softquokka

[softquokka]

Sincerely, Me (Bang Chan x Reader)

Chan dedicates a song to you publicly to announce your relationship.

You shuffled into the aisle right behind the V.I.P. section. As you sat down, you looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. The blaring overhead light slightly tinted in your big sunglasses, and your arms crossed your chest, holding yourself into place as yelling fans filtered in on both sides of you.

Seeing Chan live was always a hassle. He wanted you to be protected, to have bodyguards around you in the crowd to keep you safe, but since your relationship was still a bit more on the low, you didn't want to appear too out of place in a sea of his biggest admirers. The two of you settled for a guard strategically placed with you in sight and his stylist on speed dial.

"Baby, call me when you get to the car after the show okay?" Your boyfriend said hastily as he downed another glass of water while waiting for his turn in the makeup chair.

"Chan, I always call you. I'll remember," You said with a giggle, letting your hand fall into his as he rubbed small circles onto the top of it.

"I know baby, but... just make sure you do okay?" His smile beamed up at you, a flight of pearly white.

You nodded, leaning in and kissing his forehead and then his lips before letting go of his hand and walking out of the dressing room. You were quickly whisked into a side door and dropped right past security. You slyly flashed them your badge in your pocket before walking down the stairs to the floor seat your boyfriend purchased.

Even though you'd seen this show twice already this run, your nerves were through the roof. Suddenly you were taken back to the moments in your teens, waiting for your favorite celebrity to jump on stage. You felt your heartbeat quicken as the music boomed through the speakers, mixtures of squeals and singing ringing through the rows as the fans hyped themselves up for the upcoming performance.

You admired the rows of bracelets that lined their wrists, the way they linked arms and sang at the top of their lungs together, crying tears of joy as they waited for the boys you know so fondly moved around the stage in a hurricane of speed and sound.

You felt oddly comfortable in this moment. Able to blend in so seamlessly with everyone else. You knew better than to think it would always be this easy. You knew that if you and Chan lasted as long as you hoped you would that eventually he'd have to tell everyone.

Part of you yearned for public acknowledgment. The thought of being able to hang on his arm in clubs, at awards shows, and even on vacations without the fear of being seen was tempting.

Another part of you worried about what would come with confirmation. Your boyfriend gave up his whole life for this career, and you didn't want to be the one to tear it apart. You wanted him to be successful, to continue to be able to produce songs he loved with the people he cared about the most.

You must have been lost in thought for a while, as the only thing to bring your eyes back to center stage was the sudden dimming of the lights and the loud screams tearing through your eardrums. Your breath caught in your chest as you rose out of your seat and joined them in their screams.

The booming sounds of the song rang through the speakers and you heard the familiar howl of your boyfriend. You giggled, clapping with everyone as they cheered them on. Chan found his place in the center of the stage to greet the crowd.

"What's going on Sydneyyy?" He smiled as they met him with a big smile. He nodded at them, throwing up a thumbs up to show how impressed he was.

Your eyes met for a second and you swore he winked at you. You shook your head, thinking that he wouldn't be that careless tonight. Still, your heart warmed at the thought of his risk and you yelled out their names in time with the rest of the crowd.

The set moved quickly, and as they ran through their solo sets you could feel your feet wearing on you. You sat down as the stage flipped over to black for a moment. You cursed the moment you decided to quickly throw on your Converse instead of your Docs, feeling your toes throb through the thin material of the shoe. You rolled your ankle back and forth, pressing your thumb to the side to release some pressure. Your efforts were put on pause as you heard a voice from above.

"Ma'am, follow me."

You looked up to see the smile of a bodyguard that you know well. You looked up at him in confusion, a furrow in your brow. He didn't say anything more but just stretched out his hand to you. You took his hand hesitantly and let him guide you out of the aisle. You watched as fans eyed you down as you moved closer and closer to the stage. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat as you followed his lead to the front row in a center seat next to his parents.

Chan's mom smiled at you as you moved closer to her. You nodded and smiled back at her. Why were you moved to the front so suddenly? Surely fans took videos of this girl being taken directly by Stray Kids security to the front of VIP. Chan's dad's giggle shook you back to the present, him chuckling over your shell-shocked reaction.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were quickly drowned out by screams as someone reentered the stage. You heard a familiar accent yell out to the crowd again.

"Ahhh so it's time for my solo stage..."

You looked up and watched your boyfriend take the center once again. He looked over at you with a wide smile, clear as day in the summer sun. You felt shivers take over your whole body as he maintained eye contact as he spoke.

"I have a special song that I wrote..."

The crowd screamed again and you could feel his parents' eyes on you. You could have sworn you felt the flash of his mom's camera on your cheek but you were too focused on his dark brown eyes to fully notice anything else anymore.

"I wrote it with someone special in mind," his eyes comb through the crowd before landing on yours again. He winked in your direction.

"This one's for my baby."

You could have sworn you felt your heart leap out of your chest as gasps and screams took over the crowd before the base kicked in. Your boyfriend places on his big sunglasses, a big smirk stretched across his lips. You felt frozen as you watched a performance you've seen several times before with a new perspective.

A song you thought your flirt of a boyfriend wrote just to make his fans go crazy, was about you? You caught him giggling on Bubble, and bringing the fantasy to life with fans every night... why wouldn't he tell you?

Despite your racing thoughts, you managed to bring a small smile to your face, clapping along to the familiar beat. Chan continued to put on his same charming choreography as he sang so sweetly. He pointed out in the crowd to several random fans before returning over to your side of the stage, beaming ear to ear.

"Baby I'll show that you’re the one," he sang, almost giggling through the lyrics. "Like a diamond ring such a pretty little thing you’re blinding everyone."

You felt yourself blushing as he winked at you before quickly moving back across the stage. Your nerves were swapped for a swelling amount of warmth in your chest as you sang along. You finally looked over at Chan's mom, her phone in hand as she filmed you. Your cheeks burn red as you shake your head and return your gaze to the stage.

Watching your rockstar of a boyfriend was always a treat, but something more bubbled to the surface when you knew he was singing directly to you. You have a lot of things you want to say, but you aren't really sure where to start. Ignoring the flight of what-ifs, you just allow yourself to enjoy the rest of the set.

As Chan ended his song, you quickly heard the sounds of disgust coming from the members reentering the stage. Filled with "oohs" and "ewws," they relentlessly teased Chan, shoving him back and forth like a ping pong ball.

Finally, they let him go, moving on to the next song with ease. You let yourself settle back onto your feet and simply just enjoyed the rest of the show. You sang with his mom, danced around with Hannah, and giggled at his dad's failed attempt at singing as you celebrated the boys.

As the final song ended the boys came back to the center of the stage to do their ments. You held back tears for everyone until it came to Chan. He came to the side of the stage and stood right in front of his family.

"...And I want to thank the ones I love the most for coming to the show tonight. Mom, Dad, Hannah... and my baby you know I love you. Thank you for making tonight even more special to me in one of my favorite places in the world," Your eyes widened as he continued. "I truly couldn't do it without you all."

He bit down on his lip as you stared at him. He had just done it. So casually in front of thousands of fans. He did what you never thought might not happen until you had announced an engagement. If even then. This acknowledgment brought tears to your eyes, as you smiled into the pink sky.

The set went dark and you hurried to grab your belongings and follow his family out of the venue doors and into the hallway below the stage. You finally let yourself fully take in the moment when away from all of the people and the cameras. Hannah's arm wrapped around you as you quietly wiped tears from your eyes. You look over at her to find her smiling.

"You guys are so sappy..." She joked, leaning into you as you two walked.

The family followed security to their car and you made your way to the tiny black car Chan called for you. As you felt the air conditioning hit your face, you brought the phone up to meet your gaze. You typed in the number you knew as well as your own and pressed it to your ear. It rang twice before you heard a familiar laugh.

"Baby, so what did you think?"

#this is exactly why i will never stop being a delulu stay 😂 #this was sooo cuteeee #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #stray kids

[softquokka]

the premise: ur reaction to hyunjin's new short purple hair. this is very self indulgent and silly and fluffy and im mad at this man for being so pretty (i love him so much)

"are your eyes closed?" hyunjin's voice echoes from behind the door, as you lie on your stomach upon the bed.

"they are!" you yell back, palms pressing tightly against your eyelids. "can you hurry, i miss the light."

"you are so dramatic," hyunjin giggles, and you can vividly imagine him, head tipped back, a fond smile etched on his face—the one he reserves just for you. it sends a tingling warmth through your spine; you've come to learn hyunjin through these past three years, you can now clearly envision him, even behind your darkened eyelids, picturing every mimic of his as if he's right before you.

"save me boyfriend with pretty brown eyes, save me!"

"just a few more seconds baby, i promise," he quickly reassures, and you bite your lip slightly. you know he must be running his hands through his hair, trying to tame the stubborn strands you love to tuck behind his ear. a slight nervous shake in his limbs as he assesses himself in the enormous vanity mirror in your room. hyunjin knows he's good looking, it would be idiotic of him to believe otherwise. but it is always after significant changes in his appearance that he becomes almost shier, as if adjusting to the person reflecting back in the mirror.

