𓇼 Beabatiny Reblog - Blog Posts

WE GOT ONE!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!

This was really good! Love the angst and the ending too. <3

You’re My Dream

౨ৎ PAIRING— rockstar!jeong yunho x reader

౨ৎ GENRE— fluff, ended relationship, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— angst, fluff

౨ৎ WORD COUNT— 1.4k

౨ৎ SUMMARY— you broke up because he was too focused on his music dream, but maybe you and love were the real dream all along.

౨ৎ A/N— i saw a lot of people saying they wanted a oneshot with the concept photos from the 2025 seasons greetings, so i made one! i hope you like it, even though it isn’t quite as angsty as you probably wanted :( still, feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading, lovelies! <3 (i’ll tag a few people who said they were interested if someone wrote one: @beabatiny, @goldendynastys, @kibs-and-bits)

Staring at the fire crackling, you try to hold back the tears that threaten to escape. When had it all gone so wrong?

Just last year, you had been enjoying your boyfriend’s Christmas show with his rock band, and now you’re sitting alone, the night before Christmas.

The crackling of the fire adds to your melancholy, the harsh cold winds blowing outside creating a gloomy atmosphere. You know you should forget like he has, but you can’t throw away two years of your life that easily.

The memories of last Christmas come flooding back to you, even as you try to suppress them. Memories of sitting beside the fire with Yunho, cuddling as you watched a cheesy Christmas movie. Or baking Christmas cookies together at his apartment, laughing as you threw flour at each other.

Turning to the remote controller, you press the power button, not expecting to see him on the screen. His band is playing, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest at the sight of him, his fingers dashing across the keyboard.

Even though he’s the keyboard player and not the lead singer, he has an air about him that draws you in, making it unable to look away, even as you know you should. Why is he still having this effect on you?

The song is one you recognize. “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call,” by Bleachers.

It’s a song he’d introduced to you last Christmas, and, even though it’s sad, it had been a source of joy for you in a way last year, because you remember dancing to the song with him, smiling and laughing.

Now, it really is sad.

When he gets up at the end of the song, leaning into the microphone, you furrow your eyebrows, listening.

“That song goes out to someone I lost a year ago today.” He looks right at the camera, his brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish it had been different, but know that I never really stopped loving you.”

You gasp, only momentarily questioning if he’s really talking to you, before you jump up, now determined to make things right for some reason. You know it’ll probably end in more heartache, but you have to try.

Grabbing your keys and coat, you hurry out the door into the winter storm, unlocking your car before hopping in.

Even though the roads are horrible tonight, you know the way to his apartment like the back of your hand, only slowing because of the snow.

About twenty minutes later, you arrive at his apartment complex, hurrying out of the car, through the blinding snow, and into the lobby of the building.

You try to calm yourself down, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button to the fourth floor.

When you get to the floor, you walk down the hall, slowing to a stop in front of his door. Taking a deep breath, you knock.

It takes about two minutes, but the door opens, revealing a messy-haired Yunho, a few locks of his dark blue hair having fallen in front of his brown eyes, which widen at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” he whispers, his hand clutching the doorknob so tight you think he might break it. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw the program.”

“Oh.”

With a sigh, you rub your arm, biting your lip, really starting to wonder what you’re really doing here yourself. “H-How have you been?”

“Is that really what you’re going to ask?” Yunho asks, giving you a half-smile.

“What else would I say?” you question softly, suddenly feeling stupid for coming to see him. “I can’t just say Merry Christmas or something stupid like I’ve missed you—“

“Can’t you?” he asks, his dark eyes searching yours. “Because I’ve missed you.”

Sighing, you frown slightly, “This can’t be happening. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me just—“

He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, making your gaze snap back to his. “Every day without you has been torture. You came to see me for a reason. Do you feel the same?”

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter how we feel. It can’t work now anymore than it did then. We have different goals.”

“We don’t have to!” he exclaims, almost desperately. “I can’t give up the band if that’s what you want. You were upset it took up so much of my time? I’ll quit.”

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “Yunho, the reason you couldn’t give it up for me before is because it’s what you love to do. I can’t take that away from you. I can’t make you live without it.”

“Well, I can’t live without you.”

His words hang heavy in the air, making you suck in a sharp breath, “Yunho…”

“Don’t say anything,” Yunho tells you, taking a single step closer. “Just tell me…”

“Tell you what?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you feel?” he asks, just before he leans in, his face inches from yours. Your heartbeat quickens as his warm breath fans across your lips. “If you feel nothing, I’ll leave you alone.”

You’re torn between wanting to close the distance and knowing you shouldn’t.

You don’t have to wait for long.

It feels like the world stops when his soft lips brush against yours for the first time in months. It isn’t like an electric shock, with fireworks exploding, rather it’s like coming home after a long time away. Like warmth and softness and… love.

It only takes a few seconds for you to melt into him, the kiss deepening as he lifts his hands to cup your face, your hands finding his chest, his heartbeat quickens beneath yours fingertips.

After a few moments, he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly, waiting for you to respond.

“I wish I could say I felt nothing,” you whisper, feeling a little helpless against your emotions. “But I can’t. I’ve never been able to.”

“Then give us another chance,” Yunho pleads, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. “I meant what I said during the program. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“But what about the band? What about all the reasons we broke up months ago?”

“You and I both know we were being petty then. And I can quit the band, like I said,” Yunho replies, his tone serious.

“I don’t want you to,” you respond quietly, making him furrow his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks slowly, confusion etched into his features.

“I don’t want you to quit what you love,” you clarify. “That’s what ended things between us before. We quit on our love, and I won’t let you quit on the band now. I was stupid to think you loved me any less because of your passion for music. Please don’t stop playing, Yun.”

“Are you sure?” he asks slowly. “It’ll still take up as much time as it did before, maybe more, since we’ve grown a little more popular now.”

“I don’t care,” you smile softly. “All I care about is being with you again. And I won’t let my jealousy over your time get in the way again… as long as you let me come to your shows.”

“Every single one.”

With a small laugh, you lean forward, pressing another soft kiss to his lips before burying your face in his neck, inhaling his calming scent you’ve missed so much.

“Maybe we should get out of the hallway?” Yunho chuckles, tugging your hand, guiding you into his apartment. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You smile shyly, nodding, as you let him close the door behind you both.

Three months later, you’re cheering for Yunho and his band as he performs, smiling widely when he finally comes backstage, his arms open as you laugh, throwing yourself into his arms for a hug. “You did so well, Yunnie,” you whisper in his ear.

He grins, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “Thank you, baby. You’re always the best cheerleader.”

“Can’t say I don’t like the fake tattoos on your hands either,” you tell him wryly, tracing the markings with your finger.

“Oh?” he asks, chuckling softly, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Maybe I’ll leave them on for a little while. And I’ll be sure to tell the stylist you like them.”

“Good,” you grin. “I’m good with anything now as long as you never tell me ‘please don’t call’ like you did last winter ever again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

YES!!!! I’M A SUCKER FOR ANGST THINGS!!!

ATEEZ WRITERS IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, PLEASE WRITE A SERIES OR A ONE-SHOT ABOUT ANY OF THESE PHOTOS AND IF YOU DO PLEASE TAG ME!

I JUST NOTICED YUNHO HAS HAND TATTOOS HELLO??.??:):):?:!:

ATEEZ WRITERS IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, PLEASE WRITE A SERIES OR A ONE-SHOT ABOUT ANY OF THESE PHOTOS AND IF YOU DO PLEASE TAG ME!

I love this series so for and I can’t wait to read more! <3

strangers by nature | ii

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 6.4K Warnings: mingi being a mean brat, puppy antics, swearing, hints of infidelity, slight angst

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A hollow laugh escaped Mingi as he sped through the empty streets, the night blurring around him. The bitter sound echoed in the car, mirroring the anger swirling inside him. He could still see the look on your face, that fierce, unyielding defiance in your eyes as you’d confronted him without a trace of hesitation.

"Maybe you should have fought harder against your parents instead of just rolling over every time they threw you a command. Including this marriage.”

You hadn’t raised your voice, hadn’t even looked angry. But the certainty in your words had cut deeper than anything he could remember. You’d said it so effortlessly, without a shred of remorse or regret, like you hadn’t given his ego a second thought.

And it infuriated him. 

Mingi was accustomed to people bending to his will, not challenging it. His life had always been cushioned by entitlement; his family’s wealth and influence ensured that. People smiled, nodded, and let him have his way—whether it was his colleagues, teachers, or anyone who understood the weight of the Song name. When he wanted something, he got it; when he didn't want something, someone else made it disappear. Life was simple, easy. Predictable.

He’d assumed you’d be no different. The arrangement your parents had orchestrated was supposed to be convenient, uncomplicated. You’d go along with it quietly, play your part, and leave him to live as he pleased.

But he’d been wrong. Terribly, wrong.

From the moment you entered his life, you were a force to be reckoned with—unyielding and resolute, unafraid to show how little you cared for the life planned for you. 

News of your attempted escape had reached him before he even saw you. You’d made it as far as the airport, ticket in hand, your heart set on a life free from the restraints of duty. But then, your parents intervened, having anticipated your plans. They’d sent the authorities to intercept you at the gate, dragging you back home just as freedom was within reach.

You argued, you bargained, and you did everything short of bolting a second time as they walked you into that boardroom on your wedding day. Mingi had been there, watching as you approached, and even in that moment, you’d made it clear through your narrowed gaze and rigid posture that you were entering this marriage under protest.

Though you resisted the marriage and all it represented, you held a deep sense of empathy for him, understanding that he too was bound by this fate. Your efforts to extend an olive branch and build some semblance of a friendship, only served as a reminder of how deeply entangled your lives had become against his will.

And Mingi always made it clear that no matter how much you tried to extend kindness or bridge the distance, he was set on tearing it down.

When your parents organized a small birthday dinner for you, Mingi didn’t even bother to show. He didn’t call, didn’t text—he simply forgot. The sting of his absence felt like a gut punch, even if it was hardly surprising. His indifference when you mentioned it later was almost worse. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” he shrugged, barely glancing up from his phone, his tone cool, unaffected. The casual dismissal in his voice, the complete lack of apology, was almost worse than his absence itself. 

The implication was clear: your birthday, and by extension, you, were not significant enough to be remembered.

It wasn’t until later, when meeting your cousin Jongho for lunch, that the truth hit even harder. Apparently, he’d heard from a friend of a friend that Ahri had posted on social media about her “spontaneous Tokyo getaway” with Mingi, complete with photos of their cozy seats on a private plane and playful captions flaunting their lavish trip. 

Then, there was the night San hosted his charity art auction, one of the biggest events of the year. It was the kind of evening meant to bring people together for a good cause, filled with artists and patrons, all of them dedicated to supporting the community. 

But Mingi had a different idea in mind. He arrived with Ahri, both of them looking effortlessly stunning and either blissfully unaware or fully conscious of the painful message they conveyed. Your in-laws were mortified, apologizing to you profusely, trying to smooth over the spectacle their son had created.

“When will you grow up and stop making a mockery of our family?” Mr. Song fumed through gritted teeth. 

"I thought we had a deal," Mingi replied coldly. "All I had to do was agree to this arrangement, and I could still have Ahri and live my life however I wanted."

Mr. Song’s face tightened with rage, his voice a low growl as he struggled to keep it down. 

“What I meant, Mingi, was for you to show some tact! Not to flaunt Ahri around and humiliate your spouse in front of everyone. It’s childish, and it reflects poorly on you. The least you can do is respect Y/N!”

“Respect Y/N?” Mingi scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “Respecting her would mean pretending it’s something real. But we all know why this is happening—more money and more power for you. None of this has anything to do with me or what I want.”

“You may resent it, but you are benefiting from it all the same. And that means you owe Y/N some basic decency, if nothing else.”

“This arrangement took my choices away. It trapped me in a life I never wanted. And now you’re telling me to be grateful for it? To pretend that this marriage means something to me?”

“When will you stop being selfish and think about others for once? Consider that Y/N never asked for this either.”

As if disregarding you in private wasn’t enough, Mingi took every chance to publicly humiliate you, constantly reminding you of your place—always on the outside, looking in.

The situation reached a boiling point at last year’s Gold Gala when he arrived completely drunk, blatantly reinforcing that your feelings and the event's social grace meant nothing to him.

As he staggered through the hall, his laugh rang out too loudly, drawing stares from guests who exchanged uncomfortable glances. His gestures grew more careless and exaggerated with every passing moment, completely oblivious to the hurt on your face, tainting one of the most important nights of your life.

“No, I’m not much into charity—though I guess marrying Ms. Choi counts.”

“I’m not here to support her, she begged me to be here. Begged me to care. Pathetic, right?”

By the time you arrived home, the tension was suffocating. You could still feel the embarrassment, lingering on you like a second skin you couldn’t escape.

“Don’t kid yourself into thinking this arrangement means anything. You're nobody to me.”

"Of course I know that!” The words flew out before you could stop yourself, raw and jagged. “All I asked was for you to be there because this event meant everything to me. Everything!" 

"I thought we could at least be civil, Mingi.”

“Civil?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with disdain. "You’re so desperate to play house, to fool yourself into thinking I’ll somehow feel something for you? By begging for it?" 

His gaze was cold, dismissive, as if you were nothing more than a stranger who had intruded into his life, uninvited.

Your jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of his words. Who was this pompous prick, standing here acting as if you’d imposed your existence on him? The last thread holding your patience snapped, and before you knew it, a dry, humorless laugh escaped you.

“Feel something?” you spat, unable to hold back the fury building in your chest. 

“Don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re a catch either. Think whatever you want,” you shot back, your voice sharp and unwavering, “but I’m not the one who needs someone else to validate my worth!”

He blinked, momentarily stunned, his expression shifting as he tried to brush off your words with a sneer. But you could tell that something you’d said had struck a nerve.

“You’ve never cared about anything, Mingi. You don’t even know what it means to care about someone or something—because you’ve always had everything handed to you. There’s nothing that’s ever been meaningful to you because you’ve never had to fight for it!”

It infuriated Mingi—the way you exposed all the things he hated most about himself, holding a mirror up to the person he tried so hard to ignore. And that was something he couldn’t allow. He needed to keep you at a distance, to shut you down. 

Because if he didn't, he feared you might penetrate his defenses entirely—and he couldn't risk that.

As he sat in the warm, soapy water, Mingi’s tiny paws barely poked out from beneath a cloud of bubbles. He lifted a paw, watching droplets fall into the water, creating soft ripples that lapped against his sides. It was surreal. He had once scoffed at the very idea of being anything less than in control, of ever letting himself be so openly…helpless.

Everything looked bigger, more intimidating from down here and he felt smaller, more than he ever had.

Your gentle laughter pulled him back as you poured a bit more soap into the bath, sending a fresh wave of bubbles his way. You dipped your hand into the water, playfully scooping up the suds and sprinkling them over his head. 

He wiggled, instinctively shaking his head as the bubbles landed, but they clung stubbornly to his nose and ears, making him sneeze. The tiny sneeze seemed to amuse you even more, your laughter ringing out, warm and unguarded.

“We’ll find something for you to eat after this. Do you like chicken?” you cooed, your voice warm and sweet as you continued fussing over him. “That reminds me, we need to stop by the pet store.”

Mingi blinked up at you, the sound of your voice oddly comforting, even as it filled him with a peculiar ache he didn’t quite know what to do with. Here you were, utterly unaware that this tiny, scruffy puppy was your own husband, yet you treated him with a care and tenderness he felt he didn't deserve.

“I should probably think of a name for you,” you murmured thoughtfully, rinsing away the last bits of sudsy bubbles. 

His little face scrunched up as he shook his head, sending droplets flying. You grabbed the softest towel, bundling him up so that only his nose and eyes peeked out. Placing him on the bathroom counter, you noticed how his tiny body almost disappeared within the towel’s folds, leaving just a pair of adoring eyes staring up at you.

“You’re so tiny, you might get blown away!” you teased, testing the warmth of the hair dryer on your wrist. His expression turned into the cutest scowl imaginable, as if he was about to bark out a protest.

I’m not little! Mingi gritted, scrunching his tiny brows and squirming as if to show you he was tougher than he looked. He let out a bark, to prove you wrong.

“Alright, sorry, I didn’t mean it,” you giggled. 

You began to gently dry him, moving the warm air over his fur. His eyelids started to droop, each puff of warm air lulling him into a sleepy daze. 

“Pom Pom’s a cute name. What do you think?” you mused with a laugh, scratching him behind his tiny ear. Mingi managed to huff out a small whimper in protest in an attempt to communicate that you certainly were not to call him by that name. 

“Fine, fine. How about…Maro? You’re white and fluffy like a marshmallow?” You tilted your head, smiling as you gently tapped the tip of his nose.

Mingi grumbled, feeling his pride melt under the sheer humiliation, but he went along with the name. Despite his desire to resist, he couldn’t deny the comfort of being doted on—even if it meant accepting his temporary fate as your “Maro.”

Mingi stirred awake, feeling an unfamiliar warmth against his tiny body, the soft texture of grass beneath him. Blinking his eyes open, he was met with a new world—everything was…bigger. The trees stretched toward the sky, and the distant hum of city life felt overwhelming. Disoriented, he tried to make sense of his surroundings, his mind struggling to adjust to this small, delicate form.

Everything smelled sharper, richer: the earthy scent of wet grass, a faint whiff of antiseptic, and…something achingly familiar, pulling him forward as if his paws moved on their own accord.

Guided by the scent, he scrambled over roots and pushed through damp bushes, his little body squeezing through the brambles. As he finally emerged on the other side, he froze. Just a few feet away, sitting alone on a bench, was the source of the familiar scent—Y/N?

His wife sat there, hands clasped tightly, her gaze distant and tired, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. But just as he took another small step forward, her eyes lifted and fell upon him. Her expression brightened, and the faintest hint of a smile warmed her face as she crouched down, reaching out to him.

“Puppy!” she gasped with an excitement that Mingi could feel down to his little paws. She beckoned him closer, and he trotted toward her, heart racing, wondering if somehow, even in this form, she could recognize him.

You held him close as you left the hospital, your hand gently supporting his back as he rested against your chest. Once you reached the car, you eased into the driver’s seat and settled him in your lap, feeling his soft fur beneath your fingers as you stroked him reassuringly.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you scrolled through your contacts until you reached your mother-in-law’s number. Taking a steadying breath, you hit the call button, hoping she’d understand your exit.

"Hello? Everything alright, Y/N?"

“I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home,” you replied, keeping your tone light. “There are a few things I need to take care of, but I’ll make sure to call later to check in.”

There was a brief pause on her end before she answered, “Of course, dear. Take your time, I’ll talk to you later.”

As you ended the call, Mingi blinked up at you, feeling strangely vulnerable in your arms. Being held and cherished like this was both comforting and overwhelming, a rare moment of intimacy that left him feeling exposed. The realization that someone could care for him so deeply stirred something inside him—a reminder of just how unfamiliar this feeling was, and how unsettling it felt to let someone in.

“Ready to go home?”

On the drive back, you hummed a quiet tune, the same one you always sang absentmindedly when you thought no one was listening. As he nestled into your lap, he felt himself relax, leaving behind a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in ages.

The bell above the pet store door jingled as you stepped inside, your eyes scanning aisles lined with every kind of pet accessory imaginable.

You wandered the aisles in a daze as Mingi, in his puppy form, bounced excitedly, his tiny tail whipping back and forth with unrestrained enthusiasm. His instincts urged him to sniff and mouth every item you tossed into the cart—toys, treats, leashes, a bed, and a sweater.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disbelief—shopping for puppy supplies while your husband’s life was hanging by a thread was surreal.

“Your puppy’s really cute.”

You turned to see a man holding onto the leash of a doberman that looked every bit as sharp as its owner. The dog sat obediently by his side, dark eyes focused and alert, muscles taut beneath its sleek coat. The man’s presence was striking, especially with his stoic demeanor that made him appear almost statuesque.

“Thanks!” you nodded, smiling. “He’s really sweet, even if he’s got a bit of an attitude.” Your eyes drifted to the gentle way his hand stroked between the doberman’s ears. 

“You look like you know what you’re doing, though.”

The man chuckled. “Thanks, he’s actually my first dog. I adopted him when his previous owner passed away. His name is Hetmon.”

Your expression softened. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” you replied sympathetically, kneeling down to greet him. 

“Can I say hi?” you asked, extending your hand for Hetmon to sniff.

The doberman’s wet nose pressed against your palm, and he let out a soft huff before nuzzling his head into your hand. You laughed, scratching him behind his ear, marveling at his calm and steady temperament. 

Now, hold on! Mingi’s eyes snapped up as he watched you fawning over this stranger’s dog. His little heart thudded, an unfamiliar surge of irritation bubbling up inside him. 

Why are you smiling like that? Why are you speaking to another man? Get away from him!

He let out a little growl, then puffed up his tiny chest and erupted into a string of yappy barks, standing tall on his hind legs in the cart. His little nose scrunched up as he tried to look intimidating, but it was more endearing than anything else. You glanced over, bemused, as he glowered with all the fierceness his tiny form could muster.

“I think your puppy is upset,” the man pointed out with a chuckle.

“Aww, don’t worry, Maro,” you cooed, “you’re still my favorite.” 

You scooped him up, planting a kiss right between his ears, which sent his little tail wagging against his will. You set him down gently on the floor, letting him meet Hetmon face-to-face. Mingi’s bravado wavered slightly as he looked up at the towering Doberman, but he squared his tiny shoulders, refusing to back down.

