ones, all unexplained.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

No shoes by the door but your own. No low humming from the kitchen. No Hongjoong.

You told yourself he was busy. You keep telling yourself that.

You shuffle to the bathroom and stare at your reflection. Your skin is pale, almost gray under the fluorescent light. You look like a ghost wearing your face.

There’s blood on your upper lip. Again.

You don't even flinch this time. You just grab some tissues and press hard. Your nose is getting used to this.

Your phone buzzes on the counter. Another voicemail from the hospital. You press play.

“Hi, we’re following up on your last test results. We strongly advise reconsidering treatment options. The sooner we start, the better your chances of—”

You press delete. You already told them no.

What’s the point of prolonging what can’t be saved?

Chemo would only destroy what little normalcy you have left. The hair, the strength, the time—what’s the use if there’s no real chance? If you’ll die anyway?

You sit on the floor. Cold tiles against your back. The room spins for a second. You blink through it. You open the notes app on your phone. Not to write a letter—not yet. But you type a single sentence:

“If I die tonight, would he even notice?”

You don’t cry. You’re too tired to cry. Instead, you crawl into bed in one of Hongjoongs’ shirts, and you curl up with your sickness like it’s the only thing that hasn’t abandoned you.

You whisper into the dark “I don’t want to die like this.”

And you fall asleep with the taste of blood in your throat and nothing but silence to hold you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s nearly 2 a.m. The building is quiet, everyone else long gone. You’re still in your small studio, slouched in your chair, eyelids burning from hours of staring at the screen. You rub your temples, lean back, and play the track again.

Your eyes narrow. It’s missing something. Hongjoong’s verse. The one he promised to send by midnight.

You glance at the clock: 2:07 a.m. With a tired sigh, you drag yourself up and out. He’s probably still in his studio, working like always. Maybe he forgot to hit send.

Maybe… you just want to see him.

You walk quietly through the hallway, your oversized hoodie sleeves covering your trembling fingers. You’re exhausted, nauseous, and your body feels like lead—but you’re used to that by now.

When you reach his studio door, your hand pauses mid-air. It’s not fully shut. A crack of light seeps out.

Then you hear it.

A sound. A laugh. A muffled moan.

Your heart stops. Slowly, too slowly, you lean closer. Maybe he’s watching something. Maybe someone left a video playing. Maybe—But when you press your eye to the crack and tilt your head—You freeze.

She’s on his lap. Arms around his neck. Lips on his throat. His hands on her hips, his head thrown back, mouth open, soft groans escaping.

Your stomach flips violently.

He whispers something. Something soft, a voice you haven't heard in weeks—the way he used to talk to you.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

Your world tilts. You don’t scream. You don’t make a sound. You take a step back. And another. And another. You walk away before they can see you. Before he can see what he’s done.

Your hand covers your mouth, the hallway spinning around you.

You stumble back to your studio. The file’s still open. Hongjoong’s verse still missing. Like you’re missing.

You don’t cry. You don’t delete the track. You close the laptop gently, like it’s fragile.

Because if you break one thing, you might not stop.

⋆

The next day, you show up right on time. Hair brushed, hoodie clean, headphones slung around your neck.

No one would guess that you barely slept, that you spent the night curled up on the studio floor because you physically couldn’t make it home.

Hongjoong arrives ten minutes late. He barely glances at you when he walks in, phone in hand, cap low over his eyes.

You smile at him anyway. Smile. Even if it’s broken. Even if he doesn’t look at you.

“You ready to record your part today?” You ask, tapping your notes like your heart isn’t crumbling.

He nods casually, pulling out his water bottle and warming up his voice “Yeah. Just the bridge, right?”

You hum in agreement, adjusting the mic settings “Mmhm. Also… just checking, you still remember about our dinner on Friday?”

That catches his attention for a second. He looks up “Dinner?”

Your stomach knots. Your hand tightens around the pen “The one I booked a month ago. That place near the Han River? You made me promise not to cancel, even if work got heavy?”

A pause. A flicker of hesitation in his eyes “Ah… yeah. Of course I remember. I’ll be there.”

And just like that, he goes back to humming into the mic.

You nod, smiling again.

Of course he’ll be there. Of course he said that.

Because you’re still pretending. And he’s still pretending. And both of you are very good at acting.

But that Friday it wasn't what you expected to be.

You spent two hours getting ready. Even put on makeup, something you haven’t done in weeks. Your legs feel like glass, and your skin is bruising under your sweater sleeves, but you still curl your hair and pick the perfume he once said he loved.

You arrive early, of course. The restaurant is soft-lit, romantic. There’s a tiny candle flickering on the table you reserved a month ago.

You order water. You wait.

Fifteen minutes.

Thirty.

An hour.

You check your phone. No messages. No calls. No apologies.

The candle flickers lower. The server comes by for the third time and finally asks, gently:

“Would you like to order something? Or…?”

You smile at him “No, thank you. I think… I’m not really hungry anymore.”

You pay for both meals you didn’t order, just in case he shows up later.

When you get home that night, your phone finally buzzes. You’re already curled under your blanket, still wearing the clothes you picked for your date.

Joongie 🖤: "Sorry. Something came up. We’ll reschedule next month."

You stare at the screen. Your heart doesn’t break, it simply stops trying. A bitter chuckle slips from your lips.

“I’ll probably be dead next month.”

And then you roll over and close your eyes.

Alone.

—

The soft creak of the front door wakes you.

Your eyes flutter open, your body sinking deeper into the mattress before you force yourself up. Every bone protests. Your limbs feel too heavy, your joints throb. There’s a ringing in your ears again—low, constant—like a warning.

But still, you sit up. Because it’s him.

Maybe you’re foolish. Maybe you’re still waiting for the version of him who once held your hand in packed rooms, who left sleepy kisses on your forehead, who whispered “I love you” like it was sacred.

Maybe you’re just hoping he’ll look at you the same way again.

Barefoot, you walk across the cold floor. Your oversized sweater slips from one shoulder, the fabric brushing against skin that bruises too easily now. The lights in the living room are dim, but you see him.

Hongjoong. Standing near the coat rack, pulling off his hoodie with a long, tired sigh.

You stop in the doorway “Where were you?” Your voice is soft. Not angry. Just… quiet. Worn down.

He doesn’t look at you when he answers “Working.”

You glance at the clock. 3:47 a.m. You scoff—not with bitterness, but disbelief.

“It’s almost four, Hongjoong.”

That makes him turn, eyes sharp with irritation.

“I have a comeback on my fucking shoulders. Of course I’m staying late.”

The words bite, but you try to swallow it down “I know, I— I wasn’t trying to—”

“I already said sorry,” He snaps, tossing his hoodie carelessly onto the couch. “Don’t start nagging me about forgetting the damn dinner.”

“I’m not,” You murmur. “I just… didn’t think you’d actually come home tonight.”

That’s all you meant. Just that. Not an accusation. Not even a disappointment. Just honesty.

But something in him bristles like you lit a match near his fuse. He turns fully to you, and for a second, the air leaves your lungs. You smell it—faint but distinct—alcohol.

And worse, you see it: darkened skin just above his collar, smudged and uneven, red-purple hickeys that his t-shirt doesn’t fully cover.

Your heart drops to your stomach. Still… you say nothing. Because if you speak, you might scream.

“You are complaining,” He says suddenly, voice rising. “That’s all you do lately. You’re always tired, always acting like the world’s ending—”

“I’m not acting—” You breathe, voice cracking. But he doesn’t let you finish.

“We’re all tired,” He barks. “You think you’re the only one going through shit? Everyone’s stressed. Everyone’s working. But no one else is dragging it around like some pathetic excuse.”

That word—pathetic—splits something in your chest.

“I didn’t know I was an excuse to you,” You whisper.

He scoffs like you’re being dramatic “God, you’ve been so exhausting lately. You don’t even look like yourself. You’ve lost weight, you’re pale all the time, you’ve got these dark circles under your eyes. You look… sick.”

You are sick.

But he doesn’t know that. Because you never told him. Because he never asked.

“If something’s wrong with you, just say it already,” He huffs. “Stop walking around like some damn ghost expecting me to coddle you.”

You feel it in your chest now—the slow, suffocating sting of grief folding into itself.

Your voice breaks when you speak again “It’s been almost a month since we really talked. Since we existed together. I planned that night for us, Joong. I just… I miss you.”

He looks at you like he’s staring through a window. Cold. Detached.

“See? Complaining again.”

Your heart splinters. And in that moment, you understand.

He’s already gone. He left you long ago. Now he’s just looking for reasons to make it your fault. You nod, almost imperceptibly. Your throat burns, but you force your lips into a flat line.

“Okay,” You whisper. “Sorry.”

And you walk away. Back to your room. Back to the bed made just for the two of you—that’s held only one body for weeks now.

You collapse onto the mattress, curling into yourself. And this time, you don’t hold back the tears.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Three days have passed since that night.

Since the night you finally let the tears fall—not because of the war inside your blood, but because of something far more painful: losing Hongjoong.

You hadn't realized how much he meant to you until the silence between you turned permanent. You hadn't cried for your illness… but for him, you broke.

And since that night, things have only gotten worse.

The nosebleeds are more frequent now. Your bones ache just from getting dressed. Bruises blossom across your skin from the gentlest touch, like a whisper of pain stitched into every cell.

The dizziness never leaves, and somewhere deep inside, you know: You're running out of time.

So you start moving. You make a list in your head of the things that matter. The things you must do before it’s too late. And at the top of that list… is Yeosang.

Today, you drag Yeosang to the largest mall in Seoul, ignoring his annoyed sighs as he follows you across the marble floors.

He mumbles something about how the two of you should be at the company, you doing the last track’s reviews and how he should be at the dance studio.

But you wave it off with a smirk and keep pulling him along until you’re both standing in front of a luxurious watch display.