"you're really pretty, you know that, right?" you speak softly.

"you didn't even see me yet," a smile is latched onto his words, making them ring sweetly in your ears.

"i don't need to. i think you are physically incapable of being ugly. beauty just oozes from each one of your features."

"okay, you can look now because i need to kiss you before i pass out," he sighs and you laugh before swiftly pulling your hands away from your eyes. you blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the stream of light coursing through your pupils. and then, your gaze locks on hyunjin.

his hair is short again. deep purple reflections dancing underneath the silver light of your bedroom.

you blink.

his hair is still short. and purple.

you blink again.

"are you... malfunctioning?" he chuckles, eyes disappearing into moon crescents.

"holy shit," you whisper, scrambling to the edge of the bed where he's standing, fidgeting from one leg to another. you quickly stand on the mattress so you can tower over him, turning his head to the left, then right.

"you cut your hair," you whisper in wonder.

"i did. do you like it?"

"do. i. like. it?" you repeat incredulously, running your fingers through his silky threads. "i prayed for this day to come, you don't understand," you beam at him, wrapping your hand around his neck, his hands find the slate of your waist, pressing you closer to him.

"did you now, love?"

"you're so pretty. i hate you," you sigh, tugging at his strands in wonder, admiring the rich color that's dancing off his hair.

"that sounds contradictory," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. you bite his arm in response. he yelps loudly in true hyunjin fashion.

"you're actually so gorgeous it maddens me. how are you real," you pinch his cheek slightly, and he only screeches louder. "how are you mine?" you add, poking his nose, and he wraps an arm around your midriff, before throwing you back into the bed, this time hovering over you.

"because you're you, so i can't be anything but yours."

"give me a minute," you sigh, closing your eyes. "i can't handle your words and your hair at the same time."

"you're an idiot," he laughs, and it sounds so genuine, a barely concealed 'thank you' peeking behind the syllables, as he buries his head in your neck. you can't help but smile in response.

"let me look at you," you cradle his face between your hands, your noses brushing against one another. your gaze turns serious as you drink in each feature of his. you love his long hair, love running your hands through it and braiding his locks before you sleep. but his short hair makes his features more prominent, undisturbed by stray strands that never want to remain in place.

you can feel his cheeks warm up underneath your touch, his gaze growing shier under your scrutinization, his head tilting to the side, pressing further onto your palm. nothing about your love has changed, even after three years of dating.

"you really like it?" he asks, tone quiet, lips brushing against your own, velvet meeting velvet.

"i do," you whisper, before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "you know what's insane about you?"

"do tell," he smiles, bopping his nose against your own.

"your face is so goddamn pretty, and yet, it is the least beautiful thing about you."

"i know," he smiles, pecking your cheek, then your wrist in a tenderness that makes your heart drop to your knees. "you're the most beautiful part of me."

#youre the most beautiful part of me #excuse me while i go fkn sob #but i agree that hyunjin is so much more than his beautiful face #god I love him sm it hurts sometimes #purple is my fav colour and i actually died when i saw purple hair hyunjin #ik I've said this before but ill say it again #i love how you write hyunjin <3 #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #skz hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #sahar's gems

[softquokka]

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

#first this broke my heart #and then it fixed it back up #istg i've never cried sm while reading a fic #whewwww #this was something else #skz leeknow #lee know #leeknow angst #sahar's gems

[softquokka]

Disclaimer: This is all for fun and I love Minho. He's just my little guy with the love language of cooking for his members, making sure they're wellfed and paying for their food without caring about the price. He helps them with dance and looks for things they ask him to look for. He loves cats and plays with the strays. I love my little guy, so this is just for fun!!

*I paraphrased some of these, and used my own translations for some (I mean technically translations are always paraphrasing, right?), so these might not be his exact words (they're not. He said them in Korean, I wrote them in English).

#who called me just now? i told you i would kill you. i really will #thissss aksjsjsj #lee know #skz

[softquokka]

good evening. I love han jisung

Good evening i love seo changbin

#stray kids #skz #han jisung

[softquokka]

#i think i need to sit down #don't ask me anything - #oh boy oh boy #han #han jisung #jisung han #skz han

[softquokka]

Echoes of love

chapter ii. to remember— teaser

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin— cocooning the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, to leave the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear.

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you— the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one— your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory.

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse.

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance.

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you.

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you.

“No, just in time.”

#clutching my head #omg cant wait to see the ending 😭😭😭 #sahar's gems #straykids

[softquokka]

Happiest birthday to you, beloved @astraystayyh ! You're such a blessing to the world, and the people who get to spend their time in your presence as so very fortunate. I hope that you get to see all the happiness and sunshine and love your heart can hold 💕✨ I hope that you get to live atleast one of your delulu dreams 🤭 You're Hyune to my Hannie, and I'm beyond grateful for you, and your amazing fics 💕 Keep writing, keep flourishing. I love you ✨💕

ps: this is how I envision us, kissy faces and all 🥰

#happy birthday saharrrrr #lysmmm #stay for a lifetime then x thats my plan #skz #stray kids #sahar's gems

[softquokka]

I FEEL ABSOLUTELY NORMAL ABOUT THIS HAN JISUNG!!

LIKE ABSOLUTELY NOT LOOSING MY MIND EVER SINCE THE PHOTOS CAME OUT

pic 1 - pinterest : pic 2 - ily8skz/ig

#han jisung what the actual fuckkk #like not to be a hoe but.....THE FREAKING JAISTTT AJDHAJSMA #its making me insane #and feel things #holy mother of god #im in heaven #fine as hell #skz #stray kids #han jisung #hannie #jisung han #jisung hard hours #skz han #skz han jisung

[softquokka]

I absolutely love it when my mornings start by reading your masterpieces because DAMN! How you are always able to capture and express emotions so perfectly is beyond me, like reading this was pure poetry!

“Hyunjin comes in and out of your life as an ephemeral tide, gently brushing your shores. You cling to the sea shells his oceans sometimes throw at your feet” Uh ma'am? Who will pay for my therapy now??

Also this one “The water was right beside you and yet your only wish was to swim in his eyes.” AND THIS TOO “Because I'm drowning in my want for you.”

You capture Hyune so perfectly, his romantic self so beautifully shines thru your work! I hope he gets to read your works, I know he'll be so happy 🥹❤️

(hyune is so lana del ray coded 🤌🏻)

you're in the wind, i'm in the water

hyunjin x reader. friends to lovers with a pinch of unrequited love (it's very much requited dw). this is pure brainrot so suggestive at the end. also reader wears a two piece swimsuit.

a.n: again, sanest response i could have to this hyune. please enjoy my descent to madness :) also the last scene is heavily inspired by my favorite dialogue in the song of achilles!!

The first time you went on a vacation with Hyunjin’s family, you were only seven years old.

You don't clearly remember the island his parents took you to, the details of the travel elusive to your memory's grasp. But you remember Hyunjin- his hair darkening under the touch of the saline sea, akin to a night sky devoid of its stars. You remember the dimple on his left cheek- the sheer pride in you each time you managed to bring it to light. And you remember thinking that Hyunjin was pretty, for the first time in your small existence.

It's a thought that scorched itself indelibly into your brain, and as the years cascaded by, the branches of your love grew, each leave bearing new adjectives to describe Hyunjin- caring, emotional, talented.

But never yours.

You're both older now, and you see him less since his house is no longer right next to yours, the rhythm of life distancing you both. Hyunjin comes in and out of your life as an ephemeral tide, gently brushing your shores. You cling to the sea shells his oceans sometimes throw at your feet- the rare times when your schedules align, when you can see him beyond the confines of your phone, in pixelated video calls late into the night.

And it seems as if you've caught a rare shell this time- one with an ivory pearl hidden within it. Because you're traveling once again with him.

You're all much different, the passage of time marked you in different, but palpable ways. But your presence with Hyunjin's family still felt just as effortless as it did when you were seven. You never had to second guess what you said or how you acted with them. You were just like running water, flowing naturally within the nooks and crannies of his family.

And at night, under the moon's watchful gaze, your hushed conversations with Hyunjin remained. Beneath a shared blanket knitted by his mom, the warm sand melded with your feet, his dimple appearing once again at every word you uttered. He was still as pretty, perhaps even more so with time's gentle sculpting, molding his features into much sharper ones. It seemed only fitting for a soul as beautiful as his.

"I want to take you somewhere tomorrow," he had whispered excitedly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, momentarily leaving you breathless- tongue dissolving in your mouth like ivory seafoam.

"You want to kidnap me?" you playfully asked, nudging him.

"You don't want to come with me?" he pouted, his gaze locked into yours, pupils appearing much darker with the absence of the sun, like a boundless ocean. The water was right beside you and yet your only wish was to swim in his eyes.

"I want to," you admitted.