“Is Hetmon good with other dogs?” you asked, watching them carefully.

“Oh, yeah. He’s a total softie,” the man reassured you. “He may look tough, but he loves making new friends.”

As if on cue, Hetmon dipped into a playful bow. Mingi froze, watching the giant dog before him as he lowered his head in an exaggerated invitation to play. For a moment, the puppy tried to keep his air of superiority, giving a tiny huff as if he wasn’t the least bit interested.

But then he gave a low, friendly woof and Mingi’s puppy instincts kicked in. He took a tentative step forward, then another, his own tail starting to sway. Before he knew it, he pounced forward with his little paws outstretched, mimicking Hetmon’s play bow.

“Maro, you made a friend!” you cheered, watching in delight as the puppy bounced around with the older dog. Pulling out your phone, you couldn’t resist capturing the moment, captivated by the unlikely friendship forming before you.

“Looks like opposites attract,” Hetmon’s owner mused as he watched the two dogs circle each other, darting forward and bouncing back and forth.

“I’m Yeosang, by the way,” he added, turning to you with a friendly smile.

“Y/N,” you replied. “Nice to meet you. Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, actually, just a couple of streets over,” Yeosang said with a nod. He looked down at Hetmon, who was now reclining on his back, seemingly unfazed by the puppy climbing on him. 

“What about you?”

You smiled, watching the scene with amusement. “Same. Maro’s also my first dog, so I’ve been figuring things out as I go.”

Yeosang’s expression softened, his smile encouraging. “I remember that feeling. It’s a little overwhelming at first, but you get the hang of it. If you ever need any advice or a friendly ear, just reach out. There’s a park nearby that’s dog-friendly. I usually go there in the mornings if you’d like to join sometime.”

“I’d really like that. Thanks.”

Yeosang's easygoing grin faltered as he felt a tug at his shoelace. He looked down to see the tiny pup gnawing determinedly, jaws snapping at the string.

How dare you speak to her so casually! She’s a married woman! Mingi seethed internally, giving the string another sharp tug. Why did it bother him so much to see Yeosang chatting with you? He hadn't cared much about you before, but seeing you smile at another man so naturally baffled him.

What is wrong with me? He let out a low growl—though intended to be intimidating—would have been menacing if he weren’t so tiny. Right now, all he wanted was for Yeosang to take a step back, to stop talking to you like you belonged to anyone else but him—even though he couldn't say why.

“Maro, what are you up to?” you laughed, crouching down to pick him up. You slipped your hands beneath his belly, lifting him gently. But Mingi wasn’t done making his point. 

Nestled in your arms, Mingi twisted slightly, nudging your left hand insistently with his head. He pressed his nose right against your ring, his puppy eyes wide with urgency. 

See this? She’s taken! He gave a little huff and looked back at Yeosang with the tiniest scowl he could manage.

Yeosang, oblivious to the true intentions behind the pup’s actions, chuckled softly. “Looks like he’s tired. Puppies need lots of sleep, you know.”

“Sounds like someone needs a nap,” you agreed, gently setting the little ball of jealousy back into the cart.

"Oh, before I go," Yeosang continued, reaching into his pocket, "here's my number."

Mingi’s ears perked up, and his tail stopped wagging immediately. If he could talk, he’d be grumbling a thousand complaints. But instead, he glared up at Yeosang, hoping his intense puppy stare would get his message across: Back off.

⋆

The last twenty-four hours had been nothing short of a whirlwind: the accident, waking up in a completely different form, and now trying to adjust to this strange new reality. He was still Mingi, still aware of his responsibilities and tasks, but now he had to figure out how to accomplish them…as a puppy.

He padded around the penthouse, his tiny paws making soft clicks on the polished floor as he aimlessly wandered, bored out of his mind now that you were both back from the pet store. The excitement of the outing had quickly worn off, and now all he could do was sulk in the silence of the house.

His little tail swished back and forth as he circled the living room, kitchen, your piano, and the second floor of the penthouse. Finally, his gaze landed on the door to his room. A mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes, and with a determined wag of his tail, he marched toward it.

You paced around the living room, contemplating how to propose your idea to your mother-in-law: staying overnight once a week with Mingi. The thought of him spending nights alone in the suite, surrounded only by machines, unsettled you. He wasn't exactly your biggest fan—he’d made it clear where his heart truly lay, and it wasn’t with you. Yet, the notion of someone always being there, watching over him, brought you a small measure of comfort amid the uncertainty.

As the worry gnawed at you, you knew you had to act. Taking a deep breath, you picked up the phone and dialed your mother-in-law.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me,” you said, doing your best to sound composed. “I just got back from running errands and wanted to propose something.”

Her voice carried that usual guarded curiosity. “What are you suggesting?”

You respected your mother-in-law’s loyalty to her family, even if her protectiveness sometimes blinded her to Mingi’s faults. She had always been gracious to you, maintaining a sense of decorum that made you feel welcome but not entirely at ease. 

“I thought we could work out a schedule to stay overnight with Mingi at the hospital.”

There was a brief pause before she spoke, her voice carefully polite. “You’re very thoughtful, dear,” she began, “but…maybe it’s not necessary to stay all night. The nurses are attentive, and they promised to call us if anything changes.”

You glanced around the penthouse, searching for Maro, who had slipped away at some point. The quiet absence of the dog only added to the heavy silence, making the place feel even emptier.

“I have full confidence in his care team,” you replied, forcing each word into a polite, measured tone. 

“But I think Mingi would feel more supported if someone were there with him, at least some of the time. I was thinking I could stay overnight once or twice a week? Just so he doesn’t feel…forgotten.”

Mrs. Song paused just a moment, enough for you to feel that familiar flicker of hope—maybe she’d feel the same worry, feel something for her son that went deeper than surface-level appearances. 

But when she spoke, her words rang hollow. “Are you sure?” She hesitated, as if weighing how much emotion to offer before she could close herself off again. “I don’t want you to burn yourself out.”

“I’m sure. And I’ll take care of myself, I promise,” you replied, careful to keep any bitterness out of your voice.

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no one he’d be happier to see than you when he wakes up.”

You let the comment hang in the air, refraining from answering. The truth was far more complicated—it wasn’t about who Mingi wanted to see. It was about reminding him he wasn’t completely abandoned, despite how much he’d tried to push you away.

Murmuring a quick goodbye, you ended the call and let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, feeling a strange relief as the line clicked dead.

Standing in the quiet of the penthouse, you wondered how it was possible to care so deeply and feel so estranged at the same time. You exhaled slowly, taking a moment to let the frustration settle before setting off to find Maro, hoping the small presence of the dog might be the comfort you needed.

Mingi paused in front of the door, cocking his head and giving it a long, assessing look. The handle was far out of reach, far higher than any normal dog could ever hope to reach. 

With a huff, he pressed his tiny front paws against the door, trying to push and pull with all his might. When that failed, he gave up entirely on the handle and decided on a new strategy: digging.

He squatted down, wiggling his little rear end before he thrust his paws forward in an exaggerated motion, trying to dig under the door. His tiny claws scrabbled uselessly at the polished floor, making little scratching noises that seemed comically futile against the sleek, smooth surface.

He stopped for a moment, eyes narrowing in concentration, before he gave it another go—this time, with more vigor, his body wriggling in earnest as though the door might just give way if he showed it enough determination.

“Maro? What are you doing?” you asked, catching sight of the fluffball nosing determinedly at Mingi’s bedroom door.

He froze, glancing back at you with wide, innocent eyes, but his resolve didn’t waver. He turned back to the door, his eyes narrowing as if silently pleading with it to just open. 

You stifled a laugh at his antics. “Sorry, baby boy, but that room’s off limits.”

Your life with Mingi had been defined by boundaries—drawn lines, quiet distances, and spaces kept respectfully separate. Separate rooms, separate lives, and a marriage in name only. The closed door was a boundary, one you’d both agreed to uphold.

But it’s my room! He insisted with a bark of protest, his frustration evident. He didn’t want the carefully arranged, supposedly comfortable dog bed that sat innocently by the window. He wanted his own room, his own bed, and his own space.

“I don’t think Mingi would appreciate it if I let you in there,” you added wistfully.

Mingi could sense something in your voice—a sadness buried beneath your usual composed demeanor. His ears perked as he tilted his head, studying the way your shoulders slumped just slightly, the way your eyes lingered on the closed door before looking away. 

In that moment, he recognized that despite the walls between you, you were still here, trying to make the best of a life shaped by distance.

Letting out a small, resigned huff, he slowly padded over to the dog bed by the window, casting one last longing look at the door. Then, in a dramatic display, he flopped onto his back with a sigh, his little paws stretching up into the air, his fluffy belly exposed, hoping it might coax even the smallest smile from you.

Mingi wasn’t thrilled about giving up his room, but he figured if he could cheer you up—even a little—it was worth it. Because he knew, perhaps more than he wanted to admit, how lonely it must be for you, living in a world of closed doors.

"Thanks so much for meeting us here!" you greeted Yeosang warmly, handing him a cup of hot chocolate. His eyes lit up with a grateful smile as he accepted it, glancing down at Hetmon, who was already bouncing in place with excitement.

“No worries at all! I did say I’d be happy to answer any questions about dogs,” Yeosang replied, his gaze shifting to Maro, who sat at your feet, fixated on what would come next in your conversation.

You knelt down, scratching Maro gently behind his ears as the weight of your question settled in your chest. A tightness formed in your throat, and you hesitated, glancing up at Yeosang.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something…a little more serious, if that’s okay.”

Yeosang’s face softened, his usual bright energy shifting to a gentle calm as he took in your expression. His caring demeanor radiated warmth, an almost tangible reassurance that everything would be alright. 

“Of course,” he replied, his voice soft but encouraging. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

You unhooked Mingi from the leash, giving him a gentle nudge forward. “Go on, Maro,” you encouraged, motioning toward Hetmon, who was practically vibrating, his tail whipping the air behind him like a propeller.

"Hey, do you wanna play chase?" Hetmon asked eagerly, prancing in a tight circle around Mingi.

"We can also play fetch! My dad brought my favorite ball!"

But Mingi sat firmly in place, his tiny body angled away from Hetmon, focused entirely on your conversation with Yeosang. He narrowed his eyes, stubbornly ignoring the playful advances. As far as he was concerned, Yeosang’s angelic demeanor deserved the highest level of suspicion.

“No,” the puppy pouted, his voice stubborn and unmoving.

Undeterred, Hetmon scooted closer, nudging Mingi’s side with his nose. "Come on, just one game! I’ll even let you catch me!" He bounced in front of Mingi, crouching low in an exaggerated play bow, his tail wagging furiously.

Mingi huffed, his small body stiffening as he resisted the pull of Hetmon’s enthusiasm. He cast the doberman a sidelong glare that would’ve been intimidating—if he were anything bigger than a fluffball.

"No, I want to stay here," Mingi grumbled. "Your father is trying to hit on my wife."

Hetmon tilted his head, blinking with wide-eyed innocence. "That can’t be your wife; she’s not a dog. She’s your mom."

Mingi’s tiny temper flared, but he reminded himself he was dealing with someone with the mental equivalent of a toddler.

"Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but she’s my wife. If I tell you what happened, would you leave me alone?"

Hetmon sat back, pausing thoughtfully, his tail still wagging. "Okay, I’ll listen!”

Mingi sighed, rolling his eyes as if explaining was a chore. "Alright, so before I got...uh, transformed," he said, waving a paw at his small, fluffy body with obvious disdain, 

"I was married to Y/N. Then I got into a car accident."

Hetmon’s eyes went wide with awe, tail wagging in anticipation. "So… you died and became a dog?"

"No!" Mingi barked, his chest puffed. "I was transformed into one because I did bad things.” The words came out quietly, almost like a confession, and he glanced away, embarrassed. 

“I have three months to complete three tasks, or else I’m stuck like this… forever."

Hetmon tilted his head, his big eyes full of innocent curiosity as he tried to wrap his mind around Mingi’s words. He watched Mingi for a moment, then his tail gave a tentative wag.

“What do you have to do? Can I help?” Hetmon asked eagerly. 

“My dad says we always have to help friends!”

Friends. The word stung more than Mingi expected, a sudden reminder of how few people he truly trusted or felt close to. Yunho was really his only friend, the one person he could count on without question. 

He shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts drifting to the tight circle of people he called acquaintances: the other Choi’s, the son of Park Enterprises… all hand-picked connections meant to strengthen his family’s standing, but none of those relationships had ever felt genuine. 

Had he done this on purpose? Had he pushed people away to keep himself safe, to avoid the risk of betrayal or disappointment? Maybe he’d chosen solitude to protect himself from the sting of being left behind—but he hadn’t expected it to feel so empty now, as he sat here realizing that even a dog like Hetmon was willing to reach out with kindness.

“Okay, well...I guess,” Mingi sighed. 

You swallowed hard, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you fought to steady yourself. The sunlight hit your wedding ring, casting a soft glow over the diamonds—a gleaming, constant reminder of the life you were bound to. In a way, it felt more like a chain. Taking a deep breath, you chose your words carefully. 

“My…husband was in a really bad car wreck the other night. He’s in a coma right now,” you said, the words thick and heavy, as if each one were being forced out. 

The reality of it all settled in the air between you and Yeosang, and you could feel his compassion in the way he listened to you. His brow creased with concern as he took in your words, his quiet presence urging you to press on.

“I’ve made arrangements to spend at least one night a week at the hospital,” you continued, forcing yourself to look down at your cup rather than meet his eyes. 

“It’s hard to explain, but I guess I don’t want him to be…alone, even if he can’t really tell.”

Your voice trailed off as a feeling of helplessness welled up within you. You wanted to believe that Mingi could somehow sense your presence, that maybe your being there would make even a small difference. But at the same time, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that your visits might mean more to you than they did to him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. That’s a lot to carry. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. But you’re doing your best to be there for him, even when it’s painful.”

You felt a slight relief in his understanding, in the way he didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling the weight of Yeosang’s empathy. 

“I also don’t mean to impose but…would you mind letting Maro stay over just one night a week? Until I figure things out?” you asked sheepishly. “He’s still so little, and I don’t want him to feel abandoned while I’m gone.”

“Of course, Y/N, don't feel bad for asking!” Yeosang nodded enthusiastically.

“Maro will be in great hands, I promise. I know Hetmon would love having him over! It’ll be like…boys' night, and I can build a fort for them, we can eat snacks…”

Yeosang’s eyes sparkled with genuine excitement as he spoke, his infectious energy making you smile despite your concerns. He had a knack for making the most mundane plans sound like grand adventures, and his lighthearted spirit was always a comforting presence.

The unexpected kindness caught you off guard, causing your shoulders to relax.

“Really?” you murmured, struggling to believe that someone truly understood and wanted to help in such a straightforward yet meaningful way.

“You're dealing with so much right now. I'm glad to help, even if it's small.” For a moment, you felt a lump rise in your throat, the weight of his words grounding you in a world that often felt chaotic and uncertain.

“You don’t have to face all this on your own,” Yeosang added, his words carrying a depth that felt like a lifeline. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Hetmon barreling across the grassy field, with Maro bounding right behind him as they zig-zagged through the park. The sight of the two playing together made you smile.

“Hetmon, come have some water!” Yeosang called out. 

The doberman’s ears perked up, and he shifted course, galloping toward his owner, excited for his water break. Maro, bounded after him, and hopped up onto your lap, nuzzling into your arms.

“Maro, guess what! You’re going to have a sleepover with Hetmon!” you announced, patting him gently. The words slipped out with casual enthusiasm, thinking it’d be fun for him to spend a night with someone who’s growing so fond of him.

What!?

Mingi’s gaze darted from you to Yeosang, then to Hetmon, who was still wagging his tail, blissfully unaware of the turmoil stirring inside him.

Despite his best efforts to stay aloof and independent, he had come to rely on your presence—the warmth, the comfort, and the steady sense of grounding you brought to his strange new world. The thought of being without that, even for just a night, filled him with something he was unwilling to admit to himself: fear.

<< i | iii >>

a/n: ughhh my taglist is ugly, I can't tag more than 5 blogs to a line now, so forgive me for the formatting

taglist: @syubseokie @koyagifs @sunnysidesins @thedistractedwriter @notevenheretbh1

@molberto @litolmochi @intowxnderland @yn-reincarnate @lemonkait00

@corgilover20 @randomgworlypop @taegi1016 @almondtofu006 @ateezaddict24

@desi2go @beabatiny @sangilov-r @roomsofangel @symmieangela

@dumplingsyum @etaerealboy @fairylover68 @foxinnie8

@yoonrixx @jean-swolo @silent-potato @jiwoongsblondehair @sanriomilk

@sanniesbum

"oh my love, how i wish we had more time together."

Is that a reincarnation lovers trope I sense?!?

I’m curious to learn more about reader and their love also if wooyoung would make any wishes.

Keep up the amazing work I always love reading your stories <3

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓘𝓷 𝓐 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 「III」

๋࣭⭑ pairing : wooyoung x reader ๋࣭⭑ au : non idol! | strangers to lovers | slow burn ๋࣭⭑ genre: fluff | crack | angst ๋࣭⭑summary: wooyoung birthday didn't go as planned / getting to know yn the genie 𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ➜ @chanceonceli

yn sat in her bottle, the room she grown to know and tidy for the past who knows how long. Her last master dying from old age or was it from a plague? She can't remember but she felt relief when she was summoned.

Now, was she expecting eight gorgeous men to have been surrounding her? No, absolutely not but she definitely enjoyed it. Seeing their shocked faces when she introduced herself.

Yn let out small sigh as she picked up a small picture frame of a male, who shared such striking familiarity to her new master.

" oh my love, how i wish we had more time together."

The moment hung in the air, heavy with nostalgia and unspoken words. Yn traced the outline of the man in the picture, his smile warm and inviting. The room felt colder without him, a stark reminder of the past she could never reclaim.

Her small room contain of a queen size bed, bookshelves lining the walls and a window that can show her the surroundings if she so wishes to see.

" i'm sure master wooyoung wouldn't mind me peaking..." She mumbled, stepping towards the closed window.

As the window open she can see her master with another female, the other men standing around awkwardly. Yn noticed how her master felt uncomfortable and she wanted nothing more then to go out and help him. But atlas, she can not as she was not summoned.

" why would you get vanilla? You know i hate vanilla" The women whined.

" because it's my birthday Minyoung, not yours. Seonghwa hyung baked it for me." Wooyoung said, fumbled with his fingers.

Minyoung rolled her eyes, not noticing the tension that grew in the room. Crossing her arms, she leaned back onto the couch as Wooyoung began to cut the cake. Yn felt awful for her new master as she can notice the sad look on his face.

As Wooyoung sliced through the vanilla cake, the knife trembled slightly in his hand. He tried to put on a cheerful expression, but it was clear that Minyoung's comment had deflated his excitement. Seonghwa had put effort into baking the cake, and Wooyoung had been eagerly waiting to share it with everyone.

Sensing the shift in mood, Seonghwa cleared his throat, trying to ease the atmosphere. "Wooyoung, you want me to help with the candles?" he asked softly, his tone gentle.

Wooyoung nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah, that’d be great, hyung." As they set the candles and lit them, he glanced over at Minyoung, who was still oblivious to the disappointment her words had caused.

Yn wished she could say something to lighten Wooyoung's spirits, but her role kept her from interfering. Instead, she silently vowed to find a way to bring a genuine smile back to his face.

As the door closed behind Minyoung and the boys, Wooyoung slumped back onto the couch, the last traces of his usual lively energy completely drained. His gaze drifted to the half-eaten cake, the remnants of what was supposed to be a happy moment. He ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping him as he looked down, shoulders sagging.

His eyes wonder to the bottle, his hands already reaching for it. Wooyoung’s fingers graze the bottle, his touch delicate yet filled with a silent yearning. He held the bottle carefully, almost reverently, as if afraid it might disappear if he grasped it too tightly.

“Yn… Ms. Genie?” His voice was soft, laced with a mixture of hope and hesitation, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should be asking. He looked at her, his eyes reflecting the vulnerability he so rarely showed to others.

Yn appeared before him in an instant, gracefully lowering herself until she was eye level with him. With a gentle smile, she took the bottle from his hands and set it back on the table, her movements calming and careful. She wanted him to know she was here, ready to listen, ready to be whatever he needed her to be in that moment.

“Hello, Master Wooyoung,” she greeted softly, her voice warm and soothing. Her gaze held his, filled with quiet understanding, as she saw the sadness still lingering in his eyes.

Wooyoung swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “You know… you don’t have to call me ‘Master.’ Just Wooyoung is fine.”

Yn’s smile softened even further, a hint of playfulness entering her expression. “Old habits, I suppose. But if it makes you feel better… Wooyoung,” she replied, dropping the formal title just for him.

yn bit her lip, pondering is she should ask about the rude women that was here early but from the way she can see how upset her master is

Yn bit her lip, hesitating as she glanced at Wooyoung’s downcast expression. Part of her wanted to ask about the woman who’d been here earlier—the one whose words had so clearly hurt him. But seeing the sadness still lingering in his eyes, she decided against it, not wanting to bring up something that might deepen his hurt.

" yn "

" yes Wooyoung?"

" tell me about yourself"

Yn blinked in surprise, not expecting the question. She’d grown so used to listening, to being there for others and focusing on their needs, that it felt almost strange to have the attention turned to her.

Wooyoung nodded, leaning forward slightly. “I do. We might as well since we'll have a lifetime together.”