You point at the glass case and ask, “Which one do you like?”

Yeosang looks at you suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly “Why are you asking me that?”

You grin “Just pick one.”

He frowns, shifting his weight onto one foot “You don’t have to buy me something expensive, you know. My birthday’s not even here yet, it’s in three weeks.”

“I know,” You reply, voice soft but steady. “But I want it to be ready by the exact day. It’s custom-made, so it’ll take time.”

Yeosang sighs, though there’s a small smile tugging at his lips now “You’re impossible.”

Still, he looks at the collection and nods toward a sleek silver watch with delicate engraving.

“That one. It’s simple. I like it.”

You nod back, but before you can say anything else, the world sways under your feet.

Your vision goes fuzzy, the lights above blurring into streaks of white. You try to blink it away, try to steady yourself… but your body gives out before you can say a word.

Yeosang catches you before you hit the floor.

—

The rhythmic beeping of the monitor fills the hospital room, calm and cold. Yeosang sits beside your bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if holding himself together.

He’s been sitting like that for almost two hours now, unmoving except to occasionally glance at your pale, unconscious face.

He didn’t panic when you fainted. Not at first. He carried you to the car, drove like a madman, shouted your name again and again. But nothing prepared him for what the doctor would say.

When the door finally opens, Yeosang stands immediately. The doctor asks him to step outside, but Yeosang shakes his head and says flatly.

“Just tell me. Say it here.”

There’s a pause. Then the doctor exhales slowly “Your sister has acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” He says quietly. “Advanced stage.”

Yeosang doesn’t move. The words don’t make sense. They bounce around in his skull like static.

“No,” He mutters. “She would’ve told me. That’s not— She… she would’ve said something.”

The doctor’s expression doesn’t change “She was diagnosed two weeks ago. She refused chemotherapy, declined transplant and long-term treatments. She didn’t want to go through the medical process.”

“She didn’t want to fight?” Yeosang snaps, his voice cracking. “Why wouldn’t she fight?”

“She made it very clear she didn’t want to burden anyone, she just accepted the risks.”

Yeosang takes a sharp breath, but it doesn’t reach his lungs. He turns his eyes toward you again.

You look so small. So still. The same girl who used to sneak into his bed as a child whenever there was thunder.

The same one who’d sing off-key just to make him laugh. The one who held his hand during their parents’ worst fights and promised she’d always be there.

Now she was slipping through his fingers. And he hadn’t even noticed.

The doctor continues gently, “At this stage… it could be days. Maybe weeks. But it’s impossible to know. All I can say is… it won’t be long.”

Yeosang lowers himself into the chair again, slowly this time, as if his body can no longer hold him up.

His throat burns. His hands are shaking.

You, his little sister—the only person in the world who never asked him to be perfect, never judged him, never left—you were dying. And you didn’t even tell him.

Tears pool in his eyes, and for once, he doesn’t hide them. Doesn’t wipe them away.

He reaches out and takes your hand in his. It’s cold. But he holds it anyway, like maybe if he holds tight enough… you won’t let go.

—

You feel it before you see it—the weight of the world pressing down on your chest, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your eyelids flutter, slow and reluctant. The ceiling above you is unfamiliar… white, bright, sterile.

A hospital.

You sigh softly through your nose. So much for hiding it a little longer. Turning your head slightly, you already know who’s sitting there. You can feel him.

Yeosang.

He’s hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling. Silent sobs rack through him like he’s trying to hold in a scream that’s been locked inside his ribs for too long.

You blink, the sting in your eyes not from the room’s brightness but from what you’re seeing.

Yeosang is crying.

Not angry. Not yelling. Not scolding. Just crying.

And not the kind of crying you’ve seen when a choreography goes wrong or when stress cracks him for a second. No, this is deeper. Rawer. His heart is breaking in real time.

You know exactly why. And for a second, guilt slices through you sharper than anything the illness ever has. He must’ve talked to the doctor. He knows.

You swallow, throat dry. You try to speak, but your voice is barely there.

“Yeosang…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, lifts his head, and his eyes lock onto yours like you’re a ghost he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. And then—in one breath—he breaks.

He doesn’t say a word. He just stands and wraps his arms around you.

Carefully.

So gently, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he squeezes too hard. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and you feel the wet heat of his tears soak into your hospital gown. His hands grip your back, trembling with everything he can’t say out loud.

You freeze, caught in that fragile second between comfort and collapse.

Because this is Yeosang. Your brother. Your protector. The one who always had it together, who never let anyone see the cracks in his armor. And now he’s holding you like the world has ended.

And in his eyes… maybe it has.

“I thought I had more time,” You whisper, your hand weakly brushing over his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

He still doesn’t speak, only pulls you closer, and you feel it—the ache in his breath, the sobs he still tries to swallow down even now, even here.

You try to smile “I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

A shaky breath escapes him, and you finally hear his voice—hoarse and cracked and barely above a whisper.

“Why didn’t you let me fight with you?”

That’s when your heart shatters. Because there’s no good answer to that question. Only a dozen broken excuses, that you didn’t want him to suffer, that you didn’t want to be the burden, that you didn’t want to see pity in his eyes.

That you wanted to protect him.

But now he’s holding you like he’s the one who needs saving. You lean your head against his shoulder and let yourself cry too, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” You murmur. “I didn’t want you to watch me fall apart.”

His arms tighten just enough to make your breath catch “I’d rather watch you fall apart… than lose you without even knowing you were slipping away.”

He’s never said anything so honest to you before. He’s never needed to.

And now you lie there in his arms, the beeping of machines ticking off seconds you can’t promise to survive, and think about all the things you wanted to do—all the people you have to say goodbye to.

But for now, you let yourself just be his sister.

And let him cry.

Because sometimes, even the strongest ones break.

—

It’s been nearly twenty minutes since the tears finally stopped. Yeosang still hasn’t let go of you, but his sobs have faded into soft, steady breaths against your shoulder.

You rest your cheek gently against his hair, fingers combing through the strands like you used to when he couldn’t sleep as a kid. It’s soothing, for both of you.

Neither of you says anything for a while. Then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, you murmur, "Please don’t tell anyone."

He doesn’t move. But after a second, he replies quietly, "Why not? They’re your friends. They deserve to know."

You feel your throat tighten. He’s right, in theory. But theory doesn’t count for much when you’re the one dying.

"You should at least tell Hongjoong," He adds. "He’s your boyfriend."

That word—boyfriend—makes you freeze.

Is he?

The silence in the room grows louder. Because it’s not a matter of labels. You know the truth, or at least the truth that hurts the most.

He isn’t really yours anymore.

He’s probably out right now, laughing with her, forgetting how your fingers used to trace his skin, how you used to fall asleep listening to the rhythm of his breath.

He hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Not once since that night.

You blink away the burn behind your eyes "Especially him," You say, quieter now. "Don’t tell him anything."

Yeosang pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are tired, still red "Why not?"

You manage a hollow smile, one that doesn't quite reach your lips. "Just don't."

"Okay," Yeosang says gently.

You shrug, gaze drifting toward the window. The world outside is still spinning, oblivious to what’s happening here.

"Thank you."

Yeosang doesn’t argue. Instead, he just nods slowly and rests his forehead against yours.

"I’ll carry it with you." He whispers.

And you close your eyes—because even if your time is running out, for now, you’re not alone.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You turn your head away, your voice no stronger than a breath.

“I don’t want to eat.”

Your fingers tremble where they clutch the blanket, but you hide them beneath the sheets, as if that will make you seem stronger than you feel.

Yeosang lets out a soft sigh, gentle but tired. You hear the quiet clink of the spoon as he places it back down on the tray.

“Sweetheart…” He says, reaching to brush a strand of hair from your forehead. “Just a little, okay? You need to eat.”

You don’t answer right away, the smell of the soup making your stomach churn.

“I don’t feel like it,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the wall across from you—anywhere but on him. “Everything tastes like metal.”

“I know,” He whispers, his voice tight with worry, “but you have to try.”

You hesitate. Then, without meeting his gaze, you sit up slightly and open your mouth. Just one bite.

He smiles weakly, bringing the spoon up “There’s my good girl.”

The warmth of the soup hits your tongue, bland and bitter, and you swallow with difficulty. It’s not the food that makes your eyes sting.

It’s the look in his.

It’s been three days since the doctors told you it was no longer safe for you to go home—not with how easily your body is giving up on you.

The dizzy spells, the nosebleeds, the bruises from brushing against doorframes… the way your bones feel like they’re crumbling from the inside out.

You wanted to protest. You had plans. You had things to finish.

But Yeosang insisted, and he hasn’t left since.

He comes early, brings you coffee even though he knows you barely sip it anymore, and forces you to take at least three bites of every meal.

After breakfast, he leaves for the company—but never without kissing your forehead like he used to when you scraped your knees as a kid.

He returns before nightfall, sometimes with books, sometimes with that sad smile he tries so hard to make look hopeful.

He sleeps on the couch in your hospital room now, no matter how many times you tell him to go home. He never listens.

And you love him for it. But the guilt, the overwhelming guilt, is a steady ache in your chest that no painkiller can touch.

Every time he walks through that door, every time he hides his puffy eyes behind a joke, every time he tucks your blanket up to your chin like he’s afraid you’ll vanish overnight…

You feel like a burden.

Like the weight of your dying is something he carries more than you do.

You glance at him now—his hands fidgeting with the spoon, his jaw clenched like he’s trying not to say something too heavy for the room.

You want to thank him. You want to tell him to stop. You want to ask him to leave before it gets worse.

But instead, you whisper, “Sorry.”

Yeosang turns his head sharply “For what?”

You shake your head slowly, sinking deeper into the pillows “For making you stay. For making you watch me like this.”

His face crumbles for a second, and then he gently places the spoon back on the tray and leans forward, taking your hand in both of his.