"Anywhere?" he asked, irises trembling slightly as he sought your response. You were both very different, chemicals binding his molecules, and your love for him binding yours. You stood faraway from one another- you in the water and he in the wind, stirring your waves, submerging you in the seas of your longing.

"Anywhere."

...

Faraway land punctures the ocean you're gazing at, crystal blue water filling the small pool Hyunjin took you to. You admit it's a breathtaking view, only your eyes can't depart from Hyunjin's figure.

He jumped into the pool first, while you went to retrieve your camera from your bag. And now you stand by the door, heart caught in your throat, as you watch him swim around. Hyunjin is graceful, in the way he moves his limbs, bending the water to his will. It doesn't look like he's swimming, rather dancing on liquid ground.

Kkami joyfully barks once he sees you, and Hyunjin finally lifts his eyes, locking them with yours. He is pretty, unattainable, a singular star outshining all the celestial light. Foolish of them to even think they could compare.

And he's still not yours.

"I’ll take a picture of you both," you smile softly, willing yourself to conceal the lump growing in your throat. Hyunjin nods, draping his hand over Kkami's body, softly scratching the spot behind his ear. You take the first pic, capturing the tenderness in Hyunjin’s eyes. This one's for you alone.

"Okay, look at the camera," you call out cheerfully, and they both turn to look at you in unison. Though your bodies did not touch, the intensity of Hyunjin's gaze seemed to sear into your skin, igniting a fire within you. Foolish of you to dream of more.

You set the camera aside, before sitting at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the cool water. Hyunjin swims towards you, positioning himself between your legs, his warm hand wrapping around your ankle. You want to flee, to go back to to the innocence of seven, to never recognize how pretty Hyunjin is, to avoid the heartbreak of dreaming of someone you'll never have.

"Come swim with me," he pouts, palm pressing against your damp skin. You shake your head, a teasing smile on your face, and he pulls you to him, hands holding your waist promptly to prevent you from sinking under.

You free yourself from his intoxicating hold, before diving into the water, a desperate attempt to get away from him. Because when Hyunjin held your waist, a tenderness so earnest in his eyes it made your heart skip a beat, you dared to imagine a future together. For a fleeting moment you became the ocean and he the sky, merging at the faraway horizon.

Hyunjin dives right after you, and then you both swim around one another, giddy smiles on your faces, your laughter echoing around the room. He tries to drown you, hands gliding across the surface of your skin, making goosebumps ripple in you. You attempt to do the same, but you soon regret it. His skin was smooth, taut muscles flexing under your touch; broad shoulders you wrapped your arms around, trying to push him down. Your hand accidentally brushed against his pulse, and you removed it as if it had burned you. There is life beating within him, wildly. But not for you. Never for you.

"Wait, hold on. Your straps are loosening," he notices, reaching for your arm and spinning you around, your back now facing him. "Can I?" he asks, voice dipping to a lower timber. You feel it in the depths of your stomach, depths only he can unravel.

"Yes," you whisper, as he undoes the loose knot of your swimsuit, the one behind your neck still holding up the fabric against your skin. You can feel his cold breath traveling across your bare back, crystalizing the droplets of water trailing on it. His fingers are a stark warmth as they brush against your spine, fingertips gently grazing your skin, like a delicate feather. You imagine your body is molten wax, and he's the seal stamp pressing onto you, molding you whichever way he'd like.

He's tentative as he grabs the undone straps, wrapping them in a knot. Or at least attempting to. You can tell that he's shaking, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. "Im sorry, I didn't tie it well," he giggles sheepishly, undoing the knot once again. You don't reply, unsure of what words will stumble out of your mouth. 'I don't mind you touching me' instead of 'it's okay'.

You turn around once he's done, but he doesn't move back, his body mere centimeters away from yours. You can see the rise and fall of his chest, the slight blush creeping up his neck, coloring him in the prettiest shade of crimson. The droplets cascading down his body, forging a tantalizing path you wish you could undergo. His dampened hair, a shade darker than his usual color. His lips slightly parted, rosy as they've always been. His adam's apple bobbing up and down furiously.

And you suddenly can no longer breathe.

Beneath the water, his hand encircles your wrist, a touch so faint you almost believe that you've imagined it. His fingers trail down, holding your palm and bringing it to his face. He closes his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale, one you inhale right back in. You're cradling his cheek, his hand right on top of yours, holding it in place.

"Hyunjin..." you start, but he shakes his head, eyes still shut.

"Please," he whispers, "just for a little." and the clouds slightly uncover, a singular sun ray piercing through them- one petal of hope unfurling at his words.

"Don't- don't do this," you plead back, tone tinged with panic. You couldn't have him, not even for a second, not even in a dream. That's the way things are. Two parallel lines, traveling down the same path, forever adjacent, but never merging as one.

Hyunjin plants a soft kiss on your wrist, lips barely brushing against your pulse. You've never truly known gentleness until this moment.

"If I told you that this trip with you is the happiest I’ve been in a while, would you believe me?" he whispers against your skin, head slightly tilted.

You shake your head no.

"If I ask you something would you be honest with me? I'm tired, yn," he says, his voice softening as it always did when he uttered your name. As if the syllables were always coated in honey, even in his sadness, in his anger, and now, in his pleading for you.

"I will," you respond with an equally quite voice, and yet it resounds loudly around the room, amplified by the consequences looming around the corner.

"Do you want me?" he asks simply, expecting you to easily uncover a secret you've buried for years, to dust the weight of your fear in mere seconds.

You remain silent and Hyunjin deflates a bit, shoulders slumping forward, the dimple in his face vanishing completely.

"Because I'm drowning in my want for you."

A water droplet falls from the strands of his hair, landing softly on his mouth. You follow its descent, as he licks his lips nervously, his hold on your wrist faltering. The wind is gliding across the water- he's offering himself to you. Who are you to ever refuse?

Your lips crash on his before you even realize it, years of longing exploding before your eyes, spilling from your mouth to his in the most vibrant colors. His lips are soft as you've always imagined them, and they move against yours perfectly, as if molded from the same dough, created to meet again and again in a fervor, and then in a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

You're kissing Hyunjin, and you aren't burning, disintegrating under the weight of longing for someone so unattainable. You aren't Icarus- you flew too close to the sun but it hadn't burned you, instead it embraced you, it's now wrapping its hands around your waist, pressing your chest to its warm one. It's a touch you welcome, one that liquefies in your veins like molten amber.

You wrap your legs around Hyunjin’s waist, as he walks backward until your back is against the pool railing. Your hands are tugging his damp strands, fingers threading through his locks the way sunshine weaves between the leaves. He tastes sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever had in your life. And you're greedy, you can't get enough of him, so you part for a second only to meet again, his hands digging into your sides. Chest to chest, skin to skin, heart to heart.

"Say it," Hyunjin whispers against your lips, "say that you want me back."

"I want you. So much, Hyune. You're the only one I’ve ever wanted," your words wash over him, erasing every doubt that was anchored in his heart. How could you not have seen it, all this time? In each photograph you took, his gaze, always on you. The fondness in his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks, only ever coming forth for you.

You lean away, head dipped down to kiss his shoulders. Your lips trail down his collarbones, moving to the mole on his arm. He smells like chlorine, and the sweet scent of your monoi oil. Hyunjin is pretty, Hyunjin is warm, Hyunjin is yours.

Your eyes meet his and you both let out giddy giggles, the flush of your cheeks matching his. His lips are slightly swollen, and he bites the lower one as he glances at Kkami, who was idly watching you both.

"Do you think we traumatized him?" you ask in a hushed whisper.

"I think he's glad this happened and he no longer has to hear my rants about you," Hyunjin smiles sheepishly and you laugh, the sound reverberating through Hyunjin’s heart.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your laugh?" he asks, thumb swiping across your cheek with a tenderness that leaves you dizzy in its trail.

"You have," you whisper, the sound of it getting caught in your throat.

"And this?" he gently grazes your cupid bow. "Have I told you how much I love your lips?"

"You haven't," you say, mouth parting slightly at his words.

"This then," he trails across your neck, skimming your pulse. "Did I tell you how I feel about your blush? How it always always starts up your neck? Always so pretty?"

"No," you are breathless now, shuddering under his touch.

"What about this?" his hands hold your waist, kneading the tender flesh. "Did I ever tell you? About this?" They go over your hips, gliding across the bare skin. "Surely I did."

You shake your head. Skin burning up where he had touched it. He smiles, tongue poking against his cheek, hands going to your back, tracing over your spine, undoing the knots of your swimsuit. "And this? Did I tell you how much I want you?"

You close your eyes, wind meeting water. "Tell me again."