Yn gave him a soft smile, a warmth blooming in her chest at his words. “Alright. Where to start?” She paused, thinking for a moment. “I’ve been… well, ‘here’ for as long as I can remember. My life has mostly been about helping others, like you,” she said, her tone gentle. “I may not know everything about the world beyond these walls, but I’ve always found joy in being of service.”

Wooyoung listened intently, his expression thoughtful. “So, you’ve never really had a life of your own?”

She shook her head, though there was no sadness in her eyes—only acceptance. “Not in the way you have, no. But I don’t mind. I feel… fulfilled, I suppose, knowing that I can make a difference in someone else’s life. Even if it’s in little ways.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened. “But… do you ever wonder what it would be like to do something just for you? To have a wish of your own?”

Yn hesitated, a flicker of longing crossing her face. “Maybe sometimes,” she admitted quietly.

Wooyoung let out a soft hum, watching Yn with a thoughtful expression. He took in the way her gaze drifted, as if she were seeing something far beyond the room they sat in. A smile placed on his lip as he silently thanked Yunho and Mingi for the gift.

ANOTHER UPDATE! COME ON WE’RE BACK!!!

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8.2k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

a/n: was supposed to upload this on the 27th cause that’s my birthday but i just can’t wait any longer 😅 keep an eye out for the littlest of details because nothing is as it seems in this chapter :P lmk what you guys think!

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

First of all, I hate myself. Second of all, I hate myself. Oh, and did I already mention that I hate myself? I just don’t know what to do anymore! It feels like it’s been a whole decade ever since I last picked up a pen to scribble on this godforsaken journal… I wish I could just go back to the time I was writing the page behind the one I’m writing on right now and just cancel my flight to Paris. This is all so frustrating, you know? Fashion Week is nearing, and I am not prepared at all—no, not even a little. I’m supposed to be spending my hours inside the studio practicing runway walks and testing out facial expressions, but no! I’m way too afraid of crossing paths with Hongjoong to even think about the consequences of not taking my preparations seriously! And speaking of Hongjoong…

He’s driving me to the edge of my sanity. I don’t know what’s going on with him—okay, scratch that, I definitely do. I just don’t get why he’s acting so avoidant all of a sudden… I mean, like, okay, I would understand his unprovoked need for distance between us if we actually kissed that night, but we didn’t. The farthest step we were able to take was just him holding onto the sides of my face and me looking at his lips like I’m a starved dog looking at its first meal of the day before Wooyoung fortunately interrupted us—so why is he acting up?

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. Seriously, what’s his problem? He made me accustomed to his usual sweet and caring persona, and all of a sudden, he wants to act like this? What have I done wrong? Wasn’t it literally him who initiated the… whatever I’m supposed to call what happened that night?

I’m just concerned, you know. It’s been two weeks, and yet he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague. I haven’t been receiving any messages from him at all lately, either. Even Madame Dupont is asking me why she no longer sees the “small young handsome boy” waiting for me outside the apartment building while leaning against his car. Wooyoung’s been trying to persuade me into confirming his theory that Hongjoong and I are going through a lovers’ quarrel for three days now, too. And guess who’s the most troubled of them all? Seonghwa. He’s been doing his best to put us back into speaking terms for a while now, and I don’t know why—I swear I didn’t ask him to do that.

Everyone is worried. Everyone but him.

You know, this brings me back to that unrecognizable faceless guy I see in some of my blurry flashbacks. I remember him asking me how long I’ve been bottling up my emotions, and when I told him I’ve been doing so for pretty much my entire life, he told me to consider writing in a journal.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

I just noticed that it’s been a while since I last wrote a journal entry, and… it’s been a while since I last let my emotions unravel. I remember the words that came out of his mouth that day.

“When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You know what, in a way, I think he and Hongjoong actually have something in common. I know I can’t say much because I only have one memory of this guy, but he spoke with as much wisdom as Hongjoong does. Also… “let yourself get lost in your own world.” That’s honestly the most Hongjoong-ish advice someone could ever give, given how he himself gets lost in his own world of artistry, too.

I just wish he’d stop ignoring me. I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault… Am I just hurting myself by expecting things to suddenly go back to the way they used to be?

As you closed your journal with a weary sigh, your eyes drifted to the dim glow of your bedside clock reading 2:37 a.m. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of distant traffic, yet you felt far from at peace. It was a night for sleep, yet your mind wouldn’t quiet; thoughts of Hongjoong twisted and turned within you, refusing to settle.

“Why does it feel like this?” you murmured, pressing your palms into your face, as if that could somehow soothe the ache in your chest. You longed for comfort, for answers, even for a brief respite from the confusion that had become your constant companion. “If only that faceless guy could telepathically whisper some words of wisdom to me right now…”

Two weeks had passed since you last shared any words with Hongjoong—two weeks where every glance, every passing moment, felt laced with an unspoken tension that only deepened the rift between you. It was all becoming painfully real, the shift so clear to everyone around you. But no one knew the truth—the moment you almost kissed, the silent proximity that had left you dizzy and wondering. Even Seonghwa, in his genuine concern, couldn’t know the pang of vulnerability that had filled that night, the fear and excitement mingling as you’d come closer than ever before.

Your mind flashed back to the other day when the ache of his absence had been sharpest. You passed by him in a hallway, hoping for a flicker of his usual warmth, his soft gaze that once reassured you of your place in his world. But he’d brushed past with such indifference—not even nodding to acknowledge your presence, a chill in his demeanor that left you hollow. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you alone with a rising sense of loss.

Without thinking, you picked up your phone and opened your gallery. Photos of Hongjoong filled your screen, and your eyes drift over candid snapshots—some of you and Hongjoong working late in the studio, others of him laughing or looking thoughtful, moments caught by your camera that now feel like glimpses into another lifetime. There’s a picture of him outside your apartment building, waving you goodbye one evening. Another shot of him hunched over his desk in concentration, unaware that you’d snapped the photo from across the room. Then, there’s a particularly precious one of the two of you, taken in his office—which was likely Wooyoung’s doing.

As you scroll, an ache blossoms within you, spreading in slow, insistent waves that make your chest feel tight. You can feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and it catches you off guard. Why now? Why does he, of all people, have this power over you? You swipe at the tears, frustrated by the sudden swell of emotion. It’s not supposed to be like this, you tell yourself. Hongjoong is supposed to be your friend, your mentor, the one person in Paris who helped you find your footing when everything felt foreign. But as the images blur beneath the glisten of unshed tears, you can’t help but wonder if that’s all he’ll ever be—someone whose warmth once felt like home, and whose absence now feels like a loss you’re not ready to face.

The soft scratching at your window pulls you abruptly from your thoughts. For a moment, you freeze, glancing back at the phone you’d just placed on your desk. Carefully, you grab your journal—a flimsy defense, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Heart pounding just slightly, you step forward, inching closer to the window.

When you peek over, you’re met with a familiar sight: Pompidou, the resident stray cat who had made the apartment building his kingdom, sits with one paw pressed to the glass, his usual unamused expression aimed your way.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders as you let out a soft laugh. Setting your journal on the bed, you reach over to open the window, letting him slip inside with practiced ease. He slinks past you with the air of someone who owns the place and makes himself right at home, hopping onto your bed and circling until he’s claimed his spot in the center.

You sit beside him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur. It’s strange how much you missed him. For the past few weeks, your room felt emptier without his occasional visits—without that extra little creature who just… understood you, in a way. And now, with Hongjoong’s absence haunting you, Pompidou couldn’t have come at a better time.

The thought hits you harder than you expect: here you are, at your lowest, relying on a cat for comfort simply because the one person you’re used to confiding in has become distant, almost like a stranger. The ache in your chest intensifies, and before you know it, you’re lying down next to him, resting your head on the bed and gazing at his calm, indifferent eyes. It feels silly, pathetic even, to be speaking your heart to a cat, but in this silence, with no one else to turn to, you let yourself unravel.

“Pompidou,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine, wasn’t it?” Your fingers tremble as they thread through his fur, a warmth grounding you in the midst of your unraveling. “I don’t know how we ended up here. He’s always been there for me, and now… it’s like he’s vanished. And I’m trying, I really am, but every time I reach out, it’s like he’s miles away.”

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and you look up at the ceiling, fighting against the tears stinging your eyes. “It’s probably all my fault,” you confess in a whisper that breaks. “Maybe I was too much, or maybe I should have… I don’t know, said something differently, done something better. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him to eat dinner that night so that…” A bitter chuckle slips out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s funny, you know. All my life, I’ve been terrified of being alone, of people walking out… and now here I am, trying to be okay with him pulling away like it’s nothing.”

Pompidou shifts slightly, his warm body pressing into your side, a small reminder that he’s there, and he’s not leaving. You let your hand drop to your chest, feeling the dull ache that’s settled there. “I just miss him, Pompidou. I miss the way he used to look at me like I mattered. Now, he can’t even look me in the eyes. And I don’t know why I’m clinging to that, why I’m hoping he’ll suddenly turn around and go back to being who he was.”

The silence swallows you for a moment. “Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m still the same pathetic teenager from Arcadia Bay who’s scared that she doesn’t deserve anything better. That she’s always going to be left behind, and this… this is just proof.” Your voice falters, words thick with pain you can no longer hold back. “And if he leaves, then maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better.

The pain is so sharp it almost feels physical, a hollow ache that makes every breath feel heavier than the last. You close your eyes, fighting against the helplessness clawing at your insides, but the words keep pouring out, jagged and raw, as though voicing them might lessen the weight—even if it’s only to a cat who can’t respond.

“Do you know what’s worse?” you whisper, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt over your chest as if you could hold yourself together by sheer will. “It’s that I can’t even be mad at him. I want to be—believe me, I’ve tried. I tell myself he’s the one pulling away, that he’s the one who’s changed, but then I start wondering… what if I pushed him to this? What if I’m the reason he’s slipping through my fingers?”

A soft tremor runs through your hands, and you curl them into fists, teeth gritted as you force the tears back. “I keep thinking… maybe he’s right to distance himself. Maybe there’s something broken in me, something that just drives people away. And the worst part is, I keep wishing he’d come back, like I’d somehow be enough if I could just—”

Your voice catches, breaking into a whisper as you bury your face in your hands, barely holding in the sob that threatens to spill out. “I just don’t understand. He was my safe place, Pompidou. For the first time in so long, I actually felt like I mattered. He made me feel seen. And now… now I feel invisible all over again, like everything we shared was just temporary, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Pompidou shifts closer, his soft purr rumbling beneath your fingertips as you stroke his fur, a small solace in the middle of this storm.

“I try to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can go on without him,” you continue, voice cracking as the words spill out unchecked. “But the truth is, I’m terrified. I’m scared that if he leaves… if he’s really gone, I’ll be alone again, just like before. And I hate myself for feeling this way, for being so… so weak.”

The tears finally break free, slipping down your cheeks in a silent flood. “What does that say about me? That I’m so dependent on him, that I can’t even imagine my life without him? I thought I was stronger than this, that I’d learned how to stand on my own. But now… now it’s like I’m right back to that scared, lonely kid I used to be, clinging to anyone who shows me a hint of kindness.”

You pull your knees to your chest, holding yourself as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the emptiness swallowing you whole. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all I deserve. That maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe he’s finally seeing me for who I am, and he’s realizing I’m not worth it.”

Your shoulders shake as the sobs escape, quiet and raw, each one cutting through you like glass. Pompidou curls closer, his little face pressing against your arm, as though he understands in his own way. But his silent comfort only deepens the ache, a reminder that the person you need more than anything isn’t here, and you’re left holding yourself together with nothing but frayed threads of hope.

With a shuddering breath, you finally admit the fear you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “What if he doesn’t come back, Pompidou? What if this is it? I don’t think… I don’t think I can handle losing him. Not like this.”

Your voice drops to a whisper, the words coming slow and soft as you gaze out the window, eyes unfocused. “I just… I miss him, Pompidou,” you murmur, fingers absently tracing patterns against the sheets.

“I miss all the little things that made it feel like he was a part of me, like he was woven into my days without me even realizing it. I miss the way he’d send me random sketches, the ones that made no sense but made me laugh anyway, like he was letting me in on his little worlds. I miss… I miss how he’d always have this ridiculous drink order for me every time we’d meet up at the café where we switched up our notebooks with one another before we met for the first time. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d need, even if I didn’t.”

The memories wash over you, and you can’t stop the warmth from pooling in your chest as you picture those moments. “I wish we could go back to that time when things were… simple. When I could sit beside him without feeling like the whole world was shifting under my feet. When he’d laugh and look at me like I was… like I was something special, you know?”

Your voice trembles, and you tighten your grip on the sheets. “And the thing is… it was just easy with him. He’d be there, always making me feel like nothing could go wrong as long as we were together. He’d be there with his quiet, comforting presence, and I could just… be. I didn’t have to pretend or put on some mask. It was like he could see right through me, and somehow, he didn’t care about all the mess he found.”

You take a deep breath, the words spilling out like a plea. “I just want to go back, Pompidou. Back to before everything felt so fragile, before that almost-kiss, before this… this distance. I wish I could reach out and take it all back. I’d give anything just to have things feel normal again.”

Pompidou tilts his head, eyes blinking up at you, and you can’t help but laugh, a soft, broken sound that catches in your throat. “I know it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, how could I expect anything to be the same after that? But I can’t help it, Pompidou. I want to go back to when he’d smile at me like that, when I didn’t have to wonder if I was the one pushing him away.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of each memory anchor you down. “I miss his laugh. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way he’d lean closer when he talked about his dreams, his voice getting all serious like he could see every detail in his mind. And I miss… I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I belonged with him. I miss how he’d look at me with this warmth, like I was enough, just as I was.”

The words come out like a broken whisper, a confession you’ve been holding inside for far too long. “I can’t stop missing him. I wish… I wish I could go back to that last night before everything shifted. Before the night we nearly kissed, before I even realized what I felt. I wish I could’ve just stayed there, in that moment, without letting any of it change.”

You hug your knees, curling up as the ache settles deeper, heavier. “But I can’t. And now it’s as if I’m left with pieces of him in everything around me, and I don’t know how to put myself back together without him.”

You pull yourself up, exhaling slowly, and walk over to your desk. The room feels quiet, still heavy with everything you’ve let out, yet somehow emptier too, as if releasing the words has left you hollow. With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone and make your way back to bed, curling up beside Pompidou, who has already claimed his spot against your pillow. Settling into the blankets, you scroll through your contacts, your thumb hovering over Hongjoong’s icon.

It’s just his initials next to a simple photo he once sent—a candid moment he probably forgot about, something so ordinary that it’s precious now. The way he looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching: a slight smile, eyes softened by something he found funny, maybe even a bit endearing. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you let yourself scroll up, reading through old conversations like leafing through the pages of a treasured book.

Each message brings back flashes of shared laughter and late-night ramblings, little moments where time seemed to pause, and it was just the two of you—untouchable, safe. You linger on a message he sent on a rainy afternoon, a random joke he thought would cheer you up. Your lips curl into a faint smile, but it’s bittersweet. There was a time when it was so easy, so effortless, like breathing. He had a way of knowing exactly when you needed a reminder that he was there. But now, that comfort feels distant, unreachable.

A tear slips down your cheek again before you realize it, and you hastily swipe it away, but the sorrow wells up again, slipping past your guard. As if sensing your pain, Pompidou extends a soft paw, resting it gently below your eyes, and you feel his fur against your cheek, grounding you in a way that words can’t. His small gesture tugs a quiet, breathy laugh from you, despite the ache in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to catch your sadness, pulling it away piece by piece, his wide eyes fixed on yours with an empathy you can almost feel.

You let your head fall, hugging Pompidou close, allowing yourself to finally surrender to the pain and let it wash over you without restraint. The loneliness, the longing, the hollow spaces Hongjoong’s absence has left in you—all of it spills out as you clutch the feline tightly, letting his warmth and steady breathing lull you into a fragile sense of comfort. The room seems to blur, softening around you as the weight of everything you’ve been holding back presses into you.

The tears come faster now, unstoppable, and your quiet sobs fill the silence, raw and unfiltered. It’s just you and Pompidou, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not truly alone. There, in the quiet solace of your room, you cling to that small comfort, letting yourself feel every ounce of longing, letting yourself miss him—fully, desperately, hopelessly.

—

Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood in his office, the warm, nostalgic tones of “La Vie en Rose” playing softly from the record player behind him. His gaze fixed on the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. Each note lingered in the air, pulling him deeper into the web of memories he was desperately trying to forget. This song, of all songs—he could still remember how it had been playing when the two of you had stood together in the flower shop, laughing over bouquets and trading light-hearted jokes as if the world beyond didn’t exist.

Part of him knew he could walk over and turn it off. The music was his to control, after all. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The melody was the last fragile thread that kept him tethered to you, a reminder of the warmth he felt in your presence, the comfort of knowing someone understood him.

The dim light from the city outside cast a soft glow over his office, illuminating the expanse of papers scattered across his desk, the outlines of unfinished sketches and hastily scrawled notes, all reminders of the whirlwind he’d buried himself in since he started pushing you away. Each corner of the room felt saturated with memories of you—and it was strange how a space that had once felt so alive now seemed hollow, absent of the warmth you’d brought into it.

He tried to focus on the skyline again, his eyes tracing the glittering lights of the city. It was an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself back from the turmoil inside him. But tonight, every bit of stillness he attempted felt false, every piece of composure barely hanging by a thread. All he could think about was you—the absence of your presence filling every empty space in his mind, as if refusing to be silenced.

He turned slowly from the window, allowing his gaze to wander over his desk. It was almost impossible to remember the last time he’d felt fully at ease in this room. The stacks of designs that had once held so much promise now felt like hollow accomplishments, each one only reminding him of the fire you’d helped him ignite. His eyes landed on a small pendant lying amidst the clutter. The flower encased inside had faded slightly, its once-vibrant petals softened by time. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his hand, feeling a strange tenderness rise within him.

You’d given him that flower, pressing it into his hand with a shy smile as you murmured something about it bringing him luck. He could still recall the way your fingers had lingered against his, the brief but electric touch that had left him wondering if you felt it too. “For good luck,” you’d said, your eyes sparkling in that way they always did when you felt especially close to him.

Hongjoong swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest as he held the pendant closer. How was it that something so small could carry the weight of so many memories? He closed his eyes, and the warmth of your smile flashed in his mind, as vivid as if you were standing beside him. But now, as he held the pendant, it felt heavier, like a tiny piece of the past he was terrified of losing forever.

In his mind, he slipped back to that night—the one that had started as an ordinary work session, yet had unraveled into something far more vulnerable. He could still feel the closeness of the room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows as you both worked side by side, immersed in the quiet moment you shared.

You’d shared things that night that were never meant to leave the room. He could still hear your voice, low and hesitant, as you revealed the fears you held closest to your heart. “Being left alone,” you’d admitted, your words raw and unguarded. The truth of it had lingered between you, a quiet vulnerability that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

When you turned the question back on him, he’d hesitated, feeling the weight of his own guarded secrets pressing against his chest. But in that quiet space, under the gentle glow of the lamp, he’d found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. “Losing myself,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible, but enough for you to hear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Now, standing alone in his empty office, Hongjoong felt the irony of it all washing over him. He’d tried so hard to protect himself, to build walls so high that even you couldn’t reach them. But now, it felt as if he had developed a new fear bigger than losing himself—losing you.

A quiet knock on the door broke his reverie, and he tensed, slipping the pendant into his pocket as he turned. Wooyoung’s face appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Hongjoong standing alone, the haunting strains of La Vie en Rose still spinning softly from the record player across the room.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to the player, where the melody had been looping for what must have been the better part of an hour. “Still here?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern threading his tone.

Hongjoong forced a slight smile, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wooyoung stepped further into the room, his gaze sharp as it settled on Hongjoong. “You know…” Wooyoung began, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “the world can see how miserable you are. Including her—especially her.”

Hongjoong stiffened, the forced nonchalance slipping from his face as he turned away, staring intently at the record player as if it held all the answers he was struggling to find. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s tone softened, a hint of exasperation breaking through. “I know you. I know how much you care about her. And I know you’re running from something you can’t outrun. But you’re not fooling anyone by pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with all the reasons he’d built to keep you at a distance. Each one felt logical, safe, a way to protect himself from something he couldn’t quite name. But here, with Wooyoung standing there, watching him with that steady gaze, he felt every layer he’d built start to unravel.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, barely audible above the music.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning softer, almost pleading. “Then what are you doing, Hongjoong? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone too scared to reach for what he really wants.”

Hongjoong’s heart twisted painfully, Wooyoung’s words hitting far too close to home. He felt the weight of everything he’d tried to suppress rising within him, a tidal wave of emotions he’d buried so deeply he’d convinced himself they were gone. But Wooyoung’s words had brought them to the surface, and now, there was no escaping them.

A silence stretched between them, and Hongjoong’s gaze fell to the floor. In that moment, he felt utterly vulnerable, as though Wooyoung could see right through him, could see the aching desire he’d tried so hard to deny. He didn’t have to say it—Wooyoung already knew.

Hongjoong’s fingers were still curled around the pendant in his pocket when Wooyoung let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “So,” Wooyoung began, breaking the silence, “are you really going to stand here, pretending everything’s fine?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to brush off Wooyoung’s words, to deflect with some casual response that would keep the carefully built walls intact. But his mind was a battlefield, each memory of you cutting through his defenses like a blade.