“Hey,” He says, voice trembling, “You’re not making me do anything. I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I’m your brother. And I love you.”

His fingers tighten around yours “You’re not a burden. You’re the only reason I’m holding it together.”

Your lips part, but the lump in your throat makes it impossible to speak.

And still… the ache doesn’t go away.

Because no matter what he says, you see it in his face. The fear. The grief. The knowing.

You’re slipping, and he knows it.

⋆

The energy in the company feels… off.

It’s subtle at first. A quiet kind of absence. Like someone turned the volume down on the whole room.

You haven’t shown up in days—no messages, no check-ins, no complaints about how overworked you are, or how the coffee always tastes like burnt water.

Just silence. A hole in the atmosphere no one seems to want to name yet.

“Did she take a sudden vacation?” Wooyoung mumbles, peering at the shared project calendar on the studio screen. “She didn’t say anything to me…”

“She didn’t say anything to anyone,” Seonghwa answers, brow furrowed as he scrolls through his texts. “I messaged her two nights ago. No reply.”

“She didn’t even complain about Mingi messing up the last track?” Wooyoung asks, suddenly alert.

Seonghwa shakes his head “Nothing.”

That alone is strange. You always replied to Seonghwa. Even just with a thumbs up or a meme. The realization settles heavily between them.

Then there’s Yeosang.

He’s here, technically. Sitting through meetings, nodding at updates, eyes staring at whatever screen is in front of him.

But he hasn’t made a single joke all week. He hasn’t even complained about the lunch orders.

And his eyes… They’re always red. Always tired. Not the ‘I slept late’ kind of tired—the kind that looks like he’s been fighting off the weight of the world.

They all noticed the bandage on his hand too. A small thing, easily missed—except he’s been picking at it, like his mind isn’t even in the same room as his body.

In the recording studio, he flubs his lines. Not once, not twice—four times. Yeosang never messes up. Never.

By the fifth take, he mumbles an apology and pulls off the headphones, muttering something about needing air before walking out.

Silence follows him.

Wooyoung exchanges a look with Seonghwa “Something’s wrong.”

Seonghwa’s jaw is tight, his voice quiet “Yeah.”

—

The company building was quiet after hours, the fluorescent lights casting a cold glow over the empty hallways.

Most of the staff had gone home, but Seonghwa was still around, sorting through choreography notes.

Wooyoung, who’d gone to grab something from the vending machine, passed by one of the practice rooms when he caught sight of a familiar figure slumped in the corner, motionless.

He paused “Yeosang?”

No answer. He pushed the door open slowly, the faint sound of choked breathing slipping through the silence.

“Yeosang?” He repeated, softer this time.

That’s when he saw him. Yeosang was sitting on the floor, back against the mirror, knees pulled up, face buried in his hands.

His shoulders were shaking, his breaths ragged, and the tears—God, the tears—were pouring silently, as if they had been held in for far too long.

Wooyoung froze, the can of soda slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

“Yeo…”

Seonghwa heard the noise from down the hall and came quickly. When he stepped into the room and saw the sight before him, his heart dropped.

Yeosang didn’t even lift his head. He couldn’t.

He had held it together for days—for weeks. Through the hospital visits. Through the sleepless nights. Through every forced smile he gave the others so they wouldn’t ask questions.

But the moment he was alone, the weight became too heavy. Too sharp.

“Yeo,” Wooyoung said again, crouching down, touching his shoulder. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Yeosang finally looked up, and both Seonghwa and Wooyoung felt their breath hitch. His eyes were bloodshot, cheeks damp, mouth trembling as if every word was a mountain.

“She’s dying,” He whispered.

Wooyoung blinked “What?”

Yeosang clutched his phone like a lifeline, and slowly, with shaking fingers, turned the screen toward them.

Your hospital ID. Your name. Your patient band. Your photo with that tired smile.

“She’s in the hospital,” He said, voice cracking. “It’s—it’s cancer. Blood cancer. And she didn’t tell anyone. She kept working like nothing was wrong. She didn’t even try treatment. She said she didn’t want to suffer.”

He paused, his whole body trembling.

“The doctor told me… she could go at any moment.”

The room went silent.

Wooyoung staggered back onto his heels, lips parted in shock “No… no, she’s—she was just here last week. Laughing. Messing with me in the recording studio. She can’t—she can’t be—”

“She is,” Yeosang choked out. “She is, and I—I have to watch it happen. Every day I go there and she smiles like she’s okay, like she’s not falling apart in front of me.”

Seonghwa stepped forward, heart clenched, crouching beside him. He wrapped an arm around Yeosang’s shoulders, grounding him with quiet strength.

“You’ve been going through this alone?”

“I didn’t know how to say it,” Yeosang admitted, voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to make it real.”

Wooyoung wiped at his eyes, trying to process the hurricane of grief building inside his chest. “Why didn’t she say anything to me…? I would've—”

“She didn’t want to be a burden,” Yeosang interrupted. “That’s what she told me. Can you believe that? She’s dying and she’s worried about burdening us.”

There was nothing else to say for a moment. Just silence. Just three broken hearts on a practice room floor.

Then Seonghwa pulled Yeosang into his arms fully, holding him tight as his tears returned full force. Wooyoung leaned in too, hand gripping his arm.

“You’re not alone in this,” Seonghwa whispered. “Not anymore.”

“We’ll be there,” Wooyoung added. “For both of you.”

And in the quietest part of the night, Yeosang let go.

He let it all out—the pain, the fear, the helplessness—into the hands of the only people who could understand.

Because this wasn’t just grief.

This was love. Cracked and bleeding.

And it was real.

⋆

There’s a sound tugging at you from sleep.

At first, it’s faint—like a whisper underwater. A low hum of voices and the quiet, broken rhythm of someone trying not to cry.

Then it gets sharper.

“…She’s sleeping, be quiet,” You hear Yeosang murmur, his voice strained.

“But how the hell am I supposed to—” Another voice cracks, shattering mid-sentence.

You frown softly, your eyes still closed, floating somewhere between consciousness and exhaustion. Then a sniffle. Then a choked sob. Muffled. Held in.

And you know. You know before you even open your eyes.

Slowly, you peel your lids open, vision blurry under the hospital room’s dim light. Your throat is dry. Your body aches in ways you’ve gotten used to.

But it’s not the pain that takes your breath—it’s the sight in front of you.

Three figures. Yeosang sitting at your bedside, pale and silent, his hand loosely holding yours. And just beside him, Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours first, full of something that looks like mourning. As if you're already gone. His lips press into a thin line.

But it's Wooyoung who crumbles. The moment he sees your eyes flutter open, he breaks. A sob escapes his throat, and he covers his mouth with his hand as tears stream down his cheeks.

His body shakes. He turns his face away, ashamed, but it’s too late—the dam is broken.

“Woo…” You whisper, your voice barely there.

He walks toward you like a storm—fast, trembling, desperate. Then he collapses to his knees by your bed, burying his face in the side of your blanket.

“You idiot…” He cries, voice muffled. “You absolute idiot… how could you hide this from us?! From me?!”

You don't answer right away. You can't. Your heart aches more than your body, watching him fall apart like that—loud and vulnerable, the way only Wooyoung ever is.

Yeosang says nothing, but his hand grips yours tighter.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” You murmur, your voice cracked like broken porcelain.

Wooyoung lifts his head just enough to look at you. His face is blotchy and red, eyes swollen, expression unreadable at first—until the grief turns into something else: anger.

“You think we care about that?!” He snaps, voice shaking. “You think I’ve known you since middle school just to not be there when you're going through this?!”

His voice rises, but Seonghwa gently places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Wooyoung exhales hard and leans his head back against the bed, still crying quietly.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper.

And it’s the worst part. Not the illness. Not the bruises on your skin or the ache in your bones.

The worst part is seeing the people you love grieve you while you’re still alive.

Yeosang leans forward, pressing his forehead to your hand.

“No more hiding,” He says, voice hollow. “You don’t have to be strong alone anymore.”

You let out a shaky breath and close your eyes again—not from fatigue, but to keep the tears from spilling.

Because now it’s real.

And somehow… that makes it both more painful and more comforting at once.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The next four days pass in soft, slow pieces—moments stitched together by the quiet devotion of those who now carry your secret.

Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung take turns by your side like clockwork. They don’t ask for permission—they just do.

Wooyoung bathes you gently, humming old songs to distract you from the cold water on your sore skin.

Seonghwa brings you freshly cut fruit, sits by the window, and reads aloud to you with his warm, steady voice—something about the way he does it makes you forget your body is failing.

And Yeosang, always Yeosang, feeds you when you’re too tired to lift a spoon and whispers things like, “just one more bite for me, sweetheart,” as if you’re still the little sibling who used to follow him around in your pajamas.

They do all of this without complaint. Without hesitation. Without letting you see the weight they carry.

But you see it anyway.

You see it in how Seonghwa avoids your eyes when you ask about the company. How Wooyoung’s jokes come slower, quieter. How Yeosang never lets go of your hand, even when he thinks you’re asleep.

On the second day, you ask them for a notebook and some pens. There’s no ceremony to it—just a quiet request.

“I need to write some letters,” You say, voice raspy.

They don't ask what for. They don’t need to.

Wooyoung brings you a sketchbook with thick pages and a pouch of pens in every color.

“So you can make them beautiful,” He says with a sad smile.

Each letter you write feels like another piece of your soul laid bare. You try to make them lighthearted—full of warmth, small memories, little jokes.

But they always end the same: with the words you’ve never been brave enough to say aloud.

Goodbye.

—

Meanwhile, the atmosphere at the company is growing tenser by the day. You’re not there. You’re not answering messages. No one's said why.

The boss knows you're taking “medical rest,” and the production team was told it's just temporary.