#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids #sahar's gems #also the lana ref? delicious

[softquokka]

♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── exist..

pairing || bang chan x reader

summary || all he wanted to do was protect you, if only for a moment.

genre/s || fluff. hurt. comfort.

mina’s notes || been feeling some sort of way and just needed some channie comfort lately. please enjoy ♡ 

Quietly Chan crept through the front door of his dorm. The last time he looked at a clock, the time read our 3:42 am, which meant everyone in the dorm was, or should be, asleep with the day they had. As he moved as silently as he could, a bright sticky note on the wall before the hall to the bedrooms caused him to pause and read it over. ‘You did great today’, the note read in your handwriting. Without realizing it, a smile crept across his face. Of course, you’d leave a note here for the other members to see too. It was one of the many reasons he knew that the members loved you and you loved them. You found ways to take care of them without them ever asking you to. A small laugh escaped his lips as he remembered when Felix said that while Chan is officially dating you, it felt like they all got a partner too. Notes like this popped up from time to time, always making him wonder who was in on it with you. Continuing his journey to his much-needed bed, his thoughts drifted to how he could repay the favor this time.

Entering his room, he didn’t expect to see a silhouette sitting in the middle of his dark room. Love? He called out softly, trying not to scare you with the way he was sneaking around his own home. The silent response was enough to tell him something was off, well that, and the fact you were sitting up in his bed well after what had to be 4 am now. Had he missed an important date? Was he supposed to be somewhere today and accidentally stood you up? Is everything ok with yours and his families? A million questions came crashing into his mind before he visibly shook it off and walked towards where you were sitting, eyes taking in the way his sweatshirt extended into sweater paws over your hands, and the way the hood was just low enough to cover your face. In an instant he panicked on the inside, trying to run down all the possible reasons for this. Did you have a nightmare and wake up to an empty room?

Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, gaging your reaction, before scouting further into it and in front of you when you didn’t protest his initial action. As if he was trying not to break the most expensive glass piece he had ever interacted with, he reached out to take one of your paws into him, noting how wet the ends felt. His chest began to ache as he gingerly pulled you into him tucking your face into the crook of his neck, fingers gently moving up and down your back. Words formed in his mind before disappearing before he could open his mouth. Time felt like it was passing too quickly, and he couldn’t get a single word out to comfort you, all he could do was hold you close to him. Trying to back track on all your conversations lately to try to get a clue as to what may have happened, he breath hitched when you finally spoke. I feel like... silence filled the pause, Chan just wanting to urge you to continue. I feel like, a little bit like I’ve failed, you whispered after the long minutes of him holding you close. Part of him wanted to ask why but he knew that if he spoke at this moment, you’d never want to finish the thoughts that were clearly begging to be let you. I’m watching everyone around me succeed at their dreams, your breath fanned against his neck as your spoke, and I feel like I’m stuck.

In that moment, he felt like the dark had come alive and was trying to take you away from him. Pressing his lips together, his eyes shifted to the ceiling, eyes catching the last few glow-in-the-dark stars you had put on his ceiling one night when all he wanted to do was go stargazing with you. I… I don’t know what to do anymore. I just feel like I’m existing and not living, you finished with fresh tears wetting the collar of his shirt. All too well did he know this pain that you were feeling. The feeling of simply existing, rather than feeling like you were in control and living your life. Yet he knew that there wasn’t much that he could do in the form of words for you, so he settled for letting your words echo around in his mind. As your arms wrapped around his waist, he pulled his attention off the ceiling and instead to the side of your head. When your fingers dug into his shirt and face burrowed deeper into his neck with a body shaking sob, he understands that while he had a million things to tell you, mostly the reasons why he was so proud of you, he let his hands put pressure on your back, pulling you somehow even closer to him. You needed to feel grounded in this life. Slowly, he started to adjust the both of you so that instead of sitting in the bed, you were laying on your side, face still protected in the space you had called home so many times before.

All he wanted to do was dive into your brain and chase the demons, monsters, and darkness that haunted you on days like this out. His chest felt constricted as his fingers danced across your back, knowing that you didn’t want to break any further. How long had you been in this room like this? Hours? The day? Desperately he wanted to tell you that you weren’t a failure and were on your own journey in this life, one that deceiving looks like someone else’s but had its own twist and turns for you. The dreams you were longing for were going to come to you eventually, but you just needed to wait a little longer. Something he had experienced firsthand. Yet, he knows that those words would do nothing for you tonight and instead settled for being the tether that kept you grounded. Soon he felt your breaths start to even out, encaged in his arms, a small piece of his chest swelled knowing he was at least able to get you to sleep off a little bit of this. Perhaps in the morning, some of the darkness will have been lightened. Pressing a long kiss into your hair, he made a mental note to make tomorrow filled with things that made you happy, that caused his favorite smile to grace your face. He would shower you with all the love he could possibly give.

from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡ requests are open.

#i relate w the mc so much because this is exactly how ive been feeling for the past few weeks #and reading this fic was like a warm hug #thank you for this ♡ #fics i would reread #bang chan #chan #channie #bangchan fluff #bangchan #stray kids

[softquokka]

I'm never getting over this era

#rip 😔 #this han is for the history books #stray kids #skz #han jisung #han skz

[softquokka]

My sun

a little something for channie's birthday, inspired by this pic he sent :') basically chan is tired and you're his sun. hurt/comfort.

chan is exhausted. you could sense it before even seeing him- from the way he quietly dropped his keys onto the kitchen table, to how he refrained from turning on any lights on his way to your bedroom; as if trying to minimize his existence, to soften the sounds he leaves on his trail so the world would finally allow him to rest.

or maybe you simply knew from the way your heart constricted in your chest as soon as you heard him open the door to your apartment. you were worried about him all week, sensing that his soul felt a bit heavier for him to carry, harder to care for due to all the work piled up on him.

you hurry to your feet, meeting him halfway at the entrance to your room. his gaze softens the moment it lands on you, with slightly puffy eyes and discheveled ginger hair- he's beautiful, even when he's utterly tired.

"hey, baby," you greet, opening your arms wide for him. he sinks into your embrace, sighing softly when his forehead presses onto your shoulder blade. you rub your hands soothingly across his back, willing the tension in his body to dissipate, to desert his bones and seep into yours. you'd do it all to lessen his load, even if it meant adding onto your own.

"did you eat?" you ask after a while, your hand smoothing down the back of his hair. he simply shakes his head against your body, a slight exhale escaping him and traversing your skin, like stones skipping across a tranquil river.

"let's eat together, hm?" you suggest, gently peeling yourself away from him. "i've made you dinner."

he manages a tired smile in reply, and the light in his eyes still seemed muted to you. but you kiss his cheek and the corners of his mouth tug upward a bit more, and it's a slight progress you'd take.

you lead him by the hand to the kitchen, settling him on the stool before heating up the meal you've made beforehand. you quickly move around, plating the food and pouring him his favorite soft drink. your hand brushes against his shoulder silently as you sit down in front of him.

you both eat in silence, his warm palm pressed against your knee. you didn't always need words to fill your home- your love spoke louder than man-made syllables.

"thank you, honey," chan whispers when he's done, a smile gracing his plump lips. it's brighter, and the light in his eyes sparkles even more when you kiss him in reply. you can't help but press your lips against his again, and again, and again, hoping that with each kiss the lights would gradually turn on within him, one by one.

"you can shower while i clean up, okay?" you beam at him, lips still tantalizing close to one another. he tilts his head upwards, placing a kiss on your nose in gratitude.

some time later, chan climbs onto your bed, the smell of his shampoo tickling your nostrils. he's wearing a black crewneck, the one you've heated up beforehand for him. you hoped that the warmth from the soft material would seep into his soul, igniting candles where the rain seems to have finally ceased.

you retrieve your moisturizer from your nightstand, before straddling chan's lap. he shifts slightly, settling his back against the headboard, allowing you to sit comfortably on his midriff. you scoop a bit of the cooling cream, before lathering it on his skin. your eyebrows are slightly knitted as you gently massage it in, you miss the way chan's eyes glimmer as he looks at you- the shinning lights are back on for you.

he grabs your wrist, halting your movement, before turning it around and placing a tender kiss on your pulse. the ghost of his breath sends shivers down your spine, and you retaliate by placing the tiniest peck on his palm, before trailing up his arm, his shoulder, then his jaw. chan giggles quietly as you pepper his entire face with kisses, making sure that no inch of skin is forgotten.

his face is dewy from the moisturizer, a pink hue tinting his cheeks from your kisses, and he looks so breathtakingly pretty as you finally curl your hand around the back of his neck, lowering his head to meet his lips in a tender kiss.

the seconds swiftly trickle into minutes, not that you'd know of as your mouths move lazily against one another, time no longer existing for the two of you. "i love you," he whispers, as you pull apart, slightly dazed. you gently cradle his cheek, thumb swiping tenderly from his temple to his under eye, "i love you too."

you turn off the light, before settling against his chest. his arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer. you can feel his heart beating underneath you- a steady rhythm that would serve as backdrop to your dreams, later that night. he smells like coconut soap, and a faint whisper of his cologne that never truly leaves his clothes, even after laundry. you lightly untangle yourself from his hold, moving around until his face nestles in the crook of your neck.

"i want to hold you tonight," you whisper, fingers running through his slightly damp hair.

"thank you," he says quietly, pausing to press a kiss to your collarbones. "thank you for being my sun."

his body is snug against yours, a comforting warmth emanating from him to you. holding him feels like embracing the clouds and sinking into velvet pillows, it feels like coming home where all the lights are on, idly waiting for your return.