“Everything is fine,” he replied tersely. He didn’t meet Wooyoung’s eyes, focusing instead on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

Wooyoung’s brows knitted together, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’ve been playing her favorite song on loop for the last hour. That’s why you’ve been holed up in here, avoiding anything that reminds you of her.” He shook his head, his tone equal parts exasperation and worry. “Hongjoong, you’re not fooling me. I know you, and I know you’re running from something—from someone.”

Hongjoong let out a low, frustrated sigh, finally looking up at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung, just drop it, alright?” He forced a tense smile, attempting to sound dismissive. “This… whatever you think is going on, it’s all in your head. We were just friends.”

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. “Friends?” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of disbelief. “You really want to go with that? Because the way you’re acting… it doesn’t look like you’re just missing a friend. You’re avoiding her like she’s a stranger, but then you’re here, playing her favorite song over and over, clutching onto that pendant like it’s the last piece of her you have.”

Hongjoong’s fingers instinctively tightened around the pendant, and he felt a pang of frustration rise within him. He didn’t want to admit that Wooyoung’s words struck too close to home. “I told you, it’s nothing like that,” he bit back, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his gaze not faltering. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a guy who’s desperately trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t even believe.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Hongjoong, you can’t keep lying to yourself.” Wooyoung’s tone softened, his voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut deeper than the words themselves. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know that you care about her. You’re not fooling anyone by pretending this distance is ‘better’ for either of you.”

Hongjoong’s patience began to fray, his frustration morphing into anger. He shot Wooyoung a glare, his voice rising. “It is better, Wooyoung. She… she deserves better. She doesn’t need to be pulled into whatever mess I am.” He paused, catching his breath, his anger mingling with something closer to desperation. “I’m not what’s best for her. And it’s better for the both of us if I keep my distance.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he stepped closer, unwilling to let Hongjoong brush him off. “So, what? You think pushing her away, acting like she means nothing, is somehow good for her? You really think she’s better off without you?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong replied, his tone final, but the conviction in his voice was starting to waver.

Wooyoung gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and for a moment, the silence between them was thick with unspoken truths. Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The words hit Hongjoong like a slap, and a flash of anger surged within him, simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’m doing this for her, so just… stop.”

But Wooyoung wouldn’t relent. “You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this because you’re afraid. Afraid to admit how much she means to you. Afraid of what might happen if you actually let her in. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you think is keeping you from being with her… maybe it’s worth rethinking. Because if you keep running like this, you’re going to lose her. And then what?”

Hongjoong felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed barriers he’d built starting to crack under the weight of Wooyoung’s words. He clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “This isn’t about fear.”

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice softened, a hint of understanding breaking through the frustration. “Hongjoong… I get it. You’re scared of losing yourself. Of losing control. But she’s not the one who’s going to make that happen. You are, by doing this. By trying so hard to keep her out.”

Hongjoong stayed silent, his chest tightening as Wooyoung’s words began to sink in. He wanted to deny it, to push back with the same conviction he’d clung to for weeks, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew there was truth in Wooyoung’s words.

Finally, Wooyoung let out a sigh, his tone softening even further. “Listen, man. I don’t know what almost happened, or why you’re so determined to stay away from her, but you have to ask yourself… is this really what you want?”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to that night in your apartment—the feeling of your hand brushing his, the way your gaze had lingered on him, the unspoken tension that had nearly pulled him into something he couldn’t name. He’d wanted so badly to close that distance, to feel your lips against his, to let go of the fear and doubt that had held him back. But just as he’d leaned closer, Wooyoung’s call had snapped him out of the moment, bringing him crashing back to reality.

“Do you even understand how much she’s hurting, Hongjoong?” And there it was again—the harshness in Wooyoung’s tone. “Seonghwa told me she’s tearing herself apart over this. She doesn’t eat right anymore, and she barely even sleeps. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong, wondering if she’s the problem.”

The words landed like a punch to Hongjoong’s gut, leaving him breathless. Images of you flashed through his mind—moments when he’d caught glimpses of your smile faltering, your laughter quieting, the spark in your eyes dimming little by little. He’d told himself it was just his imagination, that you were fine. But Wooyoung’s words shattered that illusion entirely.

“She thinks she did something wrong, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung continued, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “She actually believes she’s the reason you’re running. Every time you disappear, every time you pull away, she thinks it’s because of something she did. And the worst part? She doesn’t even blame you. She blames herself.”

Hongjoong’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as guilt clawed at him.

“Seonghwa told me she asked him if she was too much. Can you believe that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “She actually thinks she’s too much for you. That she’s somehow burdening you, dragging you down. She’s convinced herself that if she were just… less, maybe you wouldn’t be running.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he realized the full extent of the pain he’d caused. You—who had always been so vibrant, so unapologetically yourself—were now questioning every part of who you were, trying to shrink yourself down to avoid scaring him away.

“She’s not even angry at you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper now, each word a dagger aimed straight at Hongjoong’s heart. “She doesn’t hate you for this. She just… she thinks she’s not enough. Or that she’s too much. Either way, she’s convinced that she’s the problem.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He could feel the anchor of your pain weighing down on him; He’d done this to you—turned you into a shadow of yourself, left you grappling with doubts and insecurities that weren’t yours to bear.

“You’ve been so busy hiding behind your own fears,” Wooyoung continued, “that you haven’t even stopped to consider what this is doing to her. You’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’re hurting her—over and over, every day, with every step you take away from her.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify this? How could he explain that he’d been running not to hurt you, but to protect himself? It sounded so selfish, so small in the face of everything you were going through.

“And you know what’s really twisted?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Despite everything, she’d still look at you the same way she did before you started pushing her away. She’d still forgive you, still try to see the good in you, because that’s who she is. That’s how much she cares.”

Hongjoong felt something break inside him, a quiet, shattering realization that left him reeling. You would forgive him. He knew that. He could see it in his mind—the way you’d smile softly, the way your eyes would fill with understanding, even now. Even after everything, you’d welcome him back, arms open, heart exposed, waiting.

“She deserves better, Joong.” Wooyoung’s words were softer now, the anger replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her question her worth. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s somehow wrong just for being herself. And if you can’t be that for her… if you’re too wrapped up in your own fears to let her in… then you need to let her go.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as he struggled to process it all. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. But the thought of holding onto you only to keep hurting you, to keep dragging you through his own tangled web of insecurities and fears—it was unbearable.

“She’s barely holding up. She hides it well, but Seonghwa can see it. He told me how she sits alone for hours, just staring off into space, like she’s lost something she can’t find. She keeps her phone close, hoping maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out. But every time you don’t... it breaks her a little more.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened painfully, each word slicing through him like a blade. He could see it so clearly now, every painful moment he’d forced you through. How you must’ve waited for messages that never came, must’ve spent countless nights wondering where things had gone wrong. The thought of you sitting there, lost in your own pain, while he’d been so focused on his own fears, was more than he could bear.

“And don’t think she hasn’t tried to talk to you.” Wooyoung’s voice turned sharp, accusatory. “Seonghwa told me how many times she’s wanted to reach out, just to make sure you’re okay, just to see if you’d give her even a scrap of reassurance. But every time, she stops herself. She doesn’t want to bother you, doesn’t want to seem needy. She’s holding back everything she feels because she’s afraid it’ll push you further away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly, but the fire of his conviction remained. “You need to understand, Hongjoong. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her too. You’re hurting her, and if you don’t start realizing that, it’ll be too late. She’s going to break, and I don’t think she’ll come back from it.”

Hongjoong felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The thought of you shattering into pieces because of his cowardice was unbearable. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to say that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He was only trying to shield himself from the fear of loss, the same fear that had haunted him since that girl from his past had walked away.

“I can’t… I can’t lose anyone again, Woo,” Hongjoong finally admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “What if she sees me for who I really am? What if she realizes I’m not worth it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, frustration flashing across his features. “That’s where you’re wrong. She already sees you, and she loves you for all the parts you’re trying to hide. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re only pushing her further into despair.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions colliding within him. “How do you know? How do you know she feels that way?”

“Because I’ve talked to Seonghwa, and he cares about her, Joong! He’s seen her cry over you. He told me she broke down one night, just sitting on the floor of her room, wondering why you were so distant. She kept saying she must’ve done something wrong. Do you want that for her? Do you want to be the reason she loses herself?”

The image of you curled up alone, tears streaming down your face while grappling with your worth, sliced through Hongjoong. The sheer guilt of it settled heavily in his chest, suffocating him. He had wanted to protect you, but in doing so, he had only hurt you more.

Hongjoong lingered in silence, the weight of his unspoken fears casting a shadow over the room. He could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him, a

persistent pressure urging him to confront the thoughts he’d been too afraid to voice.

“What if…” The words caught in his throat, his voice strained with the vulnerability he couldn’t hide. “What if I take the next step, and she leaves? What if she ends up leaving just like—”

Wooyoung interrupted him by reaching forward, pressing his fingers gently but firmly to Hongjoong’s lips, shushing him with an authority that surprised them both. “I know what comes next, Hongjoong,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say it.”

Hongjoong stiffened, pulling back ever so slightly, a touch of annoyance flickering across his face. “You think it’s that simple?” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think it’s easy to just… forget?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, though he held firm. “I think you’re holding onto something that’s long gone, Joong. And you’re letting it get in the way of something real.” He paused, leaning forward. “So what if the girl you loved back in middle school left you? You’re still letting her be the one who decides what happens now?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened, then closed, his defenses crumbling under Wooyoung’s scrutiny. He could feel the words bubbling up, the excuses he’d used to justify his fears over and over, but this time, they didn’t come. The silence between them grew heavier, and he felt himself shrinking under Wooyoung’s eyes.

“It’s not about her,” Hongjoong finally managed, his voice a strained whisper. “It’s just… this was exactly how it started back then. The same moments, the same feelings, and then…” His voice broke, a haunted look creeping into his eyes as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “And then it all just fell apart the moment she left without a word.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his gaze filled with something close to sympathy, but there was no pity there, only an understanding forged through years of friendship. “Joong,” he said softly, leaning even closer as if he could bridge the distance that Hongjoong had placed between himself and everyone around him. “So what if some things feel familiar? They’re not the same person, are they? You’re not the same person, either.”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest as he searched for a way to deflect, to deny the truth in Wooyoung’s words. “It’s… it’s not like that, Woo. You don’t get it.” His voice grew sharper, frustration edging his tone as he tried to hold onto the walls he’d built.

Wooyoung shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? Because it doesn’t look that way to me.”

Hongjoong looked away, his gaze hardening as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that simple, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to… to risk everything and then lose it.”

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hongjoong, I may not know exactly what you went through, but I do know one thing: you’re letting something from the past dictate your future. And that’s not fair. Not to you, and definitely not to her.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he felt the weight of Wooyoung’s words settle over him. Part of him wanted to argue, to cling to the fears that had kept him guarded for so long, but another part—a part he’d buried deep—knew that Wooyoung was right.

“What if I let myself try?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words laden with the weight of years of doubt and self-preservation. “What if… what if I take that risk, and she ends up leaving?”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Joong, if she’s really the person you believe she is… then maybe it’s a risk worth taking. Because people leave, yeah. They walk away. But the ones who matter, the ones who are meant to stay—they won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re saying I should just… trust that?” His voice wavered, the question more for himself than for Wooyoung, as if he needed to convince himself that he could still believe in something other than his own fears.

Wooyoung’s mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile. “Yeah. Trust it. Don’t let something that’s already gone keep you from what could be right here, right now.”

“What if I let her in? What if I let her see the real me? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then you fight for her,” Wooyoung replied. “You show her every day that she’s enough. You fight for her instead of running away. You have to be brave enough to take the risk, Joong. And if she does leave, at least you’ll know you tried. You can’t live in the shadow of your past forever.”

“But what if she sees me as weak?” Hongjoong countered, bitterness lacing his tone. “What if she thinks I’m broken?”

“Then you show her that even broken pieces can fit together to make something beautiful,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’ve built this wall around yourself, but you’re just hurting the one person who’s tried to break through. You need to trust her. You need to let her help you. She wants to be there for you, but you have to meet her halfway.”

The truth of those words echoed painfully in Hongjoong’s mind. He had been running, terrified of the vulnerability that came with love, terrified of the chance that he could be left once more. But he could feel the edges of that fear beginning to fray under the weight of his guilt, unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke.

“You can’t let the past dictate your present, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, a mixture of empathy and frustration. “You can’t keep running away from what you feel. If you do, you’ll end up losing her, and it’ll be your fault.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced as he thought of you—how you had lit up his life in ways he never thought possible. How your laughter had become a soothing balm to his weary soul. He couldn’t keep ignoring the truth that was staring him in the face. The realization washed over him like a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do?” Hongjoong whispered.

“Fight for her, Joong. Show her that you’re not afraid. Be honest with her, and don’t let fear win this time.” Wooyoung leaned closer. “She deserves that much, at the very least. Fight for her—before it’s too late.”

“But what if it already is?”

🪞 — lividstar.

GET UP! LIVIDSTARR JUST UPDATED THE CITY OF LOVE! WE ARE SO BACK!

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Ten: Push and Pull

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 4.6k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The memory of what happened—or what had almost happened last night, still remained fresh in your mind. As a result, you find yourself on edge as you head to Hongjoong’s agency per Seonghwa’s request, still processing the events that had unfurled. Upon arrival, you notice Hongjoong acting distant, leaving you uneasy. Seonghwa, sensing your discomfort, tries to lighten the mood and catch up, but the tension lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of Hongjoong's sudden change in behavior.

a/n: decided to come back to commemorate ateez’s 6th anniversary 🥳 this chapter’s a bit short but take this as some sort of headstart for what’s about to come! i missed you guys so much

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

The bus rattled along the familiar cobblestone streets of Paris, but your mind was far from the city’s usual charm. Today, the picturesque views outside the window were nothing more than a blur as your thoughts swirled in a mix of anticipation and dread. You sat at the very back, the cool glass of the window pressed against your head as you tried to make sense of the anxious knot in your stomach. Coming to Hongjoong’s agency at Seonghwa’s request, something you usually would’ve been excited about, now felt like a heavy burden. You told yourself it was just another day, another visit to pay.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Over time, things have started to shift between you and Hongjoong—and whatever happened last night was just the nail in the coffin. Even though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, you could still feel the change in your bones.

Ever since you and Hongjoong had grown closer, there had always been an unspoken connection—a bond that went beyond mere friendship. You’d fallen into a routine of easy familiarity, one that sometimes blurred the lines between what friends typically did. Yet, it had always felt natural, never forced or awkward. But last night was different.

The memory sent a shiver through you as you recalled the way you nearly altered the course of your friendship, had Wooyoung not interrupted the moment. The way he had looked at you like it’s all he’s ever known, the way his breath had hitched as if he had forgotten how to exhale, the way the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you at that very moment... you had felt something shift in that moment, something you weren’t quite ready to confront.

Now, as you sat on the bus, the memory of that moment replayed in your mind, leaving you with a strange mix of longing and confusion. You weren’t sure how you felt about it, or what it meant for your friendship with Hongjoong. Part of you wished he would just forget about it, pretend like it never happened, so you could both go back to the comfortable routine you had established. But another part of you, a quieter, more vulnerable part, wondered what might have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

The bus came to a halt, pulling you from your thoughts. This was your stop. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your scattered emotions as you stepped off the bus and onto the pavement. The cool morning air did little to calm your nerves. Each step toward the agency felt heavier than the last, and you found yourself repeating a silent mantra in your head: “Please don’t bring it up. Please don’t bring it up.”

As you entered the building, the familiar cool blast of the air conditioning greeted you, doing little to soothe your anxiety. The agency was bustling with activity as usual, but the usual hustle and bustle felt distant, like background noise that you couldn’t quite focus on. Your thoughts were too preoccupied with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Seonghwa had said he would meet you in the lobby, so you headed there, trying to push aside the nerves that twisted in your gut. You weren’t sure what you were more anxious about—seeing Hongjoong after what had almost happened or having to navigate the conversation with Seonghwa while pretending nothing was wrong.

But when you reached the lobby, your heart skipped a beat. Not only was Seonghwa there, but so was Hongjoong. The two of them were sitting on one of the plush couches, chatting casually. Hongjoong’s phone was in his hand, and he seemed relaxed, completely at ease in a way that made your stomach twist even more. How could he be so calm when you felt like you were about to crash out?

Seonghwa noticed you first, his face breaking into a warm smile as he waved you over. “There you are! I was starting to think you got lost on the way,” he teased lightly. But despite his light-heartedness, you could barely muster a smile in return.

“Sorry, the bus took a little longer than I expected,” you replied, your voice slightly strained as you approached them.

Seonghwa stood to greet you properly, but it was Hongjoong you couldn’t keep your eyes off of. “Morning, Hongjoong,” you said, hoping against hope that he would act normal.

For a moment, he looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours. But the connection was brief—too brief for your liking, too different from what you’re used to. He nodded curtly, barely holding your gaze for more than a second before looking back down at his phone. “Morning,” he muttered, his tone almost dismissive.

Before you could even process the oddness of his behavior, Hongjoong suddenly stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I have to head out. I’ve got some work I need to finish,” he said abruptly, his voice flat, almost devoid of the usual warmth.

“Oh... okay,” you responded, trying to hide the sting of disappointment that pricked at your heart. Was it because of last night?

Hongjoong barely spared you another glance as he nodded to Seonghwa. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he added before turning on his heel and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the spacious lobby.

You stood there, frozen in place, as you watched him disappear down the hallway with concern etched all over your face.

Seonghwa must have noticed the flicker of confusion and hurt on your face, given how he stepped closer and offered you a gentle smile—one that did little to ease your nerves, but hey, at least he’s trying his best, right?

“Don’t worry about him,” he said softly. “Hongjoong’s always been like that. He gets caught up in his work sometimes.”

But he’s not. You know he’s not like that. At least you think he isn’t—but it’s foolish to try to go against someone who has known him for longer than you have.

So how much do you really know about Hongjoong? Or, better yet—do you even know him at all?

You forced a smile in return, though it felt more like a grimace. “Yeah... maybe,” you murmured, though doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

Seonghwa gestured to the couch where he and Hongjoong had been sitting moments before. “Come on, let’s sit. It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to catch up,” he suggested.

Once you and Seonghwa were settled on the couch, you found yourself nervously fidgeting, your hands gripping the fabric of your dark brown skirt as if it were the only thing anchoring you in place. The soft material bunched under your fingers, and you absentmindedly rubbed the texture between your thumb and forefinger. Your feet, however, seemed to have a mind of their own, your boots tapping lightly against the floor in a consistent rhythm.

Seonghwa watched you for a moment, his eyes softening as he took in your unusually tense demeanor. His smile faded slightly, replaced by a gentle concern as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You seem a bit on edge,” he remarked cautiously, his voice careful not to pry too deeply. “Is everything alright? You’re usually not this quiet.”

You blinked, your attention snapping back to him, realizing you’d been lost in your own head. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you said quickly, your voice higher than usual as you tried to dismiss the worry in his eyes. “Just... tired, I guess.”

But the reassurance felt hollow even as you said it, and Seonghwa didn’t look convinced. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, as if trying to read the truth on your face. You could feel his gaze, heavy with unspoken questions, and you squirmed under the scrutiny, your fingers digging deeper into the fabric of your skirt.

You opened your mouth to say something more, to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable territory it was veering into, but the question slipped out before you could stop it: “Did something happen to Hongjoong before I got here?”

Seonghwa’s expression shifted from concern to mild confusion. He straightened up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he replayed the morning in his head. “Hongjoong? No, not that I know of,” he answered, his tone slow as if he were double-checking his memory. “Actually, he was in a pretty good mood when we were talking. Why do you ask?”

“Oh…” The single word fell from your lips like a stone, heavy and sinking into the silence that followed. You looked down, the tapping of your foot coming to an abrupt halt.

So, it really was because of last night—because of you.

The realization sat uneasily in your chest, a mixture of guilt and confusion swirling together. Why was he acting like this? And why couldn’t you shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault?

The change in your demeanor hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Seonghwa couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the sudden shift. “Did something happen between you two that I should know about?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could think twice about it.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, caught between wanting to confide in him and the desire to just keep it all to yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Seonghwa—far from it. But how could you possibly explain what had almost transpired between you and Hongjoong last night? How could you put into words the tension, the almost unspoken moment that lingered like a specter in your mind? The way you’d both teetered on the edge of something you weren’t sure either of you were ready for?

You glanced up at Seonghwa, your mouth opening to speak, but the words got caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it outright—that you and Hongjoong had almost crossed a line that neither of you would have been able to step back from. Instead, you settled on a question of your own, one that seemed to hover over everything like an unspoken truth. “Is Hongjoong usually the… on and off, push and pull type of person?”

Seonghwa considered your question carefully, his expression thoughtful. He leaned back, his gaze drifting as he seemed to search for the right words. “Hongjoong... he’s complex,” Seonghwa began slowly, choosing his words with caution. “He’s not always the easiest to read, and he definitely has his moments where he pulls away. But it’s not always about the other person. Sometimes it’s more about what’s going on in his own head.”

You nodded, processing Seonghwa’s response, but it did little to soothe the unease gnawing at you. The ambiguity of Hongjoong’s actions left you grappling with your own feelings, wondering if the almost-moment had been a step too far—or if, perhaps, it was a step you weren’t meant to take just yet.

You bit your lip, glancing down at your hands. The words you wanted to say lingered at the tip of your tongue, already too heavy for you to push behind. Finally, you exhaled slowly, grappling with your thoughts as you tried to put them into words.