But Hongjoong isn’t buying it.

You were supposed to finish the final arrangement of the last album track. The deadline is breathing down everyone’s neck. And you—the one who usually sleeps under the mixing desk with a cold coffee and a blanket—have disappeared.

He hears whispers. He sees Yeosang come in with dark circles under his eyes, sees Wooyoung miss rehearsals for the first time in months. Seonghwa walks around like he’s carrying glass in his chest.

But no one says a word.

“Where the hell is she?”

Hongjoong snaps one afternoon, slamming his phone on the table in the production room.

“Everyone’s working their asses off and she’s just—resting?”

Yeosang freezes at the doorway. Seonghwa looks away. Wooyoung’s jaw clenches so tight it trembles.

But they say nothing. Not because they want to keep your secret. Because you asked them to.

Because you begged, “Don’t tell him. Not yet. Please.”

And so they bite their tongues. They swallow the pain. They let Hongjoong’s words slice into them without defending you.

Because the truth would shatter him.

And you're not ready to break his heart.

⋆

Your phone vibrates weakly against the metal bedside table. The screen lights up in the quiet dark, just past midnight.

Hongjoong.

You stare at the name. Your thumb hovers.

It’s been a week.

A week of silence. A week of not answering, not checking messages, not daring to reach out first—hoping, just a little, that he’d miss you.

That he’d notice your absence. That he’d call not out of obligation, but out of care.

You told yourself you wouldn’t answer. But hope is cruel, and you're too tired to fight it tonight.

You slide your thumb across the screen and whisper, “Hello?”

There’s a pause. Then—

“Where the fuck are you?”

Your breath catches. No hi, no how are you, no I miss you. Just fury, sharp and cold.

You blink, heart sinking, already wishing you hadn’t picked up “Hongjoong…” You murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m—I needed time. I’ve been—”

“Yeah, clearly. Taking a rest while the rest of us carry your weight?” He scoffs. “Do you think this is some kind of fucking vacation?!”

You flinch. The IV line tugs slightly against your arm as you instinctively curl in on yourself.

“I wasn’t—It’s not like that—”

“You still haven’t finished the last track. Do you know how unprofessional this is?”

He laughs bitterly, cruelly.

“If you don’t deliver by next week, I’ll tell the board you’re useless. Take a permanent rest from work. Let’s see how that feels.”

It hits like a knife.

You want to scream I’m dying. You want to scream I love you. You want to scream Please don’t do this to me—But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes blur as you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. Then his voice softens—not with affection, but with venom too practiced.

“Stop being a burden and do your fucking work.”

Your heart cracks clean in half. The silence that follows is unbearable.

You don’t hang up. You don’t cry. You just let the line go dead when he ends it.

And then the quiet comes back. But it’s not peaceful anymore.

It’s the kind that echoes every horrible word back to you—again and again—until you’re left with nothing but the sound of your heart breaking… in a body already falling apart.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The next morning, the sunlight sneaks through the pale hospital curtains, casting soft gold over your bed. You barely feel it. Your bones ache. Your chest is still tight from last night.

But you hide it.

Yeosang is gently spooning porridge toward your lips.

“Just a little more,” He says softly, eyes tired.

He hasn’t slept well. You know he cried again—his lashes are still a little wet. You don’t ask. You just open your mouth and obey, like a good patient.

When he finally packs up to leave for the company, brushing your hair with his fingers like he used to when you were little, you smile.

“I’ll be okay,” You lie.

He hesitates “Call the nurse if you need anything.”

“I will.”

You wait until the door clicks shut before you call for the doctor.

“I need to go out for a few hours,” You say, sitting upright, your voice steadier than it should be. “Please. Just a few hours. I’ll be with a nurse. I… have things to finish.”

The doctor stares at you for a long time. You don’t offer more. You just meet his gaze with quiet determination.

Finally, he sighs “Only for a few hours. The nurse goes with you the entire time. No arguments.”

You nod "No arguments."

—

Stop 1: The Watch Store.

The clerk greets you with a warm smile, not noticing the slight tremble in your legs as you step inside.

“I’d like to pay for the custom watch I ordered online,” You say, pulling the receipt from your pocket with careful hands.

“And can you have it delivered on June 15 to this address?” You slide Yeosang’s name and home address across the counter.

The clerk nods, typing it in “Anything else?”

You hesitate, then smile faintly “Can you write a note to go with it? ‘For my favorite person: Happy Birthday, Yeosang. Love you always.’”

—

Stop 2: The Bakery.

The scent of sugar and yeast hits you like a memory—birthday mornings, surprise celebrations, shared laughs in the break room.

“I’d like to order a cake for June 13th,” You tell the girl at the counter.

She types as you speak “Message on the cake?”

You nod “Congratulations on your comeback, I’m so proud of you.”

She smiles “That’s sweet! Where should it be delivered?”

“KQ Entertainment. Lobby.”

—

Stop 3: The Funeral Home.

The room is sterile. Quiet. Almost too quiet.

The woman speaks gently as you browse “Do you… know what you’re looking for?”

You nod. A simple white coffin. Lilies. Nothing overdone.

You hand her a photo—one from your last birthday. You look healthy in it. Radiant. It’s the version of yourself you want them to remember.

“If it happens… soon,” You say quietly, “please use this photo.”

The woman places her hand over yours. You don’t flinch, just nod.

—

Stop 4: KQ Building.

You step in quietly through the side entrance. The guards recognize you, but they don’t question your pale complexion, or the nurse at your side. One of them greets you with a smile.

“You’re back,” He says. “It’s been a while.”

“Just for a bit.”

You walk slowly to the studio. No one sees you, they’re all working.

You sit in the recording room, headphones on, and finish the track Hongjoong demanded.

The lyrics blur in your mind, but the melody comes through clearly, like it had always been there—waiting.

When it’s done, you transfer the final version to a small silver USB. You stare at it for a second, then scribble something on a post-it.

“Sorry for the burden.”

You place the USB gently on Hongjoong’s desk and slip away before anyone notices you were even there.

The nurse doesn’t ask anything. She just holds the door for you as you step out into the spring air.

For the first time in weeks, you feel light. Not because anything is better. But because the end is near.

And you’re doing everything you can to leave it all behind… quietly, beautifully, on your own terms.

—

The studio is dimly lit, the same soft blue LEDs casting lazy shadows over the mixing console and shelves lined with half-finished demo CDs.

Hongjoong walks in, a coffee in one hand, the girl clinging to his other arm. She's giggling, wearing his hoodie like it's hers. Maybe it is, now.

He sets the coffee down, sighs as he slumps into his chair "Finally," He mutters, spotting the silver USB on the edge of his desk.

The small, square post-it clings to it. Your handwriting is instantly familiar—even now, he knows it better than his own.

"Sorry for the burden."

He reads it once. Then again. But his face doesn’t change.

No flicker of concern. No softness. No guilt.

"About time," He mutters, peeling the note off and tossing it into the trash without a second glance.

The girl beside him leans over his shoulder “Is that the track you needed?”

He nods, plugging the USB in “Yeah. She finally sent it in.”

There’s no thank you. No message sent. No question of where you've been or how you are.

Just a press of the spacebar. Play. Adjust. Pause. Replay. Work, as usual.

And the girl? She curls up on the studio couch, pulling out her phone, completely unaware—or perhaps uninterested—that this is a song made by someone slowly dying. Someone he once said he loved.

He doesn’t mention you. Not once. Just hums along to the melody you spent the last of your strength finishing.

The very one that will help complete their comeback.

Without you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The hospital room is quiet, cloaked in the fading light of a late spring afternoon. The soft hum of machines fills the background, broken only by the gentle scratch of your pen against paper.

You’re finishing the last letter—the most difficult one. The one addressed to him.

‘To Hongjoong,’ You write, your hands trembling.

Tears blot the page before the ink can dry. You bite your lip to keep from sobbing, but it doesn’t help.

The words come slowly—not because you don’t know what to say, but because it hurts too much to say it.

When you finish it, you fold the letter slowly, tuck it into an envelope already addressed with your shaky handwriting. You place it on the small box next to your bed—all your letters, sealed and organized.

Wooyoung promised he’d deliver them if something happened. And you believe him.

The sun has dipped lower now, and Yeosang is gathering his things. He's dressed for filming, eyes tired, voice gentle.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” He asks for the fifth time.

You nod, smiling “Yeah.” He lingers near the bed, hesitant. “Yeosang?”

“Hm?”

“…Thank you. For loving me. For staying. For making me feel like I wasn’t dying alone. You’ve been… everything.”

He frowns, stepping closer “Hey—hey, where’s that coming from?”

You reach for his hand, your grip so much weaker than it was even days ago “Just wanted to say it… in case.”

His throat bobs “You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared.” You smile, tired but genuine. “Just remember that I love you. More than anyone in this life. You’ve made it beautiful, Yeosang.”

He bites his lip, eyes welling with emotion “You’re coming home. We’re going to beat this, okay?”

You nod, even though you both know it’s a lie.

He kisses your forehead gently, holding your hand longer than he should “I love you too,” He whispers, his voice cracking. “So much.”

Then he’s gone.

You watch the door close, and for the first time, the silence feels too big. You lean back against your pillow, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of it all settle into your bones.

No more strength. No more words.

Just you.

You don't know how much time you spend looking at the ceiling, but you let out the softest breath like a whisper no one hears.

Your hand slips from the blanket.

The monitors slow… Then stop.

You die in that room—quiet, still, surrounded by goodbye letters and the sunlight you were always chasing. No one holds your hand. No one’s there to whisper your name.

And your biggest fear comes true.

You die alone.

⋆

"Okay, take a ten-minute break, everyone!" The director calls out after the choreography for the second verse wraps.

The room exhales all at once—a chorus of panting breaths, damp hair, and bodies sinking into the floor.