#i wrote this for the galaxies in chan's eyes and the incredible warmth he emanates. #prev tags #YES YES YES #this is exactly how i felt when I read this 😭😭😭 #i literally have no words bye- #sobbing #stray kids #bangchan #sahar's gems

[softquokka]

@astraystayyh you'd like this 🥹

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・710 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・hyunjin x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲(𝘀)・domestic fluff, established relationship, just self-indulgent brainrot about hyun's dimples tbh

𝟵:𝟬𝟮 𝗔.𝗠. — When your eyes open, you’re met with a ceiling doused in flaxen sunlight, the foliage outside your window casting oscillating shadows against your bedroom walls. As you blink your drowsiness away, you become aware also of the warm weight on your chest and the hill of tousled hair in your periphery.

You lift your head about an inch off the pillow to take in your current circumstance, and it takes every ounce of will power in you to stifle the sound of delight that bubbles to your lips.

Hyunjin does this thing in his sleep sometimes, where he’ll find a way to sandwich you between him and the mattress (he’s only using his upper half today; his toes are hanging off the edge of the bed), and then attach to you like a sloth to its favorite branch, his arms confined around your waist, his head nestled on top of your collar.

It doesn’t happen often, granted, but it might as well be your birthday whenever it does. He wakes up an embarrassed mess in the face of your glee, and you don’t let him live it down for days afterward. You even have a rotation of jokes for the occasion by now, your favorite being the one where you go, wow, you must really like me, huh? And he answers yes like he’s being held at gunpoint.

Happy birthday to me, you hum.

You gently sweep your fingers through your boyfriend’s unwieldy locks, still soft and scented from his shower last night. The movement causes Hyunjin’s eyelids to twitch, his throat to thrum with a low, weary grunt; and he shifts a little, burying his face in the crook of your neck, flexing his hands where they lay curled against your back.

And then he realizes.

“No,” he whispers, the sound hoarse and horrified.

“Morning, baby,” you coo. “How did you sleep?”

“No," he repeats, this time dragging out the vowel of the word. And he untangles an arm to drag the duvet over his head, burrowing into the cozy material.

Not about to let him escape, you follow suit, only to discover that he has assumed the fetal position beneath the covers. You finally emit the giggle that you’ve been holding back since you woke up.

Cotton falls against the surface of your cheek when you settle into your new position: sort of awkwardly tucked near Hyunjin’s side, your face so close to his that your noses brush together when you try to look at him. The morning light is mostly snuffed by the fabric over your heads, but there’s just enough visibility for you to drink in the rosy coloration of his skin and the rich carob brown of his tired eyes.

“Such a drama queen,” you murmur. Your hands cradle his cheeks and your lips press to the tip of his nose, to which he scrunches up his face in faux disdain. “As if I didn't already know that you're secretly some sort of tree-dweller.”

“You’re so annoying,” Hyunjin replies, absolutely zero conviction in his small, sleep-ridden voice, and you kiss his nose another time, then another. This coaxes a soft, helpless smile to his face, the kind that turns his eyes to little boomerangs and dots dimples on his cheeks like sesame seeds.

“And you—”

You move to kiss said dimples now, your lips moulding against the tender hollows that you so adore. In response, Hyunjin bursts into a peal of bashful laughter, which ironically causes them to disappear.

“—are everything.”

There's a flurry of movement, a flourish of cloth; and then you once again find yourself lying beneath him, except now he is wide awake, and surveying you with such immense affection that you feel like a bowl of gelatin.

He dips down and kisses you, as slowly and sweetly as the pace of the halcyon morning. Raven locks of hair skim your closed eyelids; slender fingers curve over your jaw; the soft sounds of your lips moving together buoy against the underside of the covers.

“Oh, by the way,” you break away to say with a playful lilt, and he preemptively groans because he knows what's coming, "you must really like me."

Hyunjin replaces his mouth upon yours before you can make another sound, his next words nearly unintelligible when they vibrate against you.

"You’re lucky I do."

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

#this was sooo soft and cute #aaah i can imagine hyune being like this onl #*oml #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids

[softquokka]

BANG CHAN LIVE IN AROUND AN HOUR OK GET READY GUYS

#channie is live #the world is healing #i missed him juuuuust the normal amt yeah #screaming sobbing crying #stray kids #bangchan

[softquokka]

8 things about bangchan → happy bangchan day ★

#happy birthday love of my life #my only comfort zone #the cutest most kindest human being #happy birthday channie #bangchan #chris bang #bang chan #stray kids

[softquokka]

The Excitement of Strawberries (18+)

Synopsis: Leaving a life behind, you holiday on the golden shores of Australia where you are met with the unlikeliest of help in the form of the muscled leader of Stray Kids.

Content info: Chan x afab reader, idol Chan, strangers to lovers au, travel au, idol au, fluff/smut/slight angst

General Warnings: Alcohol consumption, depressed reader, stressed Chan, Smut (specifics under the cut)

Word count: 11k

Smut: dom/sub dynamics, oral (m,f receiving), unprotected sex, choking, creampie

Mature content - minors do not interact.

You sat on the beach behind the house, cursing yourself. You didn’t sit on the lounger, oh no, you sat on the hot, hard sand. Because you didn’t deserve nice things. You had hoped this time would be different. Different to all the other times when you felt so suffocated that you had to run away. But, different, it was not. And run away, you had. Digging in your feet, you sighed heavily. You were currently on a beach in the backyard of a gorgeous, rented holiday house. In Australia, to be exact. All the massive houses shared the beach and it was stunning. From the patio you simply crossed your grassy lawn, littered by a few palm trees, to where the sand reached up to say hello. From there, only a few short meters to the entrancing waves. You sighed again. You had chosen the furthest place you could think of in order to escape the mundane pace of your existence. To escape your dreary office job. To escape the last man who loved you. No, you didn’t deserve nice things. You had managed to persuade your brother and some friends to join you but they were only there for a few days - they couldn’t take extended leave to ‘gallivant along the Aussie coast’. They acted as though you ending a relationship again was no big deal - that single women were a force to be reckoned with. But, you knew different - you could see the concern, the quick darting of the eyes when they discussed their relationships. Your brother had been with his fiancee for nine years and they couldn’t be more in love. Or perhaps, the fact that they were waiting for marriage before deflowering each other was motivation to stick it out. They weren’t judgemental of your ‘faster’ lifestyle but it was obvious they thought that sex had something to do with it. One day, when you’ve had enough tequila, you would march right up to them and tell them “Don’t forget the daddy issues!” with a huge smile on your face. But for now, you would just sit here and detest yourself - waiting for the signal to run again.

“Hannah! Hannah! Hannah! Hannah! Hann-”

“Oh my GOD, stop! You’re worse than Lucas!”

Chan chuckled as he carried the baggage inside. He loved teasing his sister as much as possible - especially since they only got to see each other once or twice a year (when he was on tour or home for a holiday). His family had been vacationing in a luxurious house on a beach for the last two weeks and he had managed to take some time off to join them. They only had a few days left but he would stay on, having the other members and some friends joining for a couple more days. He greeted everyone, sent a hopeful look towards the barbecue and when he saw the lamb chops cooking (his favorite) he headed upstairs with a satisfied hum to get changed. Yes, he would always wear black - just in different styles according to the weather. He found Berry outside and squealed, chasing her all over the place. When he reached the water, he noticed a figure on his right. You were still sitting in the sand, scowling at yourself. Your gardens were massive so you weren’t close, but he could still make out your pursed lips. What could possibly annoy you in this paradise? You were wearing a beautiful, black bikini and Hannah caught him staring too long as she pounced on him.

“Hot right? I don’t know what her deal is. She mostly wears black, sulks here and there, always has a bowl of strawberries with her and drinks like a sailor.”

Chan saw your towel and, sure enough, there was a little bowl of strawberries. Weird. Ears burning as he realised he had been caught by his little sister, he turned around and headed to the patio to help set the table. The night was spent with his family - playing games, eating well and just sharing stories. When the others turned in, he stayed behind on a lounger to just drink in the sight of the stars and the sound of the surf. He heard some noise and looked to his right to see you and your group who had just come out to drink on the patio. After you had taken your third shot you embraced your friend with a bright smile on your face. But as you turned away from them, in his general direction, he saw that brightness dim. Your face had fallen into what could only be described as a look of loss - of hopelessness. How had your friends not noticed that you were putting on an act for them? He looked at the others and noticed how they were all laughing and drinking, playing beer pong - simply not aware of anything outside of their pleasure. They looked happy to see you and he was sure they cared but they were not trying to get through to you. They didn’t know they had to at that moment. Chan felt a small hint of relativity but shoved it down. He was merely observing you, not trying to make contact. He had his own problems. Back in Korea, he couldn’t stop working, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep and couldn’t stop worrying about the Kids. The stress had been so much that the doctor had to force him to go on a holiday. Even so, he couldn’t let go completely. His appetite returned once he saw his family’s cooking which was a step in the right direction but he still couldn’t turn it off. He felt guilty for traveling since the songs wouldn’t record themselves. Yes, the members would be joining him in a couple of days but they were still there, practising. Practising without him. What if Hyunjin fell down a flight of stairs, or Changbin dropped a weight on himself? Who would be there to yell at them and then take care of them? He wished he could be the type of person to just shirk their responsibilities and fly away to a faraway country. He wanted more than anything to want to escape but his ingrained sense of duty did not leave any space for this desire. Sighing heavily, he stood up and went to bed. 