“What if,” you began, “let’s say you and someone, hypothetically, of course—maybe Hongjoong—were on good terms one night, sharing jokes that only the two of you understand, and it feels like, for a moment, you’re really getting somewhere... like you’re finally diving into a deeper level of friendship. But then, the next day, it’s like you’ve done something wrong. Like suddenly, you’re a stranger, or worse, like you’re a problem that needs to be avoided.”

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed as he listened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed your words. A beat passed in silence, his expression shifting from confusion to something more knowing. “You’re talking about yourself, aren’t you?” he asked—but you knew denying it would be foolish, because it seems like he already knows the answer and is just waiting for you to confirm his hypothesis.

But of course, it’s still embarrassing to give in right away.

You immediately shook your head, your denial quick and a little too forceful. “No, no,” you stammered, a nervous laugh bubbling up to cover the crack in your composure. “It’s just a hypothetical situation. A... a thought experiment, really. That doesn’t apply to Hongjoong and me—we’re on good terms.”

Even as the words left your mouth, they felt flimsy and false, as insubstantial as smoke. It was a lie—a denial that you hoped would convince not just Seonghwa but also yourself. What a sin it was to lie to yourself, you thought, feeling the sting of your own dishonesty more acutely than you’d expected. But how could you admit the truth when it was still so raw, so undefined even in your own mind?

Seonghwa didn’t look entirely convinced, his eyes lingering on you as though trying to see past the mask you’d hastily thrown on. But after a moment, he nodded, though the crease between his brows remained. “Alright,” he said slowly, granting you the benefit of the doubt, though you could sense the lingering skepticism in his tone. “If it’s just a hypothetical situation...”

He leaned back, crossing his arms as he thought it over, considering your so-called analysis. “Well,” he began thoughtfully, “if someone acts like that, it’s usually because they’re dealing with something internally. It might have nothing to do with you at all. Sometimes people pull away because they’re scared of how close they’re getting, or maybe because they’re battling their own insecurities. It’s not necessarily fair to the other person, but it’s not always about them either. It’s about the person who’s pulling back, struggling with their own feelings or fears. The push and pull, as confusing as it is, isn’t always meant to hurt. Sometimes it’s just... a defense mechanism? That’s what I’d call it.”

He paused, watching you closely, as if gauging your reaction to his words. “But if that person cares,” Seonghwa continued, his voice softening, “they’ll come back around. It might take time, but if they really value the relationship, they’ll find a way to bridge the gap. It’s just... sometimes people need to work through their own stuff before they can fully be there for someone else.”

You nodded along, your mind racing with Seonghwa’s explanation, each word resonating in a way that hit too close to home. Could that be it? Was Hongjoong simply trying to figure out his own feelings, or was there something deeper at play?

After the conversation with Seonghwa, you decide to distract yourself by exploring the agency a bit more. Seonghwa suggests visiting one of the studios, a familiar place where the designers and models are usually busy creating the next big thing. The idea seems harmless enough, and you hope it might help you take your mind off the tangled mess of emotions still buzzing in your head.

As you and Seonghwa walk through the halls, the lively chatter and the click of heels on the polished floors provide a backdrop that usually energizes you. But today, everything feels muted, like you’re watching from behind a glass wall. You can’t shake the lingering sense of discomfort from your earlier encounter with Hongjoong, and as you enter the studio, the atmosphere seems to weigh down on you.

Hongjoong is there, of course—standing by a sketchboard, deep in conversation with another designer. He’s gesturing animatedly, pointing out details on the paper, his passion for his work evident even from a distance. For a moment, you’re content to just observe him, the sight of him in his element stirring a fondness that you can’t quite suppress. But then, as if sensing your presence, he glances up. Your eyes meet, and the world seems to still for a heartbeat.

But instead of acknowledging you, Hongjoong’s expression closes off, and he turns back to his work without so much as a nod. The dismissal stings, sharper than you expected. It’s as if he’s deliberately keeping you at arm’s length, and the casual disregard feels like a slap in the face. Seonghwa, noticing the sudden shift in your demeanor, gives you a questioning look, but you just shrug, feigning indifference.

The designers break for a moment, and Seonghwa waves Hongjoong over. Hongjoong approaches, but his steps are slow, reluctant. When he finally reaches you, he barely spares you a glance. “Hey,” he mumbles, his voice flat and devoid of the warmth you’ve come to expect. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but at you.

Seonghwa tries to engage him in conversation, asking about his latest designs and upcoming plans, but Hongjoong’s responses are curt and to the point. The easy camaraderie you’d seen between him and Seonghwa earlier has vanished, replaced by a stilted formality that makes the air feel thick and uncomfortable. You can’t help but feel like an intruder, caught in the middle of a conversation that’s turned cold and impersonal.

When Seonghwa finally asks if Hongjoong has time to catch up, Hongjoong hesitates, his eyes flitting to yours for just a split second before they drop to the floor. His lips press into a thin line, as if he’s considering the implications of staying versus leaving. Finally, he shakes his head. “I can’t right now,” he says, not quite meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. “There’s too much to get done.”

The excuse sounds flimsy even to your own ears, but Seonghwa simply nods, accepting it without questioning his words. You, however, can’t help the sharp pang of disappointment that tugs at your chest. It’s not just the fact that Hongjoong doesn’t want to stay and chat; it’s the way he won’t even look at you, like he’s deliberately avoiding your presence, and it’s almost as if you’re invisible.

“Alright, no worries,” Seonghwa replies with a casual shrug, though you notice the slight crease in his brow—a sign that he’s picked up on the tension, even if he doesn’t fully understand it. He claps Hongjoong on the shoulder, trying to keep the mood light. “We’ll catch up some other time, then.”

Hongjoong nods absently, already half-turned back towards his work. “Yeah, sure,” he mutters, but there’s no conviction behind his words. His eyes flick to the sketches on the wall, and it’s as if the conversation is already forgotten, his focus shifting entirely away from you and Seonghwa. Without another word, he walks back to the sketchboard, resuming his conversation with the other designer as if the brief interaction never happened.

The sting of his indifference leaves you reeling, and you’re not sure whether to feel angry, hurt, or both. It’s as if last night’s near-moment had flipped a switch inside him, and now you’re paying the price for whatever crossed line he thinks was drawn. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to call after him, to demand an explanation, but the words die in your throat. This isn’t the place for that—there’s too much at stake, too many eyes watching.

Seonghwa glances at you, concern flickering in his gaze. “Don’t take it to heart,” he says quietly, as if seeing right through you. “He’s probably just stressed. You know how he gets when he’s in the zone.”

You nod, forcing a tight smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I know,” you reply, but the words feel hollow. Deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that this is more than just stress or a busy schedule. There’s something else at play, something simmering beneath the surface that neither of you can quite grasp.

Seonghwa leads you away from the studio, and you follow in silence, your mind replaying the brief encounter over and over like a broken record. Every glance, every dismissive gesture, every word left unsaid feels like another tiny wound, each one building on the last until they form a gaping chasm between you and Hongjoong that you’re not sure how to bridge.

As you walk, Seonghwa tries to fill the quiet with idle chatter, talking about some of the upcoming projects and the new talent the agency is scouting. You nod along, but your thoughts are miles away—it’s like you’re caught in a loop, circling around the same questions with no clear answers in sight.

Finally, Seonghwa stops in front of a glass door leading to one of the agency’s rooftop lounges. He turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your distant look. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently. “I mean, really talk about it. I know you said it’s hypothetical, but... it doesn’t feel that way.”

You hesitate, your gaze drifting to the floor. Part of you wants to open up, to spill everything that’s been weighing on your heart, but another part of you holds back, afraid of what admitting the truth might mean. You’ve always prided yourself on being able to handle your own feelings, to keep them neatly tucked away where they can’t cause trouble. But this... this is different.

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, your voice as silent as the wind’s whispers. “I just... I don’t want to make things worse. And I don’t even know what’s going on in his head.”

Seonghwa watches you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softens into something more empathetic. “Sometimes, you just have to let people work through their own stuff,” he says quietly. “You can’t always fix it, no matter how much you want to. But that doesn’t mean you’re alone in it. If you ever need to talk or just... figure things out, I’m here.”

You nod, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. It’s not much, but it’s enough for now. The comfort of knowing that at least someone understands, even if only a little, helps to ease the tightness in your chest.

Seonghwa gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning to push open the door, letting the cool breeze from the rooftop wash over you both. You follow him out, letting the fresh air clear your mind, even if just for a moment. It’s a brief reprieve from the tangled mess of your thoughts, but it’s one you’re grateful for.

Sitting down on one of the chairs, you let out a sigh, fingers nervously tracing patterns on the hem of your skirt as your thoughts spiral. Seonghwa watches you quietly, giving you the space to process, but his curiosity is palpable. He waits, his presence a silent invitation for you to unload whatever has you troubled.

“I don’t even know why I’m looking too deeply into it—and that’s what’s bothering me the most,” you murmur, your voice so soft it almost gets lost in the quiet hum of the lobby. It feels like you’re confessing a secret, something fragile that might shatter if spoken too loudly. And maybe, in a way, you are.

Seonghwa furrows his brow, leaning in slightly as if to catch your words more clearly. “Why? What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

You hesitate, your gaze flitting from the floor to Seonghwa’s face before dropping back down, as if even his gaze is too much to bear right now. “Don’t you... don’t you think so, too?” you ask, your tone laced with uncertainty, like you’re searching for validation but already dreading the answer.

Seonghwa tilts his head, still looking lost. “Not at all... why do you feel like you’re overthinking it way too much?”

“Well, for starters, we’re friends,” you begin, your words spilling out in a rush. You’re so caught up in your own explanation that you miss the flicker of amusement that dances in Seonghwa’s eyes, the way his lips twitch upward as if he’s holding back a knowing smile.

“Right… friends.” Seonghwa nods along, doing his best to maintain a neutral expression. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like... well, I feel like I’m being a terrible friend by overthinking his need for personal space. Screw that—can I even call myself a friend of his if I don’t know how to respect the fact that he needs time to work through his own stuff?” You pause, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you try to articulate your emotions. “Me, personally, I’d feel off if I’m just having a bad day and a friend of mine decides to make it about them by asking, ‘Are you mad at me?’ But like, I just...”

Your words trail off, the rest of your thoughts jumbled and disjointed in your mind. You glance at Seonghwa, waiting for some sort of reaction, half-expecting him to agree that you’re being ridiculous, that you’re blowing things out of proportion. Instead, he gives you a sympathetic smile, his eyes warm with understanding.

“Listen,” Seonghwa starts, leaning back against the chair across you, adopting a more relaxed posture as if to put you at ease. “I get where you’re coming from. It’s easy to feel like you’re overstepping when you care about someone and you’re not sure how to navigate their boundaries. But you know what? Friendship—if that’s still what you wanna call whatever’s going on between you and Hongjoong—isn’t about getting it right all the time. It’s about being there, even when you’re not sure if you’re doing it perfectly.”

You let his words sink in, but the doubt still lingers at the edges of your mind. “But what if I am overstepping?” you press, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. “What if he needs space and I’m just making things worse by worrying about it?”

Seonghwa chuckles softly, his laughter a gentle, reassuring sound. “You’re human, you know that, right? Not some perfect robot programmed to always know the right thing to do. Besides,” he adds with a playful smirk, “I’ve seen the way you and Hongjoong look at each other. I think he’d forgive you for overthinking a little.”

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your cheeks at the implication behind Seonghwa’s words. “What—what’s that supposed to mean?” you stammer, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “There’s nothing like that between us. We’re just…”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, a mischievous expression forming on his face as he watches you wave him off. “Right, friends. Just friends who get all worked up when the other one’s being moody,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows. “Come on, you’re acting like Hongjoong’s the only one with feelings here.”

You groan, feeling your face flush. “Don’t say that!” you protest, covering your face with your hands, wishing you could somehow hide from the embarrassment. “It’s not like that. I just—he’s important to me, okay? And I don’t like not knowing where I stand.”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” Seonghwa chuckles, though his eyes soften with understanding. “Look, maybe he’s just having one of those days. You know how Hongjoong is—sometimes he gets in his head and needs a little space to sort through his thoughts. But that doesn’t mean he’s upset with you, or that you’ve done something wrong.”

You exhale slowly, letting Seonghwa’s words wash over you. He’s right, of course. Hongjoong has always been the type to retreat inward when things get overwhelming, and you know that better than most. But knowing it and accepting it are two different things, and it’s hard not to let your own insecurities creep in when faced with his sudden distance.

Seonghwa reaches over, giving your knee a reassuring pat. “Hey, you’re doing your best. And if you ever need to talk, or if you just need to be distracted from it all, you know I’m here for you.”

You smile, though it’s small and a bit shaky. “Thanks, Seonghwa,” you say quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Well, for starters, you’d probably be even more of a mess than you are now,” he jokes, earning a light punch to the arm from you. But then his expression softens again, sincerity shining through. “Seriously, though. You’re not alone in this. And whatever happens with Hongjoong, you’ll figure it out.”

Hopefully.

🪞 — lividstar.

I’ve always been a sucker for angst and this is just beautiful. Words can’t describe how much I love this. The desperate search to bring back your loved one knowing it’s impossible and being told from them to let them out hurts.

Absolutely, once again never ceases to amaze me by how beautiful and amazing your writing is <3

💫Did I even deserve you?💫

✨Pairing: Vampire!Seonghwa x dead!gn!reader ✨Prompt: Vampire Seonghwa is still miserable many decades after losing his soulmate. ✨Word Count: 3.4k ✨Genre: angst, vampire au, soulmate au 🌙Warnings: talks of death, reader is mentioned but not alive in this story, no use of y/n, mentions of Seonghwa not feeding for a long period of time, lost of a loved one, mentions of how he wishes he wasn't on this earth anymore, grief, ghosts, let me know if I missed any warnings! ☀️️Authors note: Got this idea into my head and wanted to explore writing angst in this setting. It is very different from what I usually write and I have worked hard on this one and I am quite pleased with the outcome.

The moon was high up in the sky, illuminating the forest in a light wash of grey. Highlighting the fog that is developing the forest and the castle making it look eerie and abandoned. Cobwebs dancing around windows and moss climbing up the bricks together with the roses that are climbing parts of the castle.

Both beautiful and dangerous.

It was said that sometimes you could see ghosts walking past the windows. Some even claimed to have seen a ghost in the rose garden. Walking around and calling out for their beloved but no response.

Young children were warned not to go there. It was dangerous and better to stay away from a place that would most likely fall in a few decades. The road to the castle was brittled with rocks, thick trees and bushes.

It was not a pleasant road.

Despite that there was a lone figure hiking their way up to the castle, dressed in a black robe. The figure was walking very slowly as if every step towards the castle was painful, making him hurt deeply. Despite that, he continued on with heavy footsteps to the one place he called home.

The owl up in the tree hooted familiarly once he was spotted and the howls of wolves could be heard throughout the forest. None of this bothered the man, for he knew that no one would dare to try and hurt him. A man of the night, a bloodthirsty bloodsucker as the humans once had called people like him.

Now he and his family were nothing more than a mere legend.

A myth.

Something humans wrote stories about without believing they actually existed. Sometimes the man wishes he no longer existed in this world.

It would be easier than walking around the world knowing your fated one was no longer walking this earth.

Unfortunately he was doomed to walk this cruel earth until the end of time as it was now.

The closer he got to his home the more dread and sorrow filled his entire being. He used to be filled with such happiness coming back here but now that was all gone.

The grand doors to the castle opened welcoming, sensing one of its masters returning home. The candles lighting up as he entered the hallway and walked down towards the place where he knew his brothers were residing.

They were expecting him after all. Like they do every year around this time when he gets back from his three month search around the world for anyone who could help him bring back his fated one to life.

And like every year he came back unsuccessful.

It was as if the world was taunting him. Taunting him for not being careful enough. For not appreciating what he had and for being arrogant thinking he could best fate and death because of who he was.

Seonghwa

Your voice.

He stopped what he was doing. Only the wind was blowing in from an opened window. The figure looked around carefully, not making much movements, for us mortals it would have looked like he was completely still.

He shook his head gently. It must have been the wind. It cannot have been your voice he heard.

You are no longer here he told himself as he continued his walk towards the room his brothers were in. He could not have heard your voice whisper his name in the wind. You were dead, no longer walking this earth and it felt like his heart was breaking into thousands of pieces every single day when he remembers that.

He remembers your smile, your laughter, your kindness. Everything that he once took for granted he now misses with such intensity that he does not know what to do with himself. It is like the joy he once had is now gone, sucked out of his body leaving behind a cold empty shell.

He starts walking again. He knows his brothers have heard him arrive and he knows that they are waiting for him. The closer he gets the more he can hear them. Shuffling around in the living room, living their normal lives.

Not stricken by grief.

The doors open once again welcoming, just like the front doors to one of its masters returning home and the noise dies down as he steps inside looking around at his family. They are all there. The first ones he notices are the two brunettes sitting together on the sofa. Yunho, Yeosang. Then he sees the them, San, Wooyoung. The latter holding a large book, open on some random page that they seemed to have been discussing before he arrived. He searched for the youngest of his brothers who he found standing next to the tall blond man near the table. Jongho. Mingi. He counted them in his head, he looked around, searching for the leader of his coven. He found him, standing near the big window gazing out into the garden. Hongjoong.

A part of him felt a little better after doing the count. For some reason he had worried they would not all be here when he came back despite the fact that they were always there. No doubt. They would always be here to welcome him home after his long journey.

The blond at the window turned around and when their eyes met he gave him a smile.

"Welcome home Seonghwa. We have missed you." He said taking a few short steps forward to greet him. Taking him into an embrace which he returned.

"I am glad to be back." Seonghwa replied even if it was only half the truth. He was glad to be back seeing his brothers but in reality he was not overly pleased being back without a solution to his suffering.

"How was your journey around the world? Did you find what you were searching for?" Hongjoong questioned even though Seonghwa suspected he already knew the answer to that just like the rest in the room listening in on their conversation.

"Unfortunately I have yet to find someone or something that could help me bring back my loved one." He told him, his shoulders slumping forward. He tried to put on a neutral face but Hongjoong was smart, he could see through his facade quicker than anyone else in their coven. His eyes had shown a glimt of understanding as he nodded carefully.

"You look awful, have you been feeding at all when you have journeyed???" Wooyoungs voice pierced through the air, clearly targeted at him and he could only shrug his shoulders opting not to look at the younger vampire.

"I do not feel hungry anymore Wooyoung." Was the only thing he could give as a response and if he had not already been dead the look Wooyoung sent him would have put him 5 feet under the ground as they spoke.

"You have to feed Seonghwa. It is not healthily to avoid feeding for as long as you have! Lat time I saw you feed was three months ago before you left!" Wooyoung stalked towards him "Are you telling me you have not feed in three months??"

They stared at each other for a long while. He knew all of them already knew the answer. It was the same every year and like every year before this year Wooyoung always grew furious when he figured that he had been neglecting his own health.

Again.

He could feel the energy around him tense up. The others were clearly not happy at all with this and yet despite that Seonghwa could not get himself to care about it. Had it been the other way around he would have been furious, furious at his brothers for ignoring their health and not eating but since it was him and not them he found himself often not caring. He would rather wallow in his grief, allowing the ugly feelings tormenting him to come to the surface in various ways.

"How is my beloved? Are they still safe in their casket?" He asked, voice cracking at the word beloved.

The very thought of you not being there or the possibility of something happening to you whilst he was gone was terrifying to him and he had to fight hard to stop the tears wanting to well up in his eyes.

Wooyoungs furious eyes soften instantly when he had asked the question and the other looked at him with sympathy. Yunho nodded confirming that you were still safe, still protected in the garden he had grown just for you.

"They are safe Seonghwa. We have made sure nothing could harm them whilst you were away." San said, giving him that kind smile only San could give someone when they needed it the most. Seonghwa felt like he could see the stars in his brothers eyes at that moment and it never failed to amaze him how much love and adoration could be seen in Sans eyes and how it was always something very real. It never faded or changed no matter how many decades had passed and right now he was thankful for it.

For the love and compassion his brothers were showing him.

"Why do you not sit down? Tell us about your journey? What has changed in the world since last time you went outside?" Hongjoong questioned whilst leading him over to the big chair, gently guiding him to eventually sit down in it. A blanket was placed over him, Mingi moving with utmost care to wrap it around him to keep him warm. He almost let words of protests out until he saw the worry in his eyes.

"Your beloved would not want you neglecting yourself like this." Was all he said with a low rumble before standing up and walking over to Jongho.

That stung.

His heart ached at the comment Mingi had said. Everyone had heard it. It was impossible for them not to hear him. They just pretended like nothing had been said but he knew they were silently agreeing with him. Agreeing with the statement that you, his beloved, who no longer walked this earth, would not want him to neglect himself and his health.

He wants to respond. To deny what Mingi has said. He has rationalized in his head that you would be okay with what he is doing so he can bring you back and the two of you can live together again like you did before.

The rest of his coven sits down all looking at him with curious eyes. Waiting for him to start telling them about his journey.

"It is all the same. Nothing has really changed in the outside world. We are still myths and legends. The only thing that has changed amongst humans is their greed. I would say they have become even greedier and distrusting than before."

"Humans have always been greedy and distrusting Seonghwa." Hongjoong cut him off before sending an apologetic look when he glared at his coven leader.

"I would say they are even more so now than before. I searched through every country on this bloody earth and I found no one. No one who could help me bring my beloved back. The sights I saw when wandering should have taken my breath away but all it did was make me angry. Furious that they were not next to me witnessing it all. At one point on a cliff looking out at the ocean I screamed. I cursed everything living and dead that day. I was so angry and I still am." Seonghwa spoke, his hands fiddling with the blanket as his eyes darken in anger.