Some members collapse onto the ground, others shuffle to grab water bottles, sweat clinging to their skin.

Hongjoong claps his hands with a grin, voice laced with adrenaline “This is it, guys. This comeback... it’s going to be amazing.”

Everyone nods, smiling through their exhaustion, the air buzzing with the thrill of creation.

Until—

“Excuse me,” A staff member calls out gently, stepping into the rehearsal room, holding a phone in both hands.

Her voice wavers “I’m sorry to interrupt but… Yeosang-ssi, your phone’s been ringing nonstop since the last take.”

The room stills. Yeosang, who had been toweling the sweat from his neck, turns slowly. His brows draw together in immediate concern.

“From who?” He asks, walking toward her.

She hands the phone over, and he stares at the screen.

Six missed calls. All from an unknown number.

Seonghwa shifts on the floor, his stomach tightening. He and Wooyoung lock eyes.

They know something is wrong.

Yeosang doesn’t wait. He calls back with shaking fingers. The call connects after a single ring.

“Mr. Kang?” A voice answers gently—too gently. “We’re calling from Seoul National Hospital. I’m afraid we have… very difficult news.”

Everyone around him stops moving.

Yeosang’s throat tightens “W-What happened?”

“We tried—Mr. Kang, we tried everything, but… we couldn’t save her.”

The silence that follows isn’t quiet, it’s screaming.

“We’re so sorry for your loss.”

Yeosang’s knees buckle. He drops the phone mid-sentence, a choked sound tearing from his throat as if someone reached inside him and pulled out his soul. His body hits the floor with a dull thud, hands clawing at his chest.

“No… no—no, no, no, no,” He gasps. “She—no, she was okay this afternoon, I fed her—she smiled at me—she—”

“Yeosang?” Wooyoung is already by his side, falling to his knees, grabbing his friend’s shoulders as Yeosang sobs, broken and raw.

Seonghwa picks up the phone and listens numbly as the hospital confirms the worst. His face drains of color. He doesn’t speak—only slowly lowers the phone, trembling like a leaf.

“She’s dead?” Wooyoung whispers, his voice hollow.

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He can’t. He curls into himself, the wails coming now—full, loud, gut-wrenching. The kind of crying that tears your throat open, the kind that sounds like it shouldn’t come from a human being.

Everyone in the room freezes. Even Hongjoong goes pale, stepping forward slowly.

“What’s going on?”

Seonghwa finally turns to him, red-eyed and shaking “She’s gone,” He whispers.

“What?”

“She’s dead, Hongjoong.”

And that’s when it clicks.

The song. The way Yeosang had been acting like the world was ending. The way you had disappeared without telling him anything.

Hongjoong staggers back as if slapped. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t even blink.

The words hang in the air like smoke: She’s dead.

They echo. They twist. But they don’t land.

He’s still standing in the center of the room, the choreography lights overhead casting long shadows down his face, but his eyes are unfocused, lost.

Yeosang is still crying—a broken, hoarse sound that scrapes at the walls. Wooyoung is holding him, whispering something against his temple. Seonghwa’s hands tremble at his sides as he stares at the floor.

But Hongjoong… He just blinks.

Dead? You can’t be dead.

You’re dramatic. Emotional. Reckless. But not dead.

He remembers the last call. The venom in his voice. The impatience. The threat.

He remembers not saying I love you back. Not once. Not even when you begged with silence.

He walks out of the studio like a ghost, no one stopping him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s raining.

Because of course it is. Not a torrential downpour—just the kind of quiet drizzle that clings to black umbrellas and feels like the sky is crying in your place.

The room is quiet. Almost too quiet for a funeral. Like no one dares speak in fear of breaking the spell.

The casket is closed. Sleek. White. Lined with the delicate flowers you chose yourself.

There’s a photo framed above it—the one from your last birthday. You look beautiful in it. Young. Alive. Eyes sparkling.

Too alive to be gone.

Yeosang stands beside your casket with swollen eyes and a hollow heart. He hasn’t left your side since the doors opened.

Seonghwa is next to him. Rigid. Pale. The type of grief that looks like discipline but is actually just survival.

And then there’s Wooyoung. His eyes are glassy but dry—because he’s been holding something more important than tears: A small box.

Your box.

Inside, letters.

One for each member. Sealed, with their names written in your delicate handwriting.

As the ceremony ends, he moves silently, one by one.

First to San. He presses the envelope into San’s hand and doesn’t say a word.

San reads your name on the letter and immediately breaks. His shoulders hunch forward, and he walks away before anyone sees the tears come.

Then to Mingi, who clutches the letter to his chest and nods, trying to swallow the sob threatening to escape.

To Jongho, whose eyes glisten but lips stay shut.

To Yunho, who takes it gently, fingers trembling, and whispers, “Thank you.”

To Seonghwa, who doesn’t even blink—he just holds it and whispers, “I’ll read it when I’m ready.”

To Yeosang, whose fingers brush yours one last time before taking the letter. He holds it to his lips. Doesn’t speak. Just cries again.

And finally—To Hongjoong.

Wooyoung walks up to him slowly, jaw clenched. He hesitates—just for a second—before holding the letter out.

Hongjoong doesn’t take it. He stares at the paper like it might burn him. His face remains blank.

“She wrote it for you,” Wooyoung says, quiet, almost cruel. “You should read it.”

Hongjoong lifts his eyes, slow and tired “I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

The envelope slips from Wooyoung’s hand into Hongjoong’s. And for a long moment, Hongjoong just stares at it.

Your handwriting. Your last words.

To him.

His fingers close around it. He doesn’t cry. But his jaw locks, and his throat moves in one hard swallow.

The only thing he says is a whisper: “…I’m sorry.”

—

Later that night, the funeral is over. The sky is still weeping.

Hongjoong sits alone in his studio.

Not working. Not writing. Just sitting.

The letter sits on the table in front of him, untouched for hours. He’s been staring at it, afraid to open it, afraid to feel.

But eventually, his hand reaches out, slow and almost hesitant—like touching it might make it all real.

He breaks the seal. Your scent hits him faintly—that soft perfume you always wore—and already he’s breathless.

The paper shakes in his hands as he begins to read.

“To my love, my HongJoongie…”

That’s still how I think of you. Even after everything. Even now, even as I’m writing this with trembling fingers and bruised lungs. You’re still my Joongie.

I think I always knew.

About her.

The way your messages got shorter. How your voice lost that warmth. The way your eyes wandered, even when I was speaking. The way you smiled… just not at me anymore.

But I never asked. I didn’t want to break what was already cracking. I didn’t want to hear you say it, because then I couldn’t pretend anymore.

So I chose love. I chose you. Even when it hurt.

Hongjoong’s chest caves in.

His eyes blur. He wipes at them, but the shaking won’t stop now. He keeps reading, slower.

You were supposed to be my person. My safe place. I would’ve given everything just to be loved by you a little longer. Even if it meant swallowing all the pain. I wanted to be with you until the end, Joongie.

But the truth is…

I think you were already gone before I ever left.

He chokes. His hand flies to his mouth, like it might stop the noise rising in his throat.

But it’s too late.

A sharp sob rips from him. He bends forward, clutching the paper like it’s your hand and he can still hold on somehow.

The words blur.

But he forces himself to keep going.

You know, I used to be afraid of storms. The thunder always made me cry when I was little. But I grew out of it eventually.

I wish I could say the same about the fear of dying alone.

That one never left.

And now… I can feel it, Joongie. I can feel the end coming closer. And it’s cold. It’s terrifying. Because I think I’ll be alone when it comes. And I don’t want to be.

I don’t want to die without you.

Hongjoong breaks.

Completely.

No more holding back. No more numbness. Just grief. Ugly, gut-wrenching grief.

He collapses onto the floor, letter crumpled to his chest, sobbing like a man being ripped apart. Because he was supposed to protect you.

He was supposed to love you, stay with you, be there—through the storms, through the end.

But he let someone else into his bed while you were writing goodbye letters and choosing coffins.

He let you die alone.

And now there’s no song, no track, no apology that can bring you back.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

One Month Later

The company building is alive with quiet celebration.

It’s the day of the long-awaited comeback—photos are being taken, staff buzzing with excitement, members preparing for interviews and performances.

There are smiles.

But none of them quite reach the eyes.

Your absence is still a wound, deep and unhealed.

They all feel it — the silence where your voice used to be, the space you once filled so brightly now left hollow.

Then, somewhere between conversations and flashing lights—

“Delivery for Kang Yeosang?” A courier calls from the entrance.

Yeosang, confused, steps forward and takes the small, neatly wrapped box. His name is written in your handwriting.

There’s no mistaking it. His hands tremble. He opens it slowly.

Inside is a custom-made silver watch, the exact model he once told you about in passing—the one he never expected anyone to remember. The dial engraved with tiny, delicate script:

"For my favorite person: Happy Birthday, Yeosang. Love you always.’”

He stares at it, unable to speak. His chest tightens painfully.

Tears gather. A quiet, broken sob slips from him. Seonghwa puts a hand on his shoulder—and they don’t say anything. They don’t need to.

Across the building, another courier arrives.

“Delivery for KQ Entertainment – Congratulations Cake?”

The receptionist, puzzled, takes it.

It’s a beautiful cake—white and gold, elegant. The top reads in delicate frosting:

“Congratulations on your comeback. I’m so proud of you all.”

The members gather around it slowly, recognizing the handwriting on the card beside it before anyone speaks.

No one touches the cake. No one can move.

Wooyoung’s eyes well up first “...She planned all this,” he whispers. “Even when she knew she wouldn’t be here.”

Jongho’s jaw clenches. San turns his back to hide his tears. Mingi cries openly.

Hongjoong is the last to arrive, holding your letter in his pocket—worn and read a hundred times.