The next morning, you were on the patio early, eating your strawberries.You were getting tired of the fake optimism directed at you so you needed some time to yourself. You were in black again - this time a simplistic beach dress over your bikini. Black symbolised grief and in a way, you suppose you were. Grieving. It was a time old tradition - you left your old life behind and, for a time, donned black. You felt a small part of you die each time. The hole left behind where the feeling of home resided, where the familiarity of your colleagues were, and where the warmth of another body lay. Sometimes, you would see something or hear something and you would reel back, gasping and clutching your chest as if you had been shot. The pain was sharp and blinding but it beat the cloying feeling towards the end of each life. Where you couldn’t take the stagnant air anymore or see the same faces over and over again. But how many pieces did you have left before you really died? As the melancholy swept over you again, you shakily picked up another ripe strawberry and bit into it, letting the juices drench your lips. As your eyes rose from the table you saw something emerging from the waves. A someone, rather. Strawberry still poised between your lips, you simply took this creature in. Broad shoulders, water dripping down a chiseled chest and thighs rippling - he strode out of the water with a purpose, reminding you of Mr Darcy in that scene of Pride and Prejudice. He raised his hand in an awkward wave and you blinked rapidly, realising you had been staring. You finished biting into the strawberry, put the rest down and waved back instinctively. From what you could see, his eyes were kind and you felt a warmth spread through you. You hurriedly got up, taking the bowl with you and headed inside. He reminded you of someone but it couldn’t be. Shaking off the absurdity, you grabbed some tea and waited for the others to wake up. 

“Y/n, you can’t keep doing this.” You had been tanning outside with your friends when your brother suddenly spoke up. “Where is it this time? Russia was too cold, Portugal was too boring, Spain was too dusty and Mexico was too dangerous. I can’t keep up with you anymore and we’re worried.” You sat up slowly, finding everyone’s eyes on you. Have they been planning this all along? You hugged your knees to your chest and said nothing. Your friend, Lola, sighed and picked up from there, “You don’t save, you keep traveling and every time you set off for a new adventure you are certain this one is going to last. But it never does. You put no roots down and come back more broken each time. We want to help but we can’t do anything unless you want it.”

Your face paled and a couple of frustrated tears escaped. You didn’t know it was this bad but, honestly, you didn’t want to hear it because you felt guilty enough. The shame swept through you and they noticed, moving closer. “What happened to James? He treated you so well and he really seemed to love you - why did it end?” 

“That was the problem, he said he loved me.” You whispered.

“Excuse me?”

You looked at your brother and he lowered his eyes, knowing where this was headed. 

“Every time someone says they love me, I balk. I can’t stand those words. Despite me trying, my dad never said it back. He never showed any affection - he treated us horribly and made me feel as though I was not worthy of it. When someone says they love me, I question it. I become so insecure that I can’t appreciate them anymore. I feel suffocated and manipulated - even though I’m not - and I need to start over again. I don’t know how to handle someone caring about me, it feels wrong - weak.” You looked at your brother and his fiancee, “I don’t know how you managed to escape this toxic cycle but I am really happy for you. Please don’t worry about me, I am working on myself - I promise.” You were not working on yourself and he knew this but stood up anyway - deep down, he couldn’t handle you sharing your feelings with him as he was also broken. He just wouldn’t acknowledge it. You looked at him, seeing his thoughts but kept quiet, hoping that one day he would come to you. Lola held you after the others had left and let you cry on her shoulder. You would only allow yourself a few minutes of vulnerability before you gently pushed her away. 

“Thank you but I’m good. It’s really not as bad as you guys think! I love travelling, I feel alive and I swear I’m usually happy!” Your voice had started to rise as you laughed everything off. You stood up and started pacing under her gaze. 

“Y/n, you’re not good. I’m scared you’re going to crumble and we won’t be around to help! Don’t you want a place of your own? A cat? A credit score? Now that’s all I’m going to say, please think about it.”

She went back up and you stayed, pulling your dress over your head and dropping it onto the ground. You walked straight into the waves without a second thought - your only goal to wash away the embarrassment from the last half hour. You hated showing others your weaknesses and, quite honestly, you wanted to submerge yourself in the calming darkness. Was this depression? You didn’t think so - restlessness, more like. 

Chan had been setting up the barbecue for lunch when he noticed the loud voices from next door. He tried not to listen but heard a few words here and there - enough to know that you were in a tough situation. He turned around and caught you walking into the ocean, the sun glinting off your shoulders. You kept walking, not taking anything in around you and he felt a flicker of unease. He walked closer and pretended to be on his phone, just in case you thought he was spying. When you didn’t emerge after a few minutes he pocketed his phone and started towards where he had seen you but luckily, your head bobbed up again, just in time. He made sure you were okay before turning his back quickly. You walked out of the ocean and lay down in the sand, closing your eyes and basking in the sun. You hadn’t seen him and so you were very ungraciously sprawled out - he snuck a peek and chuckled softly at you, suddenly feeling an urge to make you smile. He wondered what a real smile would look like on your beautiful face. Shaking his head in confusion he forced himself to walk back to the house - he had to review some lyrics and could not get distracted. His family had just left and he had a bit of quiet time to focus before his friends arrived.

You were feeling a little anxious on the last night before your friends left. It had been tense since the talk and you didn’t want them to go on a bad note. But, as the wine started flowing and the music started playing, you realised this wasn’t going to be an issue. “Y/n, I’m going to miss you so much! Come home and visit when you can - let me know if I can help you choose your next destination.” Lola gushed as she took you in her arms. You giggled and let her sway you about - you felt a warm spark of gratitude as you realised you had been friends with her for just under twenty years. No matter where you were in the world, you would always have her to come back to. You all sang together, danced together and shared stories on the patio whilst the sun set in the background. The dark orange embers cast a deep glow over the garden and you wanted to weep at how beautiful it was. The trees swayed lazily, the warm breeze swept through the grass, and the lanterns lit everything up romantically. You all drank well into the night, the awkwardness forgotten, before falling into your plush beds. 

“Little bro! I miss you already, don’t worry about me okay? I’m the big sister so it needs to be the other way round. Travel safely and let me know when you get home.” He clutched you tightly and you extricated yourself, all the while beaming with love. You bid the others goodbye and watched them go, a wistfulness twisting your insides. What a luxury it was to be able to call a place home. Turning, you started to slowly make your way back to the house - only to stop in your tracks. Your hot neighbor had taken the trash out and was turned towards you. When he caught your eye he started to make his way over. Your heart started beating frantically as you finally took in every detail of him. The brown curly hair, the prominent nose and those sparkling chocolate eyes. What the fuck? It was him! Bang Fucking Chan. Kpop mastermind. And he was walking towards you. Frantically trying to come up with a game plan, you didn’t notice when he stretched out a hand. 

“Hey! I’m your neighbor.” You looked up at him (although, he wasn’t much taller) and grasped his hand nervously. “It’s Chris.” You narrowed your eyes slightly at him. So that’s how he wants to play it. “Y/n. Nice to meet you, Chris.” He clearly didn’t want to be recognised so you went along with it, pretending not to know who he was. His shoulders relaxed and you decided you had chosen the right route. 

“Where are you from, Y/n?”

“Oh, here and there. What about you, Chris?”

“Oh, here and there too.” He chuckled and you felt your cheeks heat up as you took in the one dimple. Your mother always said that one dimple meant fuck boy. Okay, not in so many words. But the sentiment was the same - you realised how right she was as this man suddenly became so much hotter. I need therapy. He lifted his arm to brush his hair off his face and you almost swooned at the sight of his biceps. Okay, you had to get out of here as he was dangerous to your dignity. You raked your hand through your own hair, catching the way his eyes jumped to your black, patterned nails and, clearing your throat, you started to say your ‘see you around’s. As you turned away, he impulsively grabbed your wrist.

“Wait! Uh… are you home alone?” You took a step back and narrowed your eyes.

“Is this the part where I should be scared?” His eyes widened as he realised how he had come across. “No! I meant some friends are coming to stay and we’re having a little thing tonight. If you have nothing to do then you’re more than welcome to drop by - if you want.” He shifted from one foot to the other and you found it adorable that this sexual icon was so nervous. To be honest, you found it suspicious - surely there was a darker side beneath his gentle exterior? You realised you had been deep in thought.

“I’ll think about it - think I might have some things to do around the house but I’ll see how I get on.”

“Great! When you hear the music blaring just pop over.” He grinned widely at you and you had to check yourself again. As you finally walked away he threw one last comment at you.