His brothers look at each other in worry. They had hoped after many decade that Seonghwas fury and anger would dwindle down but it only seemed to grow with each year. Wooyoung looked at his older brother and friend in sorrow, he had been close to you, Seonghwas beloved, when you were still living and breathing. He understood the pain and anger Seonghwa was feeling but he also knew that you would not wish this upon anyone. Once having confided in him that you would want them to move forward to be happy, not to forget but to eventually come to cherish what had been rather than constantly living in the past thinking of what you could have done together if only things had gone differently.

"And I-" Seonghwa started but stopped once he heard it again.

Seonghwa.

He looked around. He swore he had heard your voice again. This time it could not have been the wind for no window was open.

"Hwa? What is wrong?" Yunhos voice brought him back from his thoughts as he turned to look at him.

"Y-you did not hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head "It was nothing."

"Perhaps you should go and rest?" Yeosang chimed in and the others agreed, nodding their heads.

Seonghwa looked at them before glancing around again, he was sure he heard you but now since none other than him seems to have heard you he wonders if some rest would actually help him.

So he nods and he can see the other's shoulders drop down in relaxation as if they had been expecting him to put up a fight and argue with them about resting.

"Perhaps I should... but I would like to go see them first." He feels stupid, like a child asking for permission to do something when he is the oldest in the coven. He could do whatever he wanted and if that was to go out into the rose garden and visit you then he could without permission.

He stands up before anyone can answer what he has said, he lays the blanket back on the chair before he strides towards another sets of doors which will lead him back to a corridor and down a few flight of stairs before he can enter the garden.

The doors open immediately for him and he makes a point of quietly thanking the castle for opening its doors for him. He remembers the first time he had gone out on his three month journey. When he had come back inconsolable wanting to leave that room to go see you the castle had refused. Refused to open its doors and windows for its master to go wherever he pleased.

Not until he had calmed down and only the silent tears were staining his cheeks had he been allowed out. It was after his brothers had held him close, allowing him to grieve in safety and then being given a cup of blood to drink by Wooyoung to help stabilize himself.

After that the castle had always listened to him. And now he was walking with a sense of purpose, he had to see you again. It always pains him to be away from you for three months when he spends almost every single day around you. Tending to the roses or cleaning the glass casket you lay inside whilst talking quietly to you about his days or how much he misses you.

As he walks out of the door and into the garden he stops in his tracks when he sees something or other someone walking ahead of him.

You.

He cannot stop himself before he rushes forward and just as he is to grab your hand you vanish.

"No... No no no no no!" He mumbles to himself, now sprinting towards the rose garden, you cannot be gone.

You cannot.

Seonghwa almost trips over the steps leading up to where you lay and he stops at the casket breathing heavily gripping it tightly as he takes you in.

You are still there. Untouched. Just like the way you had been when he had left three months ago.

"My beloved." He whispers and just like that the tears are welling up again in his eyes.

Seonghwa. My love.

Seonghwa gasps as he hears your voice again turning around since he can hear your voice from behind him. He had not expected to actually see you. You are pale, standing there and he notes as he falls down on his knees in shock that you are slightly transparent.

"My beloved. My love." He says while the first tear fall down his pale cheek. His voice is growing thick with emotion and when you look at him with those sad eyes he cannot help himself from crawling up to you trying to take ahold of your hand in his only to realize he is unable to.

"No. Please no. Please." He whimpers looking up at you as the waterworks starts afresh.

You have to let me go.

"No! No no no no please I cannot do that. Please I am sorry I cannot live in a world without you. Please do not leave me." He pleads over and over again trying to take ahold of you but he keeps going through you. His eyes looks almost wild as he tries everything to be able to hold you.

You can see how his heart breaks over and over at not being able to hold you and you know you cannot be visible for much longer.

I love you.

When Seonghwa notices that you are disappearing from his view is when he goes into hysterics. He wails for you to come back to him, he screams in fear, anger and grief and it echos loudly throughout the entire forest. He roars in anger, smashing a statue before breaking down again near the casket. Sobbing over and over again that he is sorry, that he wishes you would come back to him. He asks for death to take him once and for all so he can reunite with you.

He grips his head as he cries, wails and screams in fury and sadness. It is like an explosion he cannot control. Seonghwa is unsure of how much time has passed but he finds that he does not care. All he cares about is that he saw you and he could not hold you one last time like he wished he could. He contemplates for a moment to destroy your casket just so he could hold you in his arms again but he physically cannot make that move.

He cannot destroy your last sleeping place. That would be like spitting on your entire existence if he did, so he finds himself hurting himself and the statues and rose bushes around himself in a fit of anger.

Up in the castle seven figures are looking out of the window from the room they still were in. Hearing Seonghwas wails of agony and grief pained them. It was as if someone was driving a spear into their non-beating heart over and over again.

"I wish I could take away all is pain and suffering. All this grief." Jongho mumbles before leaning close to Hongjoong, hiding his face in the crook of his leaders neck as said man brings an arm around him to bring comfort.

"I never want to find my soulmate... It will only bring even more anguish to him. He will constantly be reminded of his own soulmate who he no longer has. I do not want to make him go through that." San says, tears building up in his eyes.

"You cannot stop it from happening San. Do not deprive yourself of the happiness of finding your soulmate because Seonghwa lost his. That is not something he would want. He would want you to be happy. You know that San." Yunho said whilst giving the younger a sad smile, tears also in his eyes as Seonghwa continues to scream and wail out apologies, curse words and asking for you to come back to him.

"Grief... What is not grief if not love persevering. It is proof of how much he has loved and cherished his beloved. He was just too blind in the moment that he thought he could best death and now all these years later after death won he cannot handle it. Because he has yet to fully accept that they are gone. He has yet to accept that they are gone. It might take years until he gets over the stages of anger, denial, depression and guilt. We will be there to help him through it all. I was thinking of going with him next year so he will not be alone on his journey." Hongjoong says eyes sharply focused on the figure down below.

Eyes slightly widening when he sees something or someone behind his brother before it disappears. He could have sworn it looked like you but he must have been wrong. It was probably the tears in his eyes clouding his vision.

It could not have been you.

You were dead.

Gone.

Forever.

I’m in love with this series so far and i’m enjoying the slow relationship of hongjoong & reader though I am curious if whoever jumped hongjoong would see him with reader and go after them

Keep up the great work! I always love reading your works <3

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 4]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

Chapter warning(s): Character is injured, mentions of bruises, cuts, broken ribs and possibly other injuries.

"Hongjoong sshi?!" You gasped at the slumped figure that was leaning against the wall. Shining the torch on him, he squinted, he was covered in bruises and definitely bleeding somewhere.

"Hide me..." He breathed out, clutching onto his side as his face scrunched up in pain. You put your phone aside and went over to help him. You bent down, slipping his arm over your shoulder, helping him stand up. He winced as he stood up.

"Sorry!" You panicked, helping him into your store and closing the backdoor. As carefully as you could, you set him on the ground.

"Should I call an ambulance? Or the police?" You took your phone out but Hongjoong placed his hand over your phone, covering the screen before you could dial.

"No hospital, no police." He groaned.

"What? Are you crazy?! You're injured." You screeched. Hongjoong grasped your hand.

"Calm down... Take a breath... I'm not dying..." He assured. He was the one injured and yet, he had to calm you down as if you were the one that was bleeding.

"Okay. Tell me what I should do." You said shakily.

"Do you know how to treat wounds?" He asked. You nodded your head and decided to move him to the 'office' room.

"Wait here. Let me go get the first aid kit." You helped him lay on the couch you had left there before going to get stuff that you could use. You were not a medical professional but you did know basic wound care. Plus, injuries can always happen in the shop so you try to be as prepared as possible.

"Earlier you asked me to 'hide you'. Are you in danger by being here? Should I move you?" You came back, setting everything down.

"They should be long gone by now... Don't worry, you're not in danger." Hongjoong grunted. You felt your cheeks heat up, he knew what you were thinking about.

"We can talk later, let me fix you up." You began to clean the open cuts and put ointment on the bruises.

"Oww." He hissed when you dabbed the disinfectant over the cut on his eyebrow.

"Sorry." You squeaked and tried to be gentler, if that was even possible. After that, you placed a band aid over it. Once all the visible injuries were looked after, you stared at his shirt.

"C-Could you..." You wanted to hide, you couldn't even ask him to remove his shirt. Hongjoong smirked at your expression and removed his shirt.

"It's just a slash, I wasn't stabbed." He said when you were staring at the bleeding cut right at his ribs. That was the first thing you treated first. Hongjoong felt you look back at him for his expression with each dab of the cotton ball against the cut.

"Your salve works really well, by the way." He cleared his throat, lifting his injured hand up. You stopped, tilting your head in confusion before turning to look at his hand.

"Oh! I forgot about that. I'm glad it could help." You smiled when you remembered treating his hand for him.

"Do you get injured often?" You asked softly, seeing some old scars across his body.

"It's part of the job." He replied honestly. You nodded with a soft hum and quietly continued. You taped a gauze over the place where he was slashed.

"I don't know if you broke your ribs. But until you check them out, I'll tape them in place." Taking some sports tape, you skillfully tape Hongjoong's ribs. Hopefully, he goes to an actual doctor soon.

"I doubt they're badly broken." Hongjoong said with experience.

"All done. I don't think I missed anything." You stepped back with a soft sigh. While Hongjoong put his shirt back on, you were returning your things to their respective places. You grabbed some paracetamol tablets and a towel, wetting it in the bathroom sink, before going back to Hongjoong.

"Here, it's just paracetamol. I don't have anything stronger." You placed the pills in his hand and opened a new bottle of water for him.

"It's enough, thanks." Hongjoong sat up slightly and downed the pills. After he laid back down, you surprised him by reaching out to wipe his face with a wet cloth.

"Sorry! You can wipe it yourself if you'd like. I just thought you might be more comfortable." You stuttered.

"No, you can do it. I was just surprised." He closed his eyes, feeling you continue to wipe the sweat and grime off his face.

"Are you hungry? I can order dinner." You asked.

"(y/n) sshi, you don't have to stay here with me. I'm grateful for what you have done but you can go home. You've probably been busy working the whole day." He told you.

"It's okay, I usually stay late anyway. I've even stayed over a few times before. No big deal." You shrugged.

"Alright but if you want to go home, tell me and I'll leave. I understand that I can't stay because you have to lock up." Hongjoong said. You nodded obediently and took your phone, the both of you scrolling to see what food options there were.

Of course you wouldn't tell Hongjoong to leave. Yes, you barely knew him but he was gravely injured, you weren't ruthless enough to send him away while he was down.

"You should rest until the food comes." You said, taking the small throw blanket and draping it over him.

"What about you?" He blinked.

"I'll go get some work done, clean up a little." You smiled a little and stood up to leave the room, giving him some privacy. You took the time to tend to your plants and check on them.

"Hello? Delivery!" Someone called from the back. You put the broom down and went to open the door for the deliveryman.

"Have a nice evening." The deliveryman bowed. You bowed back to convey your thanks.

"Hongjoo- Woah." You stepped back in shock. When you opened the door, you were not expecting to see him standing there, pressed against the wall. His hand was resting on the waistband of his pants. Was he hiding a weapon? You hadn't even noticed it when you helped him into your shop.

"Just wanted to make sure it wasn't someone else." He said. You nodded stiffly and he stepped aside for you to put the food down on the desk so you could help him back to the couch.

"Let me get the foldable table." You went to the cupboard to get out the small plastic table.

"You really have everything you need here. It's like a house." He chuckled with slight amusement.

"Like I said, I've stayed over before." You giggled and went to get the food. When you came back, Hongjoong had shed his blazer and resting beside him was a knife in a sleeve.

"Sorry." Hongjoong must have sensed your discomfort because he put the knife into the inner pocket of his blazer to hide it.

"Thanks... Here." You handed him chopsticks. You sat on the carpet and Hongjoong slowly moved to sit beside you on the ground as well to eat. After looking through all the restaurants, you both decided to order rose tteokbokki and some fried food.

"Can you reach it?" You pushed the food closer to him so he wouldn't have to reach out too much to get it.

"I'm good." Hongjoong nodded and held his side as he reached to pick up a piece of rice cake. The two of you ate in silence, your mind was racing with too many thoughts now.

"Hongjoong sshi, if you don't mind me asking... Why did you not call your friends? And until now, you still haven't call them." You asked.

"Not worth it for them to go through the trouble. Plus, they'll just nag at me." He replied with a shrug.

"But wouldn't they be worried about you?"

"Maybe... You know what, they probably will worry a lot but it's fine. It's not like I'm running away, they'll see me tomorrow when I return home." He explained. You nodded your head slowly.

"What about your family? They're fine with you staying here overnight?" He asked back.

"Oh... I don't have anyone... I'm on my own so no one to answer to when I don't go home." You replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. Hongjoong mentally cursed, if he had properly read the file that he found about you, he would have known that you didn't have a family.

"B-But it's okay! I'm fine and happy on my own. It's been like that for my whole life so I'm used to it." You quickly added, worried that he would feel guilty for asking.

"I know how you feel, I was on my own for so long as well before I met my brothers." He smiled softly.

"Oh, you're brothers?" Your eyes widened.

"Chosen family, as people call it. A bunch of people that couldn't fit into society came together to form our own family. Sounds a lot like a comic book or movie, right?" He laughed.

"Yes but it's sweet that you all found people that you could rely on." You giggled with a smile.

"I'm grateful for them." He agreed with a nod.

"You know, Mrs Kim used to talk about you all the time and it always made me wonder what it would be like to meet you." You said without a though. But judging from the way Hongjoong stiffened and how the comfortable smile on his face disappeared, you knew...

"Hongjoong sshi! I'm sorry, I just... I always speak without thinking. I'm sorry." You panicked. Hongjoong clenched his jaw before taking a deep breath.

"It's fine. I'm full." He stated, putting his chopsticks down. Now you didn't have an appetite too, why did you screw things up?

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I already said it's fine, (y/n)." Hongjoong hissed, dropping the formality. You pursed your lips, chewing the inside of your cheek like a child that just got reprimanded.

"I'll just clear up and you can rest here." You gathered all the trash before Hongjoong could say anything.

"If you need anything, I'll be outside." You quickly said and scurried out of there.

"Great job, you chased her out of her own place." Hongjoong grumbled, scolding himself as he slumped against the couch. He slowly grabbed the foldable table and put it back for you. After sitting there for a bit, Hongjoong grabbed his phone and sent a text out to one of the Ateez members.

"(y/n), you idiot." You slapped your forehead. You threw the trash outside and washed your hands in the small bathroom.

While there was no soap for you to shower or fresh clothes for you to change into, you grabbed a small towel and wiped yourself down to feel a little fresher.

"Ah, I'm so tired." You sighed, falling back into the chair behind the counter. There wasn't much for you to do here but you were listless so you went to your botany table and grabbed your botany book.

"(y/n) sshi?" Hongjoong opened the door and poked his head out when he saw you fast asleep.

"Mmmh..." You stirred, burying your face further into your folded arms to get comfortable. You laid on your open book.

"Hyung, I'm he-"

"Shhhh." Hongjoong hushed the taller, who blinked back in surprised.

"Geez, hyung. You look terrible. You sure you don't me to call our doctor?" Yunho winced, seeing that disheveled state the captian was in. Hongjoong rolled his eyes.

"That's what happens when you get jumped. Anyway I'm sure I don't need a doctor, Yunho. I should wake her up and send her home. This is no place to sleep." Hongjoong turned to look back at where you were. Yunho craned his neck to see you sleeping at the counter.

"Up to you. By the way, I need your keys, I brought one of our men to drive your car home. You're in no shape to drive." Yunho said.

"Fine. Wait here." Hongjoong put his car keys in Yunho's hand and walked back to the shop. For a few seconds, he stood there, how was he supposed to wake you?

"(y/n) sshi...?" He shook your gently, not wanting to scare you too much. It took a while for your eyes to open and you flinched.

"Oh my!" You jumped, realising that you had fallen asleep.

"Sorry to scare you, my transport is here. But let me drop you home first. It's the least I could do after all that you've done for me tonight." Hongjoong informed.

"I didn't even know I fell asleep... You don't have to, Hongjoong sshi. You're injured, you should get home and rest." You yawned.

"I want to. And it'll make me feel better knowing you got home safely." He smiled.

"Alright, if you're sure..." You stood up. Hongjoong stepped aside to give you space while you cleared up and grabbed your things. He waited at the back door, talking to Yunho. You tried to be fast, you didn't want to make him and whoever was with him wait too long for you since it was so late.

"Oh, hello." You stopped and bowed deeply to Yunho. You remember seeing him at the funeral, he was close with Hongjoong, one of his 'brothers'. He was very tall and good looking.

"(y/n) sshi, right? Nice to meet you, I'm Yunho." He smiled. Even you were blown away by how handsome he was when he smiled.

"Thank you for taking care of our leader here." Yunho snickered while Hongjoong glared daggers into Yunho's head.

"It's no worry at all." You replied softly. The two waited for you to properly lock up before Yunho led the two of you to the car. He did try to support Hongjoong.

"Stop that." Hongjoong slapped Yunho's arms away, preferring to walk on his own.

"Let me help, hyung~" Yunho said. Hongjoong flipped him off and continued limping. You smiled, watching them from the back.

"Hyung, that's very uncouth behaviour, especially in front of a lady." Yunho teased, opening the door to the G-Wagon for you while Hongjoong went to the other side to get into the car himself. He held his hand out to you to help you up.

"Thank you." You cleared your throat shyly as you got into the back seat. Hongjoong groaned in pain as he hoisted his body up and into the back seat, leaning against the back.

"You just had to take the G Wagon." He hissed.

"Well, if you had told me that you were this injured, I wouldn't have taken it then." Yunho said as he closed the driver's door.

"(y/n) sshi, may I have your address please?" He turned back to you. You nodded and sat forward, reciting your address to him to put into his GPS system.

"Thanks. We're good to go." Yunho said and you sat back in your seat, fastening your seatbelt.

As Yunho drove, you looked out the window, still feeling a lingering sleepiness from earlier. It was rather late at night.

"You can sleep if you'd like." Hongjoong said, not looking up from his phone. He had been fixed on the device, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his face in the dark vehicle.

"I-I'm good. Thanks." You cleared your throat, focusing on the city lights outside. It didn't take long for Yunho to pull up to your apartment building. You were grateful you didn't fall back asleep. Yunho would have reached faster but he knew Hongjoong would kill him if he sped while you were in the car.

"Yunho, walk her up." Hongjoong said, not looking up from his phone as he was texting someone.

"Yes, sir." Yunho was out of the car before you could protest. He opened the door for you, holding his hand out again to help you out of the vehicle.

"I'm fine walking up on my own." You forced a smile.

"It's okay." Yunho smiled.

"Bye, Hongjoong sshi. Goodnight." You turned back to bow to the injured male. Yunho accidentally closed the door behind you before Hongjoong could properly reply you.

"Let's go." Yunho nodded over to the door. You walked with him trailing beside you.

"So, have you had your flower shop for long?" Yunho asked as you both stepped into the lift.

"Not that long... I've always been interested in plants and botany. But I don't think being a botanist would have brought me a stable income right away so I opened up my flower shop. I just study botany on the side." You shrugged.

"Ah, that's very practical of you. But botany does sound interesting. Do you make special potions to poison people?" He asked. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, I make natural poison darts in my free time." You joked, making Yunho laugh along.

"This is me." You stopped before the door, fishing your keys out to unlock it.

"Thanks again for sending me back and walking me up, Yunho sshi. It's so late, you must be tired." You smiled and bowed. Yunho shook his head.

"It's fine. No need to thank me. I should thank you again for helping Hongjoong hyung." He repeated.

"It was no big deal, really. Oh! Also, could you help me return this to him? I said something out of turn and made him angry. I think he's probably still upset with me." You rubbed the back of your neck.

"Whatever it is, I don't think he's angry with you. But I will return this to him." Yunho tucked the silk handkerchief into his pocket.

"If you say so. Goodnight, Yunho sshi. Get home safe. And if Hongjoong sshi's injuries get worse, please bring him to a doctor." You said with a worried frown on your face. Yunho nodded and saluted obediently. He watched you enter your house before leaving and going back downstairs.

"Yah! You closed the door before I could say bye to her. Now she's going to think I'm stuck up or something." Hongjoong scolded him the moment he entered.

"Nope, not stuck up. She thinks you're mad at her." Yunho laughed, closing the door and starting the engine.

"Mad at her?" Hongjoong blinked.

"Yeah apparently she said something to you that made you mad. She couldn't even return this to you, thinking you're still angry." He turned around and handed Hongjoong his handkerchief.

"Oh... I wasn't angry..." Hongjoong said, looking down at the silk handkerchief, his thumb running across the silky material.

"That's what I said. The last time you were actually angry with someone, they ended up with a bullet between their eyes." Yunho snickered.

"YOU TOLD HER THAT?" Hongjoong screeched.

"Of course not. I couldn't have her fainting from shock. Although I'm sure seeing you beaten up like that is enough to traumatise her for a bit." Yunho raised his eyebrows. Hongjoong let out a long sigh as Yunho the drive back to their home.

"You didn't tell Seonghwa about what happened yet, right?" Hongjoong asked.