He sees the cake. He sees Yeosang clutching that watch like it’s the last thread of you left in the world.

And for the first time in days—He crumbles.

He sinks to his knees beside the table, staring at the cake, whispering your name like a prayer he didn’t deserve to speak.

Because love this deep doesn’t disappear when you die.

You gave them all a part of you to keep.

Even him.

Even the one who broke you, and it’s only now that he realizes… You were the only light any of them ever needed.

And you were gone far too soon.

Taglist: @domfikeluva @hurryupmars @a-tiny-thing @silenttrxxs @innocygnet @alliecoady98 @posseup @yothangie @a-atiny_niawoo @justconniez @niaee @0407files @maidens-world @zaynsfl4m3s @maplelilly05 @xh01bri @sannieily @nkryuki @lemonkait00 @khaskl08 @badbitch69420sworld @jilxxasu @vnxlla @lezleeferguson-120 @lunaryoongie @stayatinykatsy @milliesupremexx @unbroken-shadows @itzyejiluv @lover-ofallthingspretty @queenofdumbfuckery @johaeyeon @xopierrot @m0onchild-98 @nyx-y @daniela-f-uwu @atinyno1likeme @bbyunicornbby @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @hecateslittlewitchling @herpoetryprincess @twancingyunhao @prchiquita8 @yoonglesbabie

☆○☆○☆

All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

[xaratx1]

EMILY: Should I put the radio on?

HOTCH: I don’t like your music.

EMILY: What? My music taste is diverse as fuck. You can call me polyjammerous. You could even call me genrefluid.

HOTCH: Stop the car.

[xaratx1]

Promises Can be Broken

“Thank you,” I smiled at the cashier as I grabbed my lunch and hurried out the door. My meeting overran by 30 minutes and my boss was far from lenient when it came to our lunch breaks regardless of the reasoning, so now I only had the last 30 minutes to try and wolf down this lunch before I had to attend yet another one. I unknowingly let out a frustrated sigh as I looked around to find where I parked my car. Could this day get any worse?

Apparently, it can.

As I turned to my right to continue searching, I found my eyes landing on someone I thought I would never see again. How I didn’t drop my lunch was beyond me, because I felt my arms go limp while my legs went numb. And all I could do was whisper his name.

“Lee Know?”

It was almost as if he heard me, because he ended up facing my direction. His eyes shook. His limbs mirrored my own weakness, as his jaw dropped in shock. Before either of us could respond to the other, a woman walked up to his side and linked their arms together. She asked him something, and he barely acknowledged her as he replied. She followed his line of vision, and fell silent as she watched me.

The tears poked through the back of my eyes and throat, as I barely found the strength to pull myself away. Finally, I saw my car and ran over to it as I nearly bust the door open trying to rush in. I had to catch my breath. His presence still had the same impact on me, even after all these years.

Guess it wasn’t reciprocal since it looks like he had someone else.

—

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” I scoffed, crossing my arms in disbelief. The cleaner just shrugged as he side-eyed me. “I mean, gone. Moved out. The whole family. 2 days ago. Shouldn’t he have told you that? You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you?”

I could feel my lip start trembling at the comment. He’s right. I’m his girlfriend, and he just… left me.

The cleaner’s eyes dropped when he realized I genuinely had no idea. Oops. What did he start?

“Uh, I’m sure he will let you know where he went soon,” he awkwardly tried to console me before he quickly entered the house, leaving me standing on the steps. I had to grab onto the railings nearby to steady my spinning world.

How can this be? We were just texting two days ago. We called just yesterday. And now he’s just disappeared?

Me: Babe, where are you? Why is no one here?

Me: Lee Know.

Me: Lee. Min. Ho. (Read)

I let out another disbelieved scoff, feeling my legs give way as I just collapsed onto the stairs. How could he just do this to me? Not even a goodbye?

I contemplated texting one of his friends to ask if they knew where he went, but they ran in the same social circle. And they were tighter than a pack of wolves. I knew none of them would give him up, even if they knew it would hurt me. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try right?

Me: Han, I’m begging you. I just want to know where Lee Know went.

Han: I’m sorry, Y/N. I made a promise. I’m really, really sorry.

What was I expecting at this point? A bitter sob left my lips as I just hugged my knees and cried. Despite the strong winds that day, it felt like my chest was the one frozen over rather than my skin.

***

It couldn’t have been her. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. I blinked, but she continued to stand there and stare at me. I can see the emotions running through her own eyes, and it was like I was trapped in a trance even as my girlfriend ran over to me and linked her arm through mine. I barely registered and answered her question on what was for lunch. I just couldn’t bring myself to break away from her.

Finally, she looked away first and hurried off. That was when the spell broke, and I realized my girlfriend was quietly staring at where she had stood too. Oh. Oops…

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asked. “The one you had to leave behind. The way you two stared at each other, it had to be.”

“I…”

“It’s okay, Lee Know,” she smiled as she looked up at me but I could see the pain behind her eyes too. Guilt tugged at my heart as I awkwardly rubbed my neck. God, I’ve just broken another heart. Relationships must really not be my thing.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say. I’m not always a man of many words, but right now, I couldn’t find them at all. “I had no intention of hurting you.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” she tried to shrug off. “We haven’t reached that level of seriousness yet. I’ll be fine. You should find her. She clearly seems to feel the same about you still.”

My eyes flickered between her and where she had once stood. Should I be moving on? Should I be chasing the past? Both ways were potential heartbreaks, one stronger than the other. And it’s been so long. I thought I had moved on by now. I thought this was what I wanted. But seeing her again brought me back to the days I had with her before I left and I didn’t realize how much peace they had given me.

“Lee Know,” her voice brought me back to the moment. I turned to look at her, and she smiled as brightly as she could before patting my arm. “Please. Just go to her. I’ll be fine, and ‘we’ were barely even a ‘we’.”

I bit my lip as I tried to control the tears behind my eyes. Damn it. Yes, we were only dating for a few weeks but look at how she’s treating the entire situation. She doesn’t blame me, hell, she’s pushing me to chase it. I ended up with someone who’s perfect… but she just might not be perfect for me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I like you, I really do. I wouldn’t have accepted your confession otherwise.”

“But you love her. I get it.”

I became frozen in place again, the guilt eating away at me again. Sensing that I couldn’t bring myself to leave first, she gave me a hug that I returned. “I hope you’ll be happy,” were her last words before she disappeared into the crowd.

Leaving me to stare after her too. Two women, two failed relationships. Both hearts were broken within a span of minutes. If we don’t include my own after I saw Y/N again. I sighed as I ruffled my hair angrily. What do I do now?

***

One of my known flaws was that I always avoided my problems. My friends and family would always point it out to me - embarrassing situation? I’m the first to flee the scene. Approaching deadline and the project was nowhere near completion? The excuse is I’m too busy. I have been doing my best to work on it, but it was really when I started dating Lee Know that I actually started improving on this flaw. He stayed by my side to prevent me from escaping, and it really helped me tackle it.

So, what do I do when he has become the problem I would like to avoid?

I sink back into my old ways and dive into my work. If this was literally anyone else, I would go up to them and talk it out. That’s what he taught me to do and what I taught myself to stop fearing. But it’s not just anyone. It’s the man who broke my heart years ago without an explanation, and may or may not be the reason I haven’t let myself go near romance ever since.

I filled my workdays with meetings. I focused all my attention on the projects in my lap and took on more so that by the time I got home, I would be too exhausted to even think about his reappearance. I can’t lie, I’m actually kind of glad all we did was lock eyes. I haven’t seen him around since that day, chances being he went back to wherever it was he left me for with his new… girlfriend.

But, of course, life has a way of being cruel. I had just finished a run and reached home when my phone buzzed.

Lee Know’s 🐇💋: I’m actually surprised you didn’t change your number

Lee Know’s 🐇💋: Meet me? Where we used to have our picnic dates. 8pm.

Lee Know’s 🐇💋: My treat

I almost smashed my phone into the wall, cursing myself for forgetting to change or block Lee Know’s contact and cursing him for reigniting all the pain and hurt I thought I buried. What does he want from me now? I angrily rubbed my forehead, not realizing it had filled with sweat again. Should I meet him? After everything that happened… is it worth meeting him?

Half of me was screaming to let him be. If he could just pack up and leave like we, like I, meant nothing to him such that he couldn’t have the decency to say goodbye to me, then why should I be the bigger person and let him have his explanation or his closure, or whatever it is he’s seeking from me?

But the other half of me knew this was about me as much as it was about him. I didn’t care why he had to leave. I wanted to know how he could just leave so easily. That was the nagging question I couldn’t get out of my head and was why I refused to move on with my love life. I need to know if it was my fault.

And so, probably against my better judgement, I replied to him.

Lee Know’s 🐇💋: My treat

Me: I’ll be there.

—

The gentle breeze greeted me as I stepped out of the bus. I had to pause to take it all in. The last time I came to this park was the last time I had my picnic date with him. And it was as if the whole place had frozen in time with that memory. The trees were still in the same place, although some of them had lost their leaves. The grass was scattered with groups of people, some friends and some families. While our spot was occupied by him.

My feet cautiously walked over to him, and he looked up after sensing my presence. His girlfriend wasn’t with him, but who could blame her? I certainly wouldn’t want to go meet my boyfriend’s ex unless I was on some power trip to prove I was better than her. He, on the other hand, looked just as good as before he left. I had to swallow my tears every time I remembered that.

“You’re here,” he smiled gently, and I felt my heart melting all over again. It is scarily sad how much I missed him.

He motioned for me to sit while he started explaining all the dishes he brought. They were all my favourite foods. He even handmade the ones he knew I only ever liked when he was the one who made them. I just stared at them blankly. I didn’t know how to feel about this.

His eyes dropped ever so slightly as he cleared his throat. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. I just… I thought you might have wanted to. But you don’t have to.”