“I like your nails, by the way.”

You didn’t really have that much to do. You just wanted to seem busy - to seem successful and grounded. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel like any of those things. Heading to the piano, you played for an hour - your repertoire ranged from classical to jazz and, finally, even pop/punk. You sang along occasionally and carried on as you moved to clean the patio table. You turned on your Marshall speaker and decided to go for some old school Paramore. A shock jolted you when you heard a faint, melodic voice from the garden next door. Chan was sitting on his patio, typing away furiously on his infamous macbook and he was effortlessly singing along. You immediately stopped, but kept the music on. He had probably heard you and you were mortified - how could you forget that this talented man was right next door? You listened to his deep, honeyed tone and shivered. You were a fan but by no means hardcore. You knew their music and had even seen a few lives - including Chan’s Room. He wasn’t your bias (yes, you sort of had one) but you looked up to him when you saw how tired he was and yet made the effort to comfort Stays each week. You knew you were going to have to tell him that you knew who he was but you were happy to let this fantasy go on for a bit longer as you were sure he wanted utmost privacy. You settled down for your customary snack and simply basked in the situation. Meanwhile, Chan had heard everything. He was impressed at your piano playing and even more at your voice. It was clear you had some training and he was eager to know more. He had grown up with punk and so could not stop himself from joining in as he worked. When he noticed you had stopped, he looked up, only to see you enjoying your strawberries. He was dying to ask you about that but thought he might come off as perverted. Especially since he could not pull his gaze away from your lips as they surrounded the sweet fruit and bit down. It gave you an air of innocence, purity and sparked a dark desire within him. Why was he like this? Why did the thought of corrupting this present image of you stir such arousal within him? He hadn’t had sex in so long - the want was simply not there - so he supposed he should feel lucky that he had this intense urge to jump over the hedge and devour you, strawberries and all. And now he was thinking about food play. Sighing heavily, he got up to get the house ready for his guests.   

Hearing some chatter from your bedroom window you peaked out, to let out a surprised gasp. Of course it was them. You spotted a few members on the lawn, shoving each other and giggling very loudly. They were clearly teasing Chan on how rich he was which was winding him up immensely. He had his arms around Seungmin who wasn’t trying very hard to break loose. Either that or Chan was incredibly strong - you shuddered at that and wondered what it would be like to have his muscled grip on you. But there was no way he would pick you, especially as your gaze zoned in on some girls who were present. They were tiny, hair shiny and flowing down their backs, skirts incredibly short. You couldn’t make out their features but you were sure they were perfect too. You almost didn’t want to go but gave yourself a once over in the mirror - you were mostly confident about your body. Granted, you had more curves but who didn’t like those? Your tits were killer too and you planned on playing that up. You always had a fair number of men and women hitting on you - you knew they just wanted one thing but that didn’t bother you as turning off your feelings were your modus operandi. You didn’t sleep around but you were confident in that aspect too - you had needs and weren’t afraid to satiate them every once in a while. You were secretly a romantic though, having indulged in so many novels and movies throughout your life but that only fuelled your frustration when it came to relationships. Why couldn’t you let them in, fully? You laughed loudly, you were not going to wallow in your self-pity again. You had just taken a nap and you were ready to dance and have a drink so you went for a shower before getting ready.

It was already a couple hours into the party and Chan was getting restless. “You’re looking extra fine tonight, Channie.”

He turned his head and found Felix grinning at him. He looked down at himself, he was wearing black ripped jeans, black boots and a black tank that hung open on the sides. He had attempted to style his hair a little bit and donned a touch of makeup too.  

“We’re at a party, Lix.”

“Ah yeah? Had no idea.” He smiled impishly. “No, but for real, what’s going on? You’ve been glancing at that house for the last hour. Ohhhhhhh - now I see why.”

Chan’s head shot up at the sight of you slowly making your way over. Fuuuuuuuuuck. He felt his knees grow weak at the sight and took a sip of his drink - he had recently started drinking and was still getting used to it but he had never been more grateful for the cliche red cup in his hand. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your body - you were wearing a short, black dress with cutouts on the sides which accentuated your small waist and lush hips. The dress had a fair bit of cleavage too - not enough to look garish but it was enough to have him almost drooling. You were wearing greek sandals and three delicate gold earrings on one side and an intricate gold leaf spiralling around the other. He had seen you in way less when you were tanning but this stole his breath from him. 

“Stop staring, hyung! It’s getting weird”, Felix frantically whispered. Chan shook himself off and walked forward to greet you, dimple on full show. 

Your heart caught in your throat as you saw him up close - the silver jewelry glinted off his ears and the rings on his hand holding the cup made you swallow. Why did he always wear such tight jeans? His thighs were practically begging to be released. This is not good, you thought as your eyes met his intense ones. Why was he staring at you like that? When you met halfway, he grabbed you in a tight hug. So this is what his hugs feel like. You were not disappointed but you were confused. He brought you over to meet Felix who was still drinking in the sight of you both, grinning widely. 

“Felix, this is Y/n - she’s been my neighbour this holiday.” Felix pulled you into a hug too, he was just so happy to see this energy surrounding Chan.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. I assume you guys have been hanging out quite often then?” You chuckled nervously.

“Actually, this would be the first time.” Felix shot him a confused glance and quickly caught himself, stating he would go get you a drink. He would talk to Chan later. After he left, you found Chan giving you that strange look again.

“You’re looking really good tonight.”

“Thanks Chris, you too!” You both got a bit shy but managed to keep a casual conversation going. When you looked around you saw quite a few curious eyes on you - this may just be more nerve-wracking than you thought. Chan noticed your discomfort and thought fast.

“What do you call a fish in a bowtie? Sofishticated!”

You laughed more out of shock than actually finding it funny. He really was the dad of the group. “I just realised I have somewhere to be. Namely, over there.” You pointed at your house and he laughed too, fully relaxed. 

“Jesus Christ, don’t tell me she actually laughed at your joke. Don’t let her out of your sight.” Felix ambled over with your drink and you thanked him, giving it a taste. It was a strong rum and coke but that was exactly what you needed in the moment. 

“Channie, I need your help with this speaker!” A girl shot you a look and beckoned him over. It wasn’t hostile but it was definitely a look . Chan shot you an apologetic glance and lightly slapped Felix’s back, telling him to take care of you and that he’d be right back. 

“Would you like to meet the others?” You took a deep swig and nodded, now or never. You followed him and joined one of the circles. The others stopped talking and gave you a once over. You caught Hyunjin’s eye and your breathing stopped. This was your sort-of bias. He was just as beautiful in person. 

“Y/n, these are our friends. We have Jisung, Minho, Changbin, Jackson, Mark, Hyunjin, Nayeon and Dahyun”. You smiled at the others, pretending not to recognise them (pretty badly, you thought). 

“Hi, please don’t be offended if I ask for your names again numerous times tonight.” You blushed at their laughter and toasted along with them. Everyone was quite lovely although you noticed how the girls tried not to scrutinise your body. Some of the guys were not trying to hide the way their eyes raked over you. You were sure they weren’t looking at you for the same reason the girls were. Although, you weren’t sure about Nayeon. She was giving you doe eyes and you found her endearing. 

Drinks were flowing and you were currently in a debate with Changbin about which rapper was better - Eminem or Kanye (you were defending Eminem to the teeth) - when Chan sidled up to the group. He touched your waist lightly but withdrew when he noticed the others shoot him a look. 

“I see you guys are on your best behaviour as usual. Y/n, this is Sana - she’s chaotic in all the best ways.”

You smiled at the girl on his other side and saw how relaxed they were around each other. You felt disappointment sweep through you which really annoyed you. Why would you think he would actually be interested in you? Sana, however, was really friendly and complimented you a bit too much - shooting Chan a look. He took a big sip, hiding his tinted cheeks. You noticed Mark staring and, since Chan wasn’t up for grabs, you lifted your empty cup in a silent plea. He plucked it from your hand with a smile and went to top it up. You caught Chan frowning at his retreating back and shrugged your shoulders, engaging Felix in a talk about pc games. When Super Bowl started playing, your stomach clenched and you tried your best not to sing along - you were still acting as if you didn’t know them. This was one of the hardest things you had to do and eventually you needed to excuse yourself. You went inside to find the bathroom and, after freshening up, you walked into the kitchen to take a shot from one of the many bottles. Sana was there and you managed to coax her into joining you. 

“Y/n, you are mental.”

“Well you’re gorgeous. You and Chris look great together.” She blinked at you for a second before realising.

“Oh no! We’re not together. We’re practically siblings!” She laughed loudly at your embarrassed expression and pulled you into a hug. She leaned into you.

“Go get him.”

Speechless, you stepped back and went back to the group. Thoughts were racing through you - did that mean he liked you? You had only just met, it didn’t make sense. So maybe it was just sex? That didn’t seem like him but, to be honest, did you really know who he was based on a couple of videos? Rejoining the group you made sure to stand by his side and smile at him. You hardly looked at Mark when he handed you your drink, only muttering a ‘thanks’ in return. Chan happily moved closer to you and you guys fell into easy chatter again. 