"Nope. Seonghwa hyung came back from his race and went straight to bed. Didn't even know I left, I think. But hyung, you can't hide your injuries from Seonghwa hyung and the rest." Yunho stated.

"I know. The main thing is to discuss those that were involved in my attack. No one dares to jump me." Hongjoong growled.

"Exactly. Whoever it is... They either don't know Ateez or they're trying to start a war. Although I seriously think they're trying to start a war." Yunho sighed.

"Well, if it's a war they want, it's a war they'll get." The captain declared.

~

Series masterlist

PAUSE HALF OF HIS LIFE?!?!?

alright, so reader is slowly remembering hate the fact that it’s a memory where yunho is mad

forget me not | vi

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 6.9K Warnings: swearing, mentions of missing persons, fluff

Fic Masterlist

Yunho lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the quiet sounds of the night settled around him. His mind, however, refused to follow suit. No matter how tired his body was, his thoughts spun endlessly, circling back to the shop—and more specifically, to you.

He was excited at the thought of seeing you again. It hadn’t been that long since he returned to Seoul, but the pull to visit the Emporium had been growing stronger with each passing day. He could already picture you behind the counter, scolding Wooyoung for his antics, before turning to greet him with that knowing smile, as if you had been expecting him all along. Whatever the reason, the thought of seeing you again filled him with a strange, almost giddy anticipation.

Still, there was a feeling he couldn't quite shake.The more he thought about it, the clearer it became—you were always there. It didn't seem strange at first. He had assumed it was just part of your role, that the shop was your domain. But now, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Have you ever left?

Wooyoung could move freely, coming and going as he pleased, yet you seemed bound to that strange, magical space.

Yunho turned over, restless now, staring at the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. The shop seemed to be both your sanctuary and your prison, and the realization gnawed at him, unsettling him more than anything else.

Why couldn’t you leave? What kind of magic was holding you there? 

His phone buzzed on the table, a faint vibration cutting through the silence. Without even glancing at the screen, Yunho already knew who it was. He sat up, grabbing it with a sigh as he swiped to answer.

“Hey,” Yunho greeted, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder. 

“You see the news?” Gunho’s voice crackled through the line, more concerned than curious.

Yunho froze, his grip on the phone tightening as dread settled like a heavy weight in his chest. “What news?” 

Scrambling to his feet, he headed into the living room, nearly stumbling over the coffee table as he rushed to turn on the TV. The familiar black screen flickered to life, and there it was. The words scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

Family of Lee Y/N files for legal declaration of death after three years with no leads.

“Tonight, we bring you a heartbreaking update on the mysterious disappearance of Lee Y/N, a case that has gripped the nation for three agonizing years. With no trace, no leads, and no answers, her family has taken the devastating step of filing a formal request with the courts to have her legally declared deceased.”

“This move marks the conclusion of a relentless search that began with hope but has since dwindled to this painful reality. For her loved ones, it’s not just the end of an investigation—it’s the closing chapter on three years of desperate prayers and unanswered questions.”

“In a heartfelt written statement, the family conveyed the grief that has consumed them since Y/N’s disappearance and the painful decision they’ve made to file with the courts to have her declared legally deceased:

"Over the last three years, not a single day has passed where we didn’t hold on to hope, praying for Y/N’s return. But as time has gone by, we’ve had to face the heartbreaking reality that we may never get the closure we so desperately need.  This decision isn't about giving up on Y/N or what she means to us. It’s about finding a way to survive in a world that no longer includes her. 

We will always love our daughter. She will forever be a part of our lives, and this is something we will carry with us for the rest of our days. This is the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do, and is a step we need to take to begin the healing process—for her, and for us."

A heavy pause lingered between them before Gunho’s voice cut through the silence. 

“I didn’t think they’d go through with it…but I guess they couldn’t wait anymore.”

"Yeah," Yunho muttered, though his voice was hollow. His fists clenched, knuckles turning white. It wasn’t fair. You were alive, breathing, moving—existing in that shop. But no one would believe it if he told them. The world ran on facts, on things that could be touched, proven, explained—and the shop was none of those things. It wasn’t on any map, couldn’t be found by search parties or missing persons reports.

To everyone else, the shop didn’t exist. And even if he wanted to tell your parents, what would he say?

"Oh, by the way, your daughter is alive, just running a magical shop that only I can find. She doesn’t remember anything about her past life with you. But don’t worry, she’s doing just fine!" 

The thought made him sick. If he said it out loud, he’d be dismissed as crazy—or worse, cruel. 

The shop might have been magical, but it was also a prison. He saw that now. A beautiful, mysterious prison that kept you chained, hidden from the world. And no matter how much he wanted to free you, to bring you back to the life you once had, he couldn’t force you out. You were bound by something deeper than magic—bound by your own pain, and your decision to forget.

“Mom and Dad went over to their house after they came back from the courthouse,” Gunho interrupted, his voice softening with a layer of sympathy Yunho wasn’t sure he was ready to handle. “Mr. Lee couldn’t stop crying.”

Yunho’s heart ached with the impossibility of it all. Your father’s tears, your mother’s quiet grief, the hollowed-out home where life had once thrived—they deserved closure, peace. But the truth wouldn’t give them that. It would only raise more questions, more pain.

He remembered the first time he’d visited your parents’ house after you disappeared. The warm, inviting home he’d known all his life felt cold, lifeless. The laughter that once filled the rooms, the scent of your mom’s cooking, the familiar hum of conversation—all of it was gone. Instead, there was only silence. 

And then there was your father.

Your father had always been a man full of energy, always quick to joke, quick to offer a smile. But that day, it was as if your disappearance had drained the life out of him, leaving behind a shell of the man who once doted on his daughter. 

Yunho could still see the way your father’s shoulders slumped as he led him up to your room, barely uttering a word. He had commented on the plush Yunho picked up before retreating quietly, disappearing into the background like a ghost in his own home.

He clenched his jaw, the frustration bubbling up inside him. All he could do was carry the weight of the secret, knowing that no matter how much he wanted to fix it, some things were beyond his control. The shop had taken you, and in doing so, it had taken the light from your family as well.

“Can you tell them I’m…sorry. Just that I’m so sorry for everything.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Gunho asked, Yunho could hear the frown in his brother’s voice.

What was he even apologizing for? For disappearing from their lives when they needed him most? For not being able to protect you? The truth was, he didn’t know where to start. Every regret, every moment of helplessness, crushed him under a guilt he could never fully articulate.

He had been there that day—the day you vanished. He had argued with you, had seen the way your expression darkened, the way your eyes filled with sadness, and yet he didn’t stop. He thought you’d come back, that you just needed space after the argument. But when you didn’t, when the days stretched into weeks, then months…Yunho had no one to blame but himself.

Your parents had reached out, desperate, but he was just as lost as they were. They had looked to him for answers, for some kind of hope, and he had none to offer. He had failed them. And now, knowing where you were—what you had become—made it even worse.

“I should have done more,” Yunho muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should’ve been there for them. And…I don’t know how to do anything else, but the least I can do is apologize and let them know that I’m also…missing Y/N.”

Gunho exhaled deeply. "I'll tell them," he finally said. "But, Yunho…you can’t keep carrying this all by yourself. You can’t keep punishing yourself for something you couldn’t control."

There was a pause, the crackle of the phone line filling the space between them before Yunho’s voice came back, quieter this time, like he was holding onto his composure by a thread. 

“I know, but just…just tell them for me. Please.”

Gunho exhaled, pressing the phone harder against his ear as if it could bring him closer to Yunho in that moment. “I will,” he said, his voice softer, filled with understanding. 

"Before you go," Yunho started, the words faltering for a second, "I need you to do me a favor."

⋆

That night, Yunho's sleep was anything but peaceful.

He stood in a grand throne room, its towering pillars casting long, imposing shadows that stretched out in the throne room like hands. The crimson red robe he donned felt suffocating, the weight of it unfamiliar, as if it didn’t belong to him. The heavy crown pressed down on his brow, making every breath feel like a struggle. 

Before him, you knelt on the cold stone floor, your wrists bound by iron shackles that clinked softly with each subtle movement. You were a shadow of the person he once knew. Gone were the bright, flowing robes you once wore, replaced by tattered prisoner’s clothes, sullied with the grime of the dungeon from which you had been dragged. Yunho’s breath hitched in his throat as he watched you kneel before him. It felt wrong. All of this feels wrong.

“Lady Lee Y/N,” the herald intoned, his voice cold and unfeeling, “you stand accused of high treason for the poisoning of Queen Mina.”

Whispers broke out amongst the members of the court, eyes darting between you and the throne. Yunho’s fingers tightened around the throne’s armrests, his knuckles whitening under the pressure as a sharp pain coiled in his chest. Treason? His mind screamed, desperate to reject what he was hearing. 

He had been told it was you, that all the evidence pointed to you. But as he looked into your hollow gaze, every fiber of his being rejected it. You couldn’t have done this. You wouldn’t have.

You were framed. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. But what choice did he have? The kingdom demanded justice, demanded blood. If he refused to follow the law, what would that mean for the throne he had been sworn to uphold?

“Your crime,” the herald continued, his voice carrying an almost sickening indifference, “has brought great shame to this kingdom and your family. For that, you have been sentenced to death by execution, to take place before the court in a fortnight.”

Yunho’s chest tightened. The herald’s words hung in the air like a death sentence for his own soul. He could feel the weight of every noble’s gaze on him, waiting for his verdict, waiting for him to condemn you. But his heart screamed in protest. His mind raced, searching for some way out, some way to save you. His pulse pounded in his ears as time seemed to stretch agonizingly slow.

You lifted your head slowly, your movements heavy as though the weight of the shackles was nothing compared to the sorrow in your heart. When your eyes finally met Yunho’s, the world seemed to stop. 

Your lips parted, as if you were about to speak. For a brief second, Yunho held his breath, hoping—praying—that you would plead your innocence, that you would give him a reason, any reason, to defy the sentence that had already been handed down. But no words came.

Instead, your eyes told him everything. They bore into him with a clarity that words never could, a silent plea that tore at his heart. They were filled with pain, but not the kind he expected—not the sorrow of a victim pleading for mercy. No, your gaze held a different kind of anguish, one that Yunho had not anticipated.

You weren’t asking him to save you. You weren’t asking for forgiveness.

You were asking him to let you go.

Yunho gasped, his chest heaving as he shot upright in bed. His heart pounded violently as his breath came in ragged bursts, the air thick in his lungs as if he was still trapped in the throne room.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of you—kneeling, broken, pleading silently for release—to fade. But it wouldn’t. It felt too real to be more than just a nightmare—it had felt like a memory, like something he was doomed to repeat over and over, and no matter how much he wanted to change it, the outcome would always be the same.

Yunho paced around the kitchen, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he struggled to figure out how he was going to find the emporium in Seoul. Every lap around the room seemed to bring him closer to a resolution, but it still eluded him.

He knew the emporium was no ordinary shop—its location obscured from anyone who didn’t truly need to find it. But Yunho needed to find it, more now than ever. The problem was, the shop didn’t care about urgency.

Wooyoung, lounging lazily on the kitchen counter, tracked Yunho’s movements with mild curiosity. His casual demeanor was a stark contrast to Yunho’s anxious pacing as he let out another yawn and preened his face. 

"You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up," Wooyoung finally said with a yawn.

Yunho stopped mid-step, standing at the edge of the kitchen, his shoulders tense. "Wooyoung," he began, his voice faltering slightly. He wasn’t used to this—asking for help, especially not from Wooyoung. But desperation gnawed at him, and he didn’t have the luxury of pride right now. 

"I...I need to ask you something."

Wooyoung’s ears perked up. He sat up on his haunches, his gray eyes gleaming with mischief as they locked onto Yunho. 

“This must be serious," he smirked, the teasing glint in his eyes only growing sharper, but Yunho didn’t back down.

"Y/N can’t leave the shop can she?”

Wooyoung paused, his eyes flicking to the floor before locking onto Yunho’s again. “Well...no. Wishes aren’t simple and they sometimes come with consequences.”

“Consequences?”

“She asked to be its keeper,” Wooyoung continued, his voice serious, without a trace of his usual playfulness. “And that’s not a simple role. The emporium is not just some shop. It’s alive, connected to realms and forces you can’t even begin to comprehend. For her to keep it running, for her to maintain its balance, she had to become part of it. And that meant binding her, not just magically but physically, to the shop.”

“Then I need to find the Emporium in Seoul,” Yunho said, his voice firm and resolute. But even as the words left his mouth, a shadow of doubt crept in. He hesitated for just a moment, and the question followed before he could stop it: “But...where do I even start?”

“Well… for starters, magic is all about feeling,” Wooyoung began, his tone light and almost mocking, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you mean?”

"Let me ask you this," he said, voice dropping to a whisper. "Is your love for my master not enough?"

Yunho’s eyes widened, frustration and embarrassment written all over his face. “That’s not—!” His voice cracked before he caught himself, but the heat was already there, his cheeks flushing with anger. “Of course I love Y/N! How could you even say that?”

Wooyoung tilted his head, studying Yunho with a smug satisfaction, as if he had anticipated this exact reaction. "Then why are you so hesitant?" he asked.

"I’m not hesitant," Yunho said, his voice tinged with frustration. "I just don’t know what I did last time to summon the shop.”

Wooyoung sighed dramatically, hopping off the counter and landing gracefully at Yunho’s feet. 

“You’re so busy doing that you’ve forgotten to feel. If you know where your heart lies, the emporium will open itself to you. If you were really that connected to Y/N, maybe your love would be enough to guide you back. Without my help.”

Wooyoung’s words felt like a taunt, poking at insecurities Yunho hadn’t even been ready to admit. Was there something wrong with him? Was his love for you not enough? Had he been too caught up in the chaos of everything to feel what was right in front of him?

Yunho took a deep breath, letting the tension in his shoulders slowly unwind. His mind was still racing, but the sharp edges of his frustration dulled slightly. 

"So what do I do, then?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less defensive.

Wooyoung stretched out, jumping down from the counter to land at Yunho’s feet. "Trust your connection with Y/N. Stop trying to find it with your head," he said simply. "And start searching with your heart."

Yunho left his apartment with a determined stride, the weight of your journal tucked carefully under his arm. The familiar hum of the city surrounded him—cars honking, distant conversations, the faint sizzle of street food vendors still open at this late hour. But tonight, none of it registered in his mind. His focus was singular, every thought of you pulling him forward like a string tied to his heart.

As he wound through the narrow streets, his steps quickened. He didn’t have a map, not a physical one, at least. The journal he carried wasn’t a guide to the emporium, but it was the closest thing he had to your lifeline. Your drawings were there, etched on the pages, a snapshot to your life and the bond you shared with him. He could almost feel your presence with him as he walked.

With every turn, the pull toward you grew stronger, an invisible force guiding him. He didn’t know where he was going—only that he had to keep moving. Then, as he rounded a corner, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him. 

There was something about this path, this particular stretch of road…

His eyes widened in recognition as he stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead of them, just across the street, stood the entrance to where you both had attended university. Yunho’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t been back here in years—not since he graduated. 

Wooyoung, who had been trailing lazily behind him, stopped beside Yunho, his keen eyes picking up on the sudden shift in Yunho’s expression. He followed Yunho’s gaze, a slow smirk creeping onto his face as he glanced between Yunho and the familiar sight ahead. 

“Well, would you look at that,” he mused, his voice light but carrying a note of something deeper—something knowing. “Seems like you’ve got a better sense of direction than I thought.”

Wooyoung turned to Yunho, a familiar glint of mischief lighting up his eyes as he leaned against a lamppost. "So, what's the grand plan when you get there, huh?" he asked, his voice teasing, laced with amusement. "You planning to storm in like a hero and declare your undying love for my master? Sweep her off her feet?"

Yunho shook his head, his lips tightening into a thin line, his gaze firmly fixed on the path ahead. "N-No… not exactly," he muttered, his voice quiet but steady.

“I want to make my wish."

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The teasing smirk on his face softened ever so slightly, though the playfulness didn’t completely vanish. 

"A wish, huh? And what exactly would that be?" He knew Yunho too well to take him at face value. Something had shifted in Yunho—this wasn’t just about him anymore.

Yunho didn’t answer right away. As he stood there, in the quiet night of Seoul, with the lights of the city dimming behind them, the gravity of what he wanted finally settled in. It wasn’t just about seeing you again. It wasn’t about selfishly pulling you back into his world, forcing memories to resurface, or desperately trying to rekindle what once was.

No, Yunho wanted something deeper. He wanted something for you.

"I want her to be free," Yunho finally said, his voice breaking the silence between them. "I want Y/N to be free. Not bound to that place.”

Wooyoung studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were reevaluating everything he thought he knew about Yunho’s intentions. He had expected him to want something else, something more...predictable. Like wanting you to remember him, to rekindle your past and continue where things left off. But this? This was different. And for the first time, Wooyoung found himself... impressed.

Yunho’s heart pounded in his chest as he approached the familiar door, nestled between the soba shop and the weathered bookshop that always seemed deserted. The floral overhang above the door swayed gently, an ethereal presence that almost seemed to hum in recognition of his arrival. The soft pull in his chest was undeniable now, a subtle but persistent thrumming, like a thread drawing him closer to the place beyond the door.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady the nerves gnawing at him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his resolve, before pushing down on the handle. The door gave way with a soft creak, opening into the emporium.

The shop felt alive, as if it was breathing. Every corner brimming with energy, the air thick with the hum of magic. And there you were, standing in the center of it all.

⋆

“Yunho!” you exclaimed, startled as you caught sight of him standing in the doorway. Your heart skipped a beat, and in your flustered state, you instinctively waved your hand, sending a flurry of objects soaring through the air with your magic. 

Books shuffled themselves back onto shelves, a teacup hovered briefly before floating to its proper place, and an assortment of crystals and trinkets rearranged themselves with an almost frantic energy.

Yunho blinked, his eyes wide with surprise, though a soft smile tugged at his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the small whirlwind of chaos unfold around you.

You glanced back at Yunho, cheeks flushed as you tried to regain your composure. "I wasn’t expecting—uh, I didn’t think you’d be here so soon!" Your voice betrayed the nervous flutter in your chest as you hastily used your magic to smooth down your clothes, attempting to look more presentable.

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he said, his voice warm and a little teasing.

You forced a light laugh, waving your hand dismissively even as the warmth on your cheeks spread further.

“No, no, it’s fine. The shop usually isn’t this chaotic. It’s just…” You narrowed your eyes toward the mischievous figure who trotted past. “Someone decided to take a little vacation, leaving me to tend to the place alone.”

“I earned that vacation,” Wooyoung quipped, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he hopped up onto a nearby shelf. He stretched leisurely, clearly unbothered by your pointed stare. 

“Besides, you’ve got it under control…mostly.”

"Mostly?" You turned back to Yunho, mortified that he’d arrived to find you in the middle of what probably looked like absolute chaos. Shelves were haphazardly filled, some items glowing faintly with residual magic as if they hadn’t quite settled into their places, and the air smelled faintly of incense mixed with…something else. Something you didn’t have time to figure out right now.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly. “I didn’t come here expecting anything perfect, I’m just keeping to my word.”

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you two, the room now still and quiet after the flurry of activity. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

Wooyoung cleared his throat dramatically from the shelf, breaking the tension in the room. “Well, since I’m obviously not needed here, I’ll be going on another vacation. You two have fun playing shopkeeper and traveler,” he teased with a wink before disappearing into a wisp of smoke. 

With Wooyoung gone, the shop fell into stillness. The warmth of Yunho’s presence closed in on you and somehow the absence of your feline companion made the space feel larger, yet somehow more intimate. Every breath, every heartbeat, seemed amplified in the silence that had settled over the shop. It was just you and Yunho.

"I’ve decided what to wish for."

Yunho's voice was soft but unwavering as he took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. 

"O-Of course. What might that be?" you asked, your voice faltering slightly. You fought to keep it steady, but something in the way Yunho looked at you—the depth of his gaze, the quiet intensity—made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

"Your freedom."

Two simple words, but they hit you like a storm. The world around you seemed to still, the very air filled with the magnitude of what he’d just said. Your freedom. The one thing you never thought anyone could give you, let alone offer so willingly. 

"Yunho..." 

“I want you to be able to come and go as you please, to live your life without the magic chaining you to this place." He stepped closer still, and now you could feel the warmth radiating from him. 

"I’m willing to offer half of my life in exchange if that’s what it takes."

You blinked, your breath catching as his words sank in. Half of his life? The enormity of his offer was staggering, and for a moment, you couldn’t even comprehend it. 

"Why would you..." you stammered, your voice shaking with disbelief. "Why would you do that for…me? That’s—"

"You deserve to be free, Y/N," he whispered, his voice tender but resolute. "And if this is the way to make that happen, then I’ll gladly pay the price."

The very atmosphere of the emporium shifted in response, as if the magic within its walls had taken notice of his declaration. The shop creaked ominously, its magic swelling as though it, too, was contemplating Yunho’s wish. The lanterns overhead flickered, casting erratic shadows across the room, and the flowers hanging from the sky garden above swayed in unison.

"Ahem!" came an exaggerated throat clearing. 

Both you and Yunho jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion. Hongjoong stood casually leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a single brow arched surrounded by wisps of glittering smoke curled lazily around him.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, the intensity of the moment broken by his nonchalant interruption. Yunho, on the other hand, remained frozen for a brief second, visibly caught off guard. His jaw tightened, but the initial shock melted into a look of mild exasperation, a heavy sigh slipping from his lips.

Hongjoong’s smirk deepened, thoroughly unbothered by the silent glares he was receiving. 