Curse the time of the day. I haven’t eaten dinner yet, and who could reject free food?

“It’s alright, I haven’t eaten yet,” I replied hesitantly. His cooking skills seemed to have improved too. I could feel my face slowly falling bitter. I was the first one who always tried his food when he was trying out a new recipe. I wonder how many recipes she tried.

“She was fine with you coming to meet me?” The words rolled off my tongue before I realized I was thinking out loud.

He awkwardly rubbed his neck. “She broke up with me.”

Huh. I unconsciously raised an eyebrow, as I quietly took another bite of the food. I’m being petty, I know, but I think I kind of deserve the right. “Another relationship you left?”

He shifted his position to hug his legs. “I said she broke up with me. Seems more like she left rather than me.”

I looked up at him, unsure of how he was actually feeling about it. But the hint of a smirk played on his lips, and it seemed he didn’t actually seem too bothered by it. I found myself smiling, shaking my head in disbelief.

“So. About us.” He cleared his throat again.”Y/N, I just wanted to explain why I left.”

“I don’t care why you left,” I shot back, snapping my head up to meet his eyes. “I didn’t come here for answers to that question. I came here for answers as to how you could leave ME.”

He blinked.

“You left me on read when I asked for an explanation. You didn’t even tell me you were leaving. I want to know why. I need…” I had to take a deep breath to calm myself down, even just a little bit. “I need to know if it was because of me. If it was something I did.”

“Of course not,” he immediately replied. Well, that’s certainly an improvement.

“Then how could you just leave me without a second thought?” I choked back a sob.

“I…” His eyes darted around, as if searching for an explanation. Or a better way to phrase it. “I didn’t want to,” was what he finally settled on. “Things happened so quickly. I didn’t get a chance to tell you or say goodbye. Trust me, Y/N, you have no idea how upset I was that I couldn’t explain.”

“Did you even try?”

“Of course I did.” A dash of hurt flashed through his eyes. “I fought like hell to try and get a chance to do it. I was denied. You don’t want to know why I had to leave, fine. But you have to know it was for complicated and important reasons, such that I couldn’t contact you or the guys.”

“And yet, they knew where you were. I asked Han. He wouldn’t tell me, because he promised you. I don’t doubt the friendship you have with them, Know, but I am seriously starting to think you prioritise them over me.”

“I love you,” he blurted out. That made me pause. He’s never said that before.

“I… What?”

“You heard me,” Lee Know scoffed jokingly, trying to hide his reddening ears. “This isn’t about you against them. This is about you and me. You said you came here to know why I left you so easily and if it was because of you. My answer is that it isn't. It was never because of you and it never will be because of you. And I didn’t leave easily. I fought like hell to stay, but I was overruled. The reason why they know where I went and you didn’t was an attempt to cut you out of my life. Because it was clear to anyone who knew me that as long as I was by your side, I wouldn’t leave.”

“You still found a girlfriend though.” Even I cringed at that weak rebuttal.

“Because it felt like it worked.” Oh. I could tell he was holding back tears now. “We weren’t in contact for years, Y/N. I was too scared to see how you were living now because I couldn’t bring myself to see if you had someone new. When she confessed to me, I thought that it could be an opportunity to finally find you so that if you did have someone, I wouldn’t feel so lonely.

“But she broke up with me when I saw you in that parking lot because she knew immediately I was still in love with you. She told me to get you back. That’s why I asked to meet and why I brought all this food. I love you, Y/N. I always have and I just might always will. I’m here to ask you to get back with me.”

The silence that fell upon us was devastatingly loud. We just stared at each other, our breaths synchronising. That was probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me since he left me. The only other contender being something else he also did for me when we were together.

With each passing moment, I could feel his hopes dropping. I was just so… conflicted. Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he really couldn't tell me he was leaving and that it’s because if he did he wouldn’t have left. I don’t know. The only one who knows the truth right now is him. But he still broke my heart. He is still the reason I’m scared of love now. I didn’t want to set myself up for that kind of pain again. If he did it once, who’s to say he won’t do it again?

“I love you, Know,” I finally found the strength to say. My hand gently cupped his cheek, a habit of mine to show that I was serious. I felt him relax against my touch, and for a moment, we were that happy young couple on an actual picnic date again.

“I always will. But the love I have for you has also shown me the pain that you are capable of giving me. And I’m just not sure I’m willing to risk going through that again.” I let out a weak laugh. “What does it say about me if I go back to you even after all you’ve put me through?”

His eyes watered as he took my hand off his cheek and intertwined our fingers. “I’m sorry for leaving you the first time. I won’t leave you again, Y/N. I promise.”

“Promises can be broken,” I whisper. That’s when his eyes searched my hand and realized the promise ring he gave me was nowhere to be seen. I stood up as he looked back at me. The wind blew around us, and I took that moment to gather my feelings.

“Goodbye, Lee Know.”

***

That was it. That’s all that happened. I kept staring as she walked back to the bus stop. I couldn’t see anything else. Just her. What snapped me out of it was the faint feeling of raindrops, and I quickly gathered all the food to pack up in my car. As I trudged past the other groups of people in the park also seeking shelter, I caught sight of one particular pairing.

He was holding her close to him, shielding her from the rain that had become pouring in an instant. And they were laughing together, before she pulled him in for a kiss. I swear I could see their faces morph into mine and hers. That was how we shared our first kiss.

I had to peel my eyes off and continue rushing to my car. When I finally settled everything down, I just fell silent as I listened to the rain bounce off the exteriors. The quiet had never felt so foreign before. Maybe because she wasn’t by my side to sit with me through it.

Maybe because she won’t ever do that again.

[xaratx1]

Not Even for You

TW: Mentions of loss

I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched my husband play with our children. Our daughter was laughing so heartily as she splashed him with the water colours while our son pretended to be engrossed in his mobile game, but I caught him smiling as he occasionally gave his father a kick and let his sister take the fall for it.

Sipping on my coffee, I felt a wave of peace wash over me. I couldn’t be more grateful for my family - the two best kids a mother could ask for, and a husband I loved dearly who I knew would also give the world up for me at a moment’s notice. It just felt that life could not be better.

Before I could continue enjoying my life, my phone buzzed. It’s the weekend, but I also have some co-workers who didn’t have the same luxury as me when it came to life outside of work. Letting out a sigh, I opened my texts just to see who it was. 

And the world I loved just 2 minutes ago buzzed to a stop.

Channie 💗: Y/N, it’s me.

I almost dropped my mug in shock. How was this possible?

Channie 💗: I have to talk to you. Can we meet at the cafe tonight at 8pm?

My eyes flickered between the messages and his saved contact in my phone. This can’t be happening.

Channie 💗: I know you’re reading my messages, my love. I see the ‘Read’. Please, I promise it won’t take that long.

The touch of my husband’s hand on my shoulder shocked me back up. He was looking at me in concern, and even both my children were exchanging glances of worry and confusion with each other.

“Love, are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost,” he asked me gently, sitting next to me. “I… I think I just did,” the words rolled out of my mouth before I could stop them. 

“GHOST?” my daughter shrieked, running to hide behind her brother. My husband looked at me weirdly, before he quickly asked our son to stay with his sister in her bedroom. Our son stood up and carried his sister away, trying to reassure her there were no ghosts in this world. But I didn’t miss the look of worry he shot me.

“What’s wrong, love?” my husband asked, turning back to look at me. I barely found the strength to return his glance. The nickname felt so foreign and wrong now. But he knows what happened. 

“I… Chan just texted me,” I finally managed to get out. His brow furrowed. 

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t… know,” I looked back at my phone in disbelief, showing him the messages. “He wants to meet me at the cafe we used to have our dates in.”

My husband read the texts, before handing the phone back to me. I could feel his eyes studying me carefully, trying to figure out what to say. But my own head was screaming with thoughts, and I could feel my chest tightening. 

—

“What do you mean…?” All I could hear was the ringing in my ears as I felt the world fade into a blur. The only thing I could register was Chan’s mother standing in front of me, her mouth moving and sounds leaving them but not a single word registered in my head.

“YN… Y/N!” 

I finally blinked myself back into reality. “What?”

“They said it was an aneurysm.” I finally heard the words. “It ruptured so quickly he didn’t make it by the time he reached the hospital. They just called time of death.”

“I need to see him,” I swallowed my tears as I tried to march around her. “Y/N, please,” his mother begged me as she stepped in front of me again. “I made a promise to my son that if something like this ever happened, I wouldn’t let his partner see him like that.”

“I love you, Mrs Bang, and I’m sorry but I have to see him,” I snapped.

Chan’s mother paused and stared at me. 5 years. I’ve known her for 5 years, and I’ve never even raised my voice at her before.

I could feel the walls I just put up start crumbling as the tears I failed to suppress announced their return. “Please, Mrs Bang,” was all I could whisper out. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t… My last words weren’t even ‘I love you’. Please.”

“He knows,” she says as I felt my legs give way, and I ended up in her embrace as I sobbed. Oh my God. This can’t be happening. 

—

“Do you want to meet him?” I heard my husband’s voice bring me back to my reality. I bit my lip as I stared back down at my phone with the texts open. Right before the texts he sent me were the ones I last sent him. Almost 10 years ago. 

Me: Hey Channie. I’m getting married tomorrow. I just know you would approve of him. I love him. He makes me happy. He’s not you, and he never will be. He could never replace you. I really thought it would be you. But I love him in a different way, and it’s enough for me. 

Me: I still miss you. I can’t believe it’s been 4 years. I really hope you’re happy, because I am.

“I.. I don’t know,” I croaked back, the feelings I had from the day I got the news consuming my every being again. In that split second, I was back in that hospital lobby standing in front of Chan’s mother. 

“Hey,” my husband whispered, as he gently intertwined his hand with mine and kissed it. “I want you to know that if you do, I will be completely fine with it.”

“Really?” I whispered. 

“Of course,” he smiled. “I know what he meant to you. You probably need answers. I would if I were you.”

I felt my face relax into its own smile, as I leaned forward to give him a kiss. Our foreheads rested against each other as we pulled apart, and my heart pounded at the conflicting feelings within me. I love him, I know I do, but am I wrong for at that moment wishing it was Chan?

“I’ll go,” I finally decided. “You’re right, I… I need answers.”

He smiled at me. “Go on. Reply to him. The kids and I will have a pizza party tonight.”

“Of all days,” I couldn’t help but sigh before we both burst into laughter as he got up to check on our children. I stared after him quietly, dropping my head back to my phone.

Channie 💗: I know you’re reading my messages, my love. I see the ‘Read’. Please, I promise it won’t take that long.

Me: Tonight at 8pm.

That was all I could bring myself to text. 10 years, and about 2 life stages since the day he left me. Or at least I thought he did. And the feeling was still as raw as it was back then.

***

The familiar sound of the doorbell rang into the air as I scanned the seats. Just as it was back then, the cafe was never bustling with people. There were people in the seats, but it always felt like the right amount to me. Enough for chatters to be heard, but not enough to give me a headache. 

And there he was. I could feel my breath physically get stuck in my throat when I spotted him. My God. He looked exactly as I thought he would… when we got to this stage of life together. It was almost as if he heard me, because he looked up. Our eyes met, and I had to fight back my tears as his eyes lit up and he motioned for me to sit opposite him.

Quite honestly, I don’t know how I managed to bring my feet over to the seat.

I could feel his eyes observing me, noticing every feature of me that changed since the last time we met. I was doing the same, but there wasn’t much new to him. All I had to do was take away some of the obvious signs of maturing - maybe a wrinkle or two - and he looked exactly the same as the version of him that had stayed frozen in my memories.

“Chan,” I breathed out. I could see his eyes soften at my voice, and he reached out for my hand that rested on the table. But then he paused, and I followed his gaze to realise he was staring at my wedding ring. It was the exact design I had told Chan I would have loved to get, and it’s the same one I told my husband. Only one of them put it on my finger.

It felt suffocating as he saw it and quietly withdrew his hand. Half of me wanted to hide it, but the other half that won insisted that I leave it to show that I was happy with where I was now. And to show that I was different.

“You look as beautiful as the last time we met,” Chan smiled. I wanted to smile back, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “I believe you have some explaining to do about that,” I replied surprisingly coldly. Even I was shocked at the ice in my voice, but I tried to remain calm.

His eyes fell as he cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s why we’re… here.”

My heart clenched. 

“I didn’t want to do it,” he started slowly but I could hear the tears he was holding back. “My mother was the one with the idea. I rejected it violently, believe me my love, I did. But ultimately I had to agree with it because it was the only way I could be safe. I didn’t intend to be gone this long.”

“What do you mean, the only way you could be safe?”

“Someone put a target on my back. I didn’t know who and I didn’t know why. It happened the last time we met. After you left, some people broke into my apartment and almost killed me. I called the cops, but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. But it only escalated from there because it turns out there was an entire group of hitmen out for me.

“I had to fake my death to go into witness protection. Trust me, the hardest part of all that was not being able to say goodbye to you. But it had to be done quickly so I wasn’t allowed that. Eventually, they found out I wasn’t even the target. It was someone with the same name as me, but I had to remain in protection in case someone mistook the target for me again. It was such a big organization that ordered the hit it took the authorities forever to finally take them down. And only then could I be released.”

What the hell.

“I finally got out today,” he let out a chuckle. “And the first thing I did was text you. I had to explain everything to you, my love. Not a day went by where I didn’t wish I was next to you.”

My brain failed to churn out any sort of reaction as I continued to stay frozen in my seat.

“I tried my best to keep up with your life but it was really hard considering I had to limit my communications with anyone. I was honestly kinda surprised you hadn’t changed your number.” He let out another laugh, before he caught sight of the sparkle on my finger again, and I could see the one in his eyes dull. Again.

“But you know, it’s nice to know you’re doing really well,” he ended as a silence fell over us. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from him. There was no way to put into words what I felt.

“You are happy, right? I kinda managed to read your texts when I was coming here. Don’t know why I keep forgetting you’re living differently now, heh,” he awkwardly rubbed his neck.

“I am,” I finally managed to get out softly. It was like all the wind had been knocked out of me and no matter how much I breathed, I couldn’t catch it back. “My husband, he’s a great guy. And our kids-”

His head shot up.

“They’re the best things that ever happened to me. I’m uh, I’m a software engineer too. So, yeah. Um, I really love where I’m at in life right now.”

I hate how much expression his eyes held and I hated even more how I could still read them.

“Good, that’s… That’s good.”

Another silence.

“Did you… miss me?”

I know he’s asking that to fill the silence, but the nature of it made me want to implode.

“What do you think?” I found the chill in my voice escaping again. “Maybe if we think of all the days I spent crying over you, every text I’ve sent you since the day to try and keep you updated even though you weren’t with me, maybe all the feelings I’ve felt since then. What do YOU think I’m feeling right now? Do you think I’ve missed you?”

His head hung in shame.

“I don’t… I don’t even know how to react,” I laugh bitterly. “10 years, Chan. It has been 10. Years. I have moved on so far in life, but you come back out of the blue after breaking my heart in the worst possible way and suddenly I am back in that hospital lobby crying in your mother’s embrace. I don’t even know if I should believe your story, but I know you don’t lie.”

I swallowed to pathetically rehydrate myself.

“My husband was the one who told me to come, actually. I was really considering not coming. But he said he knew I needed answers, and I agreed, so here I am. I…”

I let out a scoff.

“Do you know the impact you’ve made on me? Every relationship I was in after you, every milestone I reached without you. I love my husband, but I couldn’t stop myself from dedicating just a small portion of it to you. The love I have for you still hasn’t died even after I thought you did, and I thought I was honouring you by keeping you alive in my memories. If I had to choose between you and my husband, I would’ve chosen you.”

It was a full on waterworks display from both of us now. 

“And now here you are. Alive and well. If I had to choose now, I would choose my husband. And my family. There is nothing I would pick over them. They are the best things that have happened to me and I will never throw that away. Not even for you, Chan.”

Oh. I knew what I was doing to him, but it’s the truth.

“I will always love you, Chan,” I confess. “What happened to you, to us. It was unfortunate. But it has been a long time since then. I have gone too far in life to backtrack to us. Thank you, Channie. For everything you’ve given to me. I really hope you reach that stage in your life soon, where you get everything you’ve wanted. I’m sorry that it won’t be with me.”

I stood up, and gently pushed my chair in. I couldn’t face him after everything I said. I meant every word, but I guess who doesn’t have a kid in them who wished they would live out their lives with their young love? 

“Goodbye, Chan.”

With that, I rushed out of the cafe to find the alley I knew was empty this time of night. I did my best to muffle my cries, but with the rush of adrenaline and pain catching up to me, there was no way they could be missed. That meeting unleashed a decade’s worth of pain and I was the one to bear its price. By the time I finally managed to calm myself down, I could barely stand from how exhausted I was.

A car honk snapped me out of it, as I saw my husband in the driver’s seat of my car. He rushed out of it as he ran over to my side and helped me in. We sat there in silence, my heavy breathing overshadowing his calm ones.

“Do you feel better, love?” he asked. I nodded, too tired to think of another reaction. 

“How did you know where to find me? Where are the kids?”

“You’ve mentioned this alley a few times when you talked about Chan,” he chuckled as he gently took my head. “I had a feeling. Also, I had my sister take the kids. She happened to be in town.”

I nodded again in relief, as I sank into the car seat soaking in his touch. “I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable with my stories of him,” I mumbled. 

“Not at all, love. I’ve been in relationships too where I loved so hard it made the fall extra painful. Talking about them was what helped ease the pain, but the scars and the memories never truly go away. I get it.”

I stared at him, and I felt my mind flood with peace. God. How did I end up with someone this wonderful?

“I love you, you know that?” I whispered as I leaned in to kiss him. This was everything I needed in life. 

“I know,” he smiled as we pulled apart. “Did meeting Chan make you feel better? Is it even actually him?”

I chuckled. “Yes, darling. It was actually him. And… Yeah. I feel like I can really put him behind me now.”

“Alright. Do you want to just drive around in silence, or do you want to head home?”

“Let’s go home. I want to see my kids.”

“Mm. You’ll tell me about what happened when you’re ready?”

“Always.”

***

I stayed at the cafe until they closed. Even then, the staff had to kick me out because I had stayed so perfectly still they kind of forgot I was there. I walked down the street, lost in my memories with Y/N. I shouldn’t have asked to meet here. Every corner I turned had a memory engraved in it. I first asked her to be my girlfriend there. We had our first kiss there. 

Spending over 10 years in witness protection really keeps you under a rock.

I honestly don’t know what I expected when I asked for this meeting. I read the texts she sent me. I knew she’s married. I knew she’s got someone new. I know she’s not who I left. Yet the selfish part of me thought I could get her back.

Isn’t it stupid? A decade. I was gone for a decade. I left so suddenly, there was no way she would have got out of our relationship unscathed. And I didn’t just leave, I had to make her think I left permanently.

It does kind of feel like I set myself up to get my heart broken. And it did break. It broke into so many pieces I don’t think I’ll ever recover. How does someone walk out of that conversation completely fine?

I saw her in her car with who I guess is her husband. I saw her kiss him and missed her lips on mine. I saw them hold hands and missed her warmth. He’s the one whose kids have the eyes I fell in love with when I was 25.

But she’s right. She has moved on when I should’ve too. She’s happy in her present and I’m trapped in our past. 

What else can I do but attempt to catch up with life?