"You were about to do something reckless," he remarked, his voice light but edged with a knowing sharpness. 

Yunho’s brow furrowed, his voice tight with determination. “I know what I’m doing. This is my choice.”

“Half of your life?’” Hongjoong paused, casting a pointed glance at the both of you. 

Hongjoong wasn’t one to interfere without reason, but the way he spoke of the emporium’s magic made your stomach churn with unease. Yunho’s wish was far more dangerous than either of you had realized.

"Yunho’s wish—" you began, your voice barely a whisper, but Hongjoong cut you off with a swift raise of his hand.

“Is admirable,” he finished for you, his tone softening for only a fraction of a second before turning sharp again, “but dangerously naive.” 

“The magic here doesn’t bargain in simple terms,” Hongjoong continued, his voice dropping low, the gravity of his words pulling the room into silence. “You can’t just offer up half of your life and expect everything to fall neatly into place. There are rules, consequences—ones that don’t care about the nobility of your intentions.”

Yunho blinked, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

“If you do this, you won’t just be giving up years of your life. You’ll be binding giving up your soul, your essence. The magic will take from you in ways you can’t predict or undo.”

Hongjoong’s faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare flicker of humor breaking through his usually composed demeanor. He straightened up, crossing his arms casually as he studied Yunho. 

“That’s Y/N’s journal, isn’t it?” Hongjoong asked, his voice soft yet deliberate. He didn’t need an answer—he already knew.

Yunho stiffened slightly, instinctively bringing a hand to his chest where a corner of something protruded from the edge of his jacket. The memories it contained, the emotions inscribed within its pages, were too personal, too sacred to be used as collateral for anything. The mere thought of it made him uneasy.

“You know,” Hongjoong began thoughtfully, “magic thrives on more than just time or years of your life.” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the journal. “It craves something deeper—emotions, memories…the essence of who we are."

“What are you saying?” Yunho demanded.

“I’m saying you might want to reconsider the offer. Y/N’s journal—those memories, those emotions—it holds far more value than any number of years you could offer.”

Your pulse quickened. You didn’t remember anything about the journal, couldn’t recall the emotions or thoughts tied to the pages of ink. And yet, knowing that it carried fragments of your past—memories that could belong to you but were now lost—stirred something deep within you. 

"My…journal?" you asked, puzzled as you stared at the worn leather book in Yunho’s hands. It felt foreign, almost surreal, to see it again.

“I promised to tell you the truth about your past and…about us.” His voice faltered briefly as the enormity of that promise washed over him. “I brought this,” he continued, finally pulling the worn journal from his jacket, “because it was important to you. And I thought…maybe it could help you remember.”

Yunho’s fingers lightly brushed over the journal, his expression softening as he looked at it. “It’s full of your drawings. You used to sketch everything—places we went, people we met–everything. You captured things no one else noticed, things I didn’t notice until I saw them through your eyes.” He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting back to you. 

“You always saw me better than I saw myself.”

He handed you the journal, his hands steady but his heart pounding. "I thought if you saw your own art—saw what you felt, what you captured—maybe... maybe you'd remember something, even just a piece of who you were."

Your fingers trembled slightly as you took the journal, feeling the worn leather beneath your fingertips. This book had been with you through so much, carried pieces of you that even you didn’t remember anymore. You ran your thumb along the edge of the cover, trying to steady your breath. It felt strange—holding something that had once been so personal, and now, it was like holding a fragment of someone else's life.

"It feels strange," you admitted, quietly. "It’s like it belongs to someone else." 

"I know," he said quietly, his voice gentle yet unwavering. "But this is still you. The person in those pages—she’s still here." 

He reached out, his hand covering yours, and the warmth of his touch steadied you. The slight tremor in your fingers stilled as his presence grounded you, reminding you that, despite everything, you were not alone. You simply stood there, staring at the journal, a relic of a past that seemed unreachable. Was that person really still inside you? Could the pieces of the past be put back together, or had too much been lost?

“This...is the least I can do for you.” He looked down at the journal in your hands, a symbol of what he was about to give up. His eyes met yours, more intense than you’d ever seen. 

"I’m going to make my wish. I’ll give anything to set you free.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Yunho’s words carried a weight that both terrified and comforted you. He was ready to sacrifice something—perhaps everything—to break the chains that held you to the Emporium.

“I’ll grant the wish,” Hongjoong declared, his voice slicing through the heavy silence of the Emporium. His tone was casual, almost amused, but his eyes—sharp and knowing—held the gravity of what was about to happen.

“No, let me—” you began, stepping forward instinctively, but Hongjoong cut you off.

“Whatever that toy did to you, it weakened your magic. You can’t afford to take chances right now,” he explained softly. 

You had nearly forgotten about the plush toy in the chaos of recent events. But now, with Hongjoong's reminder, the faint sense of something missing from within you became impossible to ignore. Your magic had indeed felt dim, like a flame trying to burn under water. It left you feeling vulnerable. Unmoored.

You glanced at Yunho, who stood tall and resolute, though the slight tremble in his hands revealed the weight of his decision. The journal remained clutched tightly in his grip, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. The air around you began to buzz with energy, the edges of magic stirring, making your skin prickle.

Suddenly, the floor beneath Yunho lit up with a radiant glow. Intricate symbols—ancient runes and shimmering patterns of light—spread out from under his feet, forming a large, pulsating circle that expanded to the edges of the room. The energy in the air vibrated around you, and the ground beneath your feet hummed with power. The magic was alive, swirling and converging, ready to set the impossible in motion.

The magic began to rise, swirling around him like a gentle wind at first, then growing stronger, forming a cyclone of light and energy. The glow intensified, a brilliant vortex that seemed to pulsate with the power of the wish. The journal in his hands began to shine, its pages flickering as if they were coming alive.

You felt a sharp tug at your chest, your own magic reacting to the powerful forces being summoned in the room. It stirred weakly, echoing through your body, as though the emporium itself was waking up, aware of the monumental exchange taking place. The air hummed with a potency that both exhilarated and terrified you.

Then, as quickly as it had risen, the whirl of magic began to dissipate. The light faded, dimming until the room was left in a quiet stillness. The energy that had crackled and swirled just moments ago was gone, leaving only a faint ringing in your ears. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gulps as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. The intense force of the magic had vanished, but something inside you had shifted, changed.

You felt…lighter. The sensation was almost surreal, like a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying had suddenly been lifted from your shoulders. In that moment, something inside you broke—an invisible barrier you hadn’t even realized was there. 

Yunho stood in front of you, his eyes soft yet heavy with concern. He searched your face, as if trying to piece together the puzzle of what you might be feeling.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice low and tentative, as though he was afraid of the answer.

For a moment, you didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. You looked at him, the edges of a smile tugging at your lips, and before you even realized what you were doing, you reached out and poked him lightly on the chest. It was a simple, almost childish gesture, but it broke the tension that had settled over the room.

Yunho blinked, surprised at the sudden touch, but a soft chuckle escaped him. His shoulders eased just a little, and that warm, familiar glow returned to his eyes. 

That was all it took. 

Without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace was instinctive, natural, as if it had been waiting for this moment. His arms encircled you, pulling you close, holding you as if you were something fragile, something he didn’t want to break. In his embrace, you felt a warmth that had been missing for so long.

As you buried your face in his chest, you heard a soft fluttering sound around you. It was faint at first, but then the sound grew louder, like wings beating in the air. You pulled back slightly and looked around the shop.

Pages. The journal—your journal—had burst open. Loose pages, filled with memories, sketches, and words, were now swirling through the air, carried by an invisible breeze. The pages brushed past you, each one holding pieces of your past that had been hidden for so long. Sketches of places you vaguely recognized, fragments of conversations you couldn’t quite place, and moments that had long since faded from your memory.

Hongjoong stood a little further away, his smile softening into something more tender. He looked on at you and Yunho, with a quiet contentment. His eyes gleamed with pride, not just in satisfaction with the outcome, but as if he had been waiting for this moment all along—for you to find your way back to Yunho.

The emporium, the magic, the chaos—it all led to this, and for the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely at peace.

⋆

“Well, well, look at you,” Wooyoung’s playful tone rang out, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled in the room. He padded in with his usual feline grace, tail flicking with amusement, his gray eyes gleaming mischievously as they zeroed in on you.

“Getting ready for your date with Yunho?” His voice carried that familiar lilt, half-teasing, half-genuine, that he knew would rile you up.

You shot him an unimpressed look, but the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you, your cheeks turning pink despite your best efforts to appear unaffected.

“It’s not a date, just an outing.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “A weekend getaway to the beach isn’t an ‘outing,’ he quipped. “Come on, admit it—you’re looking forward to this.”

You paused, fingers toying with the sleeves of your cardigan. The truth was harder to hide now, and you couldn’t help but smile—just a little.

“Maybe. A little,” you admitted, the butterflies in your stomach betraying the downplay.

But before you could say anything more, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your head. It came out of nowhere, sudden and intense, like someone had struck you from within. You winced, your hand immediately flying to your temple as the ache intensified. The pain spread like wildfire, spreading until it became almost unbearable.

"Master? Are you okay?" Wooyoung’s playful tone vanished instantly, replaced by genuine concern. He leapt onto your bed with nimble ease, his tail twitching anxiously, his eyes wide with worry.

But you couldn’t respond. Your world was spinning, and suddenly, it was as if someone had thrown open the floodgates in your mind. You were standing outside of an apartment complex, your heart pounding. Yunho was there too, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place—he was…angry. He was saying something, his lips moving, but you were too distracted by the tears stinging your own eyes. 

“Master!” Wooyoung’s voice pierced through the chaos, pulling you back to the present. His paw gently pressed against your leg, trying to anchor you. “What’s happening, I’ll call for Jongho–”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, shaking your head despite the pulsating pain reverberating through your skull. You didn’t want to alarm Wooyoung further, didn’t want him summoning Jongho over a headache. You forced the words out, struggling to sound convincing.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just a migraine.”

But you weren’t fine. Not even close. That memory—Yunho standing there, his face twisted in anger—felt too real. It wasn’t just a fleeting moment or a dream. It was something that had actually happened, though you couldn’t recall why. You had forgotten it, buried it so deep that your mind hadn’t been able to access it until now. And with it came a flood of confusion and guilt. 

What had you done to make him look at you like that?

<< v | vii >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie

I love this so much! Another thought I had is him secretly buying takeout and pretending he cooked it just to impress reader

hey, I saw your event and I’m curious about yours thoughts on prompt one: "when he is in your kitchen cooking something for you" for jongseob

cause even though in their most recent video where they cooked food for chuseok jongseob can’t cook and he knows this, but he was so proud of what he made.

I feel like he would still try to make something edible for his s/o.

HIII!! omgg i remember you from the piwon ask w seob. I SAW THAT VIDEO TOO, AND I LAUGHED SO HARD DJASJDAN.

"ofc i know how to cook it, i did it a million times!" cit jongseob. probably lying, like maybe it's something he saw on a youtube video and he tried it once in his life</3. but he would lie just to be able to cook something for you!!! using your kitchen. partially because it brings him a sense of family, and partially because he genuinely has no tools in his apartment... and i feel he would choose something simple to cook but still would follow a video (but he would never admit it) or would call the other members for advice. i also picture him coming to you more than one time showing you his progress, ALL of his progress. like: "i'm about to turn on the oven" or "here i put some salt now, does not it look delicious huh?" while u just stare at him nodding and just grateful to see how happy he looks while cooking for you. and while he waits for the food to cook in the oven, he starts to distract himself with humming some of his favorite rap songs. and he would only be able to stop after smelling the faint smell of burning invading the kitchen! "it's a little overcooked, but otherwise I'm sure it would have come out delicious." he would tell you proudly after putting something barely edible on your plate (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩)

prompts ; event m.list

Ahhhhh, I love it! I love it! I love it! I’m just smiling at my phone over words, but it just so sweet!

I’m now craving some italian.

Hi, congrats on 300 followers. I have a prompt request for the celebration. I would like to request a one-shot of jongseob with the prompt from sweet "smiling during kisses".

I would also like to add that the reader be gender neutral. congratulations again on 300 followers! 🎉

hihi! thank you so much for participating, and sorry for the late, hope you like it <3 ; 1k wc ; fluff ; first time writing for soeb aaaa ; and credits to my fav proofreader @sobun1est

300 followers event 🎀

You notice the light of the candles as soon as you open the door of your house, taking the first step inside your apartment.

“I’m home!” you said.

Shortly after, called by your voice, you noticed Jongseob coming out of his room to come and welcome you.

That day was your anniversary; one year had passed since you had confessed your tender love and the "roommate" label had turned into lovers. You had just returned from the small pastry shop where you worked in the afternoons to save up for your studies, and with you, you had a large plastic bag containing your boyfriend’s favorite cake.

Although neither of you was swimming in gold, you were happy with your flat. So you gradually decorated it and created a small home with all the amenities you could want.

“Welcome back, honey” he said to you, coming closer to steal a kiss from you and helping with the bags.

While he went to put the cake in the refrigerator you moved towards the small room, from where a soft light came.

As soon as you entered, you noticed that many candles were placed throughout the room, and in the center, there was a carefully set table. The window was wide open, and the view was of the city illuminated by the few lights of the night.

On the table there were two glasses, and next to them a bottle of your favorite wine. The plates had light red and gold decorations, and the tablecloth and napkins followed that theme.

There was also your record player, who carefully selected the records that had accompanied your evenings throughout that year.

“Do you remember our first date?” the boy asked you as he entered the room.

“When we shared pizza, sitting on this sofa while we tried to guess about the lives of the passers-by under this balcony? How could I forget?” you asked him.

He nodded and moved in your direction, seemingly unable to resist his desire to be by you.

He took your face in his hands and soon joined your lips in a long kiss.

“How about we create a remix, maybe with a slight upgrade?” he asked you, looking you directly in the eyes.

“I would love it,” he replied, smiling.

Everything at that moment brought back memories of the first date, when after a year of living together, since you attended the same university, that boy had come forward to ask you to be together.

“Happy anniversary Seob”

“You too, love” he replied.

During your first date, while you were waiting for the food to come, the two of you sat on the couch. You could only gaze lovingly at Jongseob's slim physique as he was focused on the task at hand—he had stood up to begin the vinyl recordings.

During the first date, you were waiting for the pizza to be delivered, while now you were waiting for the lasagna - entirely cooked by Jongseob - to cook in the oven!

You had once expressed how much you would have liked to taste Italian food, so that's why he chose it for dinner.

He had carefully chosen the order of the music records to listen to, as he had presented them to you during your year together.

To ensure that everything looked its best in your eyes, he had even asked his mother to lend him some of the dish set that she had used for her wedding.

He had discovered your favorite flavor in candles, and in his pocket, he had a crumpled piece of paper with a short poem that he wanted to recite to you.

Now he was sitting next to you on the couch and was following the moves of the first date step by step. He had counted how many times your eyes had crossed, but like the first time, he had gotten lost in your eyes and had opted for a more direct approach.

He had turned to you while you were watching him the whole time - noticing how his face was bright and how he had changed in a year. You vividly remembered all the features of his face and how his expression had gone from full concentration to complete disorientation as soon as he had looked at you.

And now everything was happening again: your eyes had met, and the butterflies in your stomach had started to dance.

He had soon come dangerously close and had canceled the distances. Neither of you could hold back a smile, remembering your first kiss while you were living the umpteenth. Many quick kisses alternated with passionate ones while your bodies also got closer.

You took a brief break to let out some lovely laughs that blended in with the background music like they were the melody itself.

Smiles between the kisses, comforting scents, and the warmth of the bodies that united.

He had moved his hand from behind your neck to your hips- oh how he had become bolder.

You were facing him and found it difficult to keep your eyes closed, so now and again when he drew you away, you gave him a tiny peek.

You loved so much seeing that boy's face up close.

With an awkward and hesitant smile, he looked so attractive with the candles lighting him.

The first time you had been interrupted by the arrival of the delivery boy, while this time by a strange burning smell that began to spread from the kitchen.

As soon as it hit your boyfriend's nostrils, his eyes widened and he suddenly stood up.

"THE LASAGNA!" he said as he ran towards the kitchen.

You giggled as you moved to go and check it out too.

As soon as you arrived in the kitchen you saw him wearing two pink skates and an apron of the same color, as he took the lasagna out of the oven. He hadn't even taken the time to turn on the light, the light of the candles was enough; but he had chosen to wear the apron to avoid dirtying the outfit he had worked on to impress you.

Luckily the lasagna wasn’t burnt, but on the contrary, it had acquired a light crunchy crust that had made that dish even better.

You found yourselves shortly after at the table, savoring that delicious food while you remembered the times gone by, shared moments of the present, and fantasized about future experiences.

this was so cute! I love just the two of them talking and building it’s so relaxing, still haven’t gone out and build a lego set so this will do.

thank you again taking in my request when will i have more no clue, but I know that I can count on you to accomplish them perfectly 💕

🪻Lego Friday🪻

✨Pairing: non idol!Seonghwa x gn!reader ✨Prompt: Building a lego set with seonghwa I don’t have much of an idea around this one I just really wanna build a lego set and from watching seonghwa lego lives building with him just looks like so much fun. ✨Requested by @beabatiny🫶🏻 ✨Word Count: 0.9k ✨Genre: fluff ☀️Authors Note: Thank you for requesting this! It was fun writing and I hope you enjoy it🥰 also sorry this took me so long to write😭

"I wanna build legos."

It was announced to you as you were making some desserts for the two of you. Seonghwa was standing in the kitchen holding two enormous lego bags he had pulled out from somewhere whilst giving you the biggest puppy eyes.

"Do you want me to build legos with you?" You ask fighting back a chuckle at the way he was standing and pouting.

His little nod brought a smile to your face as you finished up the dessert.

"Then we will build legos together! Got any I can build? Nothing too complicated please!"

As you said that Seonghwa was already picking up the different lego sets he had, eager to find one you could work on.

"Baby Yoda? Or maybe some flowers?? Or both??" He holds two sets up for you showcasing one where you'd build baby Yoda or some flowers to have for display.

"Hmmm Yoda looks a bit easier, can I start with that one perhaps?"

"Yes!!!" He nods and then quickly hurries to the living room moving with urgency to move everything to the side so the two of you can build the legos together comfortably.

"Cutie." You say to yourself shaking your head with a little laugh before entering the living room with two cups of dessert and two spoons.

You sit down next to him looking curiously at what he's doing.

"Here! One baby Yoda box for you! I'll work on a darth vader one then!" He says happily while handing you your box.

"Thank you!" You say as you take the box and empty it on the floor in front of you.

The two of you sit in silence for a while sorting through the pieces before you remember something you wanted to share with him.

"Did I tell you what Wooyoung and Yeosang did yesterday when we went mini golfing?" You ask him as you start putting some of the pieces together.

"What did those two do this time?" He asks curious to know what your friends had done. Knowing that Wooyoung was involved it could mean anything from silly things like stealing a bite from someones ice cream to something more chaotic.

"Well they started arguing about the best way to push the ball in the hole and decided to make it a competition." You start telling him and Seonghwas boba eyes are focused on you.

"I'm sensing a but?" he says chuckling and you can't help but laugh and nod.

"Yeah, Yeosang did better and to try and distract him, Wooyoung decided to full on chomp on his shoulder." You show by imitating Woo's chomp on Yeosangs shoulder on Seonghwas shoulder without actually biting him.

His laugh ring through the apartment as he shakes his head at your friends antics.

"That sounds just like them to be honest." He says as he hands you the piece you're looking for whilst showing you where it should go.

"Yeah they truly can't be stopped. We almost got kicked out because of Wooyoungs loud chatter but we managed to get him to quiet down by promising we'd buy him food if he could be a bit quieter so we could play to the end."

The two of you sit and talk for hours, giggling about everything from the legos, to your friends, to things that has happened recently in your life whilst enjoying the dessert from time to time that you had prepared.

"Look! Isn't it cute once it's finished?" Seonghwa ask as he shows you the little Darth Vader figure hes put together and you look at him in surprise.

"How did you finish so quickly?! I'm still trying to figure out what I've done wrong." You say as you hold up your Yoda figure which looks a bit wonky due to you putting the wrong pieces together.

"Ahhh well I'm the pro aren't I? You'll learn quickly if you build legos more often." He says whilst moving closer to you, taking the lego from your hands and undoing what you had put together wrongly.

"Here, let's try again okay? This piece." He holds up a big piece and gives it to you "goes here okay? Whilst this one goes over there."

He helps guide you by pointing where certain pieces will go.

"Thanks Hwa, this is really calming you know." You mumble as you focus on setting up the last pieces of Yoda before showing it to him proudly.

"Ta-daaaa!" You show the lego piece off and he claps his hands excitedly for you.

"It looks great!"

"That's because I had such a great teacher!"

You two take a little break after that, sitting facing each other and chatting about anything and everything.

"I saw that they're playing Coraline again in the theaters for its 15th year anniversary. All nine of us should go and see it since we're nearing spooky season." Seonghwa says while rummaging through the rest of his unbuilt lego.

"It's in theaters?! All of us have to go! We should go dressed up as the characters! Wooyoung could be the talking cat!" You exclaim and Hwa looks excited at the idea of dressing up and going to see it.

"Yes!! I wanna be one of the old ladies with all the dogs." He lets you know.

"Hongjoong should dress as the other old lady then." You laugh and the night ends with you two planning who would be which character as you start on a new piece of lego, this time deciding to build it together while laughing at the idea of getting dressed to go to the movies.