“Are you enjoying the party, Y/n?” The music was loud so he had to lean in to make himself heard. “It’s exactly what I needed tonight, Chris.” He looked at you seriously and gently brushed your hair from your eyes. “Are you okay, though?” You thought for a minute and finally answered with a “I will be. For now, I just wanna be in the moment.” He smiled at you in understanding and you were struck again by how beautiful he was, inside and out. 

“Guys, accept the fucking shot!” You turned at Jisung’s voice, to be met with Hyunjin’s outstretched hands. You were struck again by how ethereal this human was, it wasn’t anything on a deep level, you were just human. He smirked at you and you suddenly felt a warm arm snake around your waist - looking up you saw Chan glaring at him. Laughing, he handed you the shots and stepped back. You all toasted again.  At this point you were all extremely tipsy but not drunk. You were at that stage where you felt confident yet cozy. The girls pulled you away after a while and you went to dance with some of the others in the makeshift dance area. The other members crowded around Chan as he simply admired the view. 

“Dude. Can you stop eye fucking her? I’m not sure I’m allowed to see this.” Jeongin giggled out. Chan straightened to his full height.

“I am not eye fucking her. And don’t call me dude, baby bread.” Seungmin sauntered up.

“I can see you eye fucking her from the other side of the garden.” The others laughed loudly and slapped him on the back. Chan grumbled and muttered something.

“Just admit you like her! We haven’t seen you like this in a very long time.” Chan gulped and looked at the others apologetically.

“I’m sorry for losing focus, I know we have so much to do and as your leader I should not be slacking off.”

Minho punched him in the arm and with a Wednesday Adams look stated “Shut the fuck up and go have fun. For once.” Felix put his arm around Chan and soothingly said “Hyung, we have way more fun than you. You do so much for us and deserve to let loose. It’s obvious she likes you too and she’s great. If you don’t go now, Mr Bigshot is gonna shoot his shot.”

He pointed out how Jackson had been eyeing you and was slowly making his way forward. Clenching his jaw, Chan handed his drink over and made his way over to you who were not aware of anything around you, simply too immersed in the bass vibrating through the speakers. You had your arms up and hips swaying when you felt a warm body press themself against you from behind. He settled his hands on your hips and you jolted slightly. You felt plush lips graze your ear. 

“It’s just me.” Chan. Breath hitching you continued to dance - he was so smooth and matched you perfectly, lips brushing over your shoulder. You draped an arm around his neck behind you and he moved impossibly closer. You both let out a sigh when you found yourself grinding up against him. You felt his hardened length and when he started kissing your neck softly you were convinced you were going to faint. You were about to turn around and kiss him when he spoke up.

“So Hyunjin is your bias, huh.” You spun around so fast and choked out, “Not my fault!” Shit. You bit your lip and started blushing in shame. Chan jumped back and with a gleeful smile he yelled.

“I knew it! I knew you recognised us! The way you were trying so hard not to acknowledge Super Bowl and the way your eyes glittered in starry bliss when you saw Hyunjin - I didn’t appreciate that, by the way. Why did you hide that from me?” He wasn’t angry, he just looked very confused so you felt emboldened enough to explain.

“When you introduced yourself as Chris it seemed as though you didn’t want to be recognised. And I get it, you don’t want a fan to spoil your vacation - I was trying to give you space and not talk to you but then you invited me to your party and how could I refuse? I was going to tell you, I swear, I just didn’t know when.”

“Y/n, it’s okay! I get it and I appreciate your concern but never think that I don’t want to be around a fan. I only ask that you tell nobody about this.” You nodded enthusiastically at that. He stayed quiet, tilting his head at you.

“However, would you have waited until after I fucked you to tell me?” Your breath hitched as you stared at his darkened eyes. He moved closer again, arms circling your waist. He leaned forward and brushed his full lips over yours. You let out a whimper, causing him to pull you tightly against him and he kissed you even harder. Breaths were mingling and fingers were exploring, you ran your hands up his taught, bare sides and shivered - you lifted your heads when someone called his name. He glared harshly at the person who needed his help. He turned back to you and rested his forehead against yours, muttering a “don’t go anywhere.” You nodded in a daze and released him. 

You found a sun lounger and sat down with a drink, savoring the situation around you. Were you really going to do this? Have sex with this absolute god of a man? Would he even like your body when these stunning women were milling around, smiling at him? You forced yourself out of your head and it helped when your phone started ringing. However, when you saw who was calling, you froze. It was your ex. You had been dodging his calls and messages, keeping your phone off for the majority of the stay but foolishly, you had brought it to the party in case you were left alone. You didn’t regret leaving him, you didn’t have any long lasting feelings for him but you did feel guilty for just fleeing without a solid excuse. “I just don’t feel this between us” was a sorry, heartless reason. So, back inside your head you went, staring listlessly at the ocean. You felt Chan slide in behind you on the chair - he spoke low.

“You okay? Something’s troubling you.” How was this man able to read you from a mile away?

“Yeah, just reminded of my old life.” He hummed, thinking you would talk if you needed to. He started massaging your tense shoulders gently, causing arousal to pool in your stomach. How could you not get turned on by his large hands working their way into your aching muscles? You wondered how they would feel around your throat and had to stifle your dirty thoughts. This failed when he leaned in, brushed your hair from your shoulder and started kissing your neck, moving up to right under your ear. You let out a moan and he moved closer, hard chest pressed up against you. The lights were dim so no one was quite aware of your actions. You felt like you were in your own bubble. Fuck it. Not being able to take much more, you turned and climbed onto his lap, straddling him effectively. He let out a surprised gasp when you pressed your lips against his. Your hands thread through his hair and tugged, causing him to subtly buck into you. At this point, you didn’t care who saw you. You needed him and it seemed mutual. The kiss was feverish, his tongue licked into your mouth easily and you let out a tiny whine of pleasure. At this, he took your hips and lifted you off him easily, staring at you with lust glinting in his eyes. 

“Come with me.”

Shakily, followed him inside to a bedroom upstairs. He locked the door and maintained eye contact as he slowly walked towards you. Gone was the shy Chan and in his place was a dominant creature, the confidence dripped off of him and you saw now why Stays called him “Daddy”. Swallowing nervously, you backed up against the bed and sat down, waiting for him to speak. You would honestly do anything this man asked of you and the thought terrified yet excited you. As he walked forward he ripped his shirt off and your mouth went dry, admiring his toned abs and muscular shoulders in the moonlight. 

“Take that fucking dress off, it has been teasing me all night.” You stood up and let it pool to the floor - you had on black lacy panties and a matching bra. He practically growled as he gripped your hips, moving his hand up to unclip and remove the bra. He left you in your panties and shucked his jeans off - you gasped when you saw his enormous length tenting in his black briefs. You had been with well-endowed men before but he was so thick that you wondered if he would fit. You reached out to palm him but he grabbed your wrist last minute, stopping you. He pushed you onto your back and climbed on the bed, savouring the view. Only then did he kiss you, running his large hands over your breasts and quite literally ripping the last scrap of clothing from you. He pushed your thighs apart and hummed in satisfaction at your dripping pussy. As he lowered himself down to your core, sucking marks into your inner thighs he looked up and made eye contact.

“You all right, baby girl?” You nodded frantically, shifting to get him closer to where you needed him. He smirked and wrapped his arms securely around your thighs, keeping you in place.

“Now, I’m going to make you scream. I want the whole party to know who you belong to tonight.” His words had you whimpering and you vaguely wondered if you would cum from his voice alone. You were shocked from your thoughts when you felt his broad tongue swipe up from your hole to your clit. He raised his head, eyes darkened to black and stared at your cunt for a second in wonder.

“Fuck baby, your strawberries paid off.” Before you could question his statement, he dove back in, licking at you eagerly and drinking you in. When his thick lips wrapped around your clit and sucked gently, you felt wetness on your cheeks - the pleasure spiked through you and you were sure you had never been eaten out like this before. Your first orgasm ripped through you, startling the both of you. You thought he would let you go but it was quite the opposite. 

“Chris!” you keened in pleasurable anguish. “Too much!” He simply hummed, keeping a firm grip on your hips and buried his face deeper, fucking you with his tongue whilst his nose bumped your clit. When you felt two fingers replace his wet muscle you thought you were done for, they rubbed up against that gummy spot and made you see stars. After shaking through your second orgasm, he moved back up to you, kissing your tears away. You could taste yourself on him which only served to turn you on more. 

“Can you keep going, baby?” he smirked when he saw you half drunk on the after effects. You gripped his hair and pulled him down to bite on his bottom lip, causing him to hiss and sit up.

“Okay, slut. If that’s how you want it. I’m going to abuse your throat until you can’t speak.” His eyes grew dangerous and he stood up, taking his briefs off and throwing them somewhere behind him. God, the world would be a better place if he walked around naked all the time. 

“Move to the edge and get on your knees.”

After complying, you stared at his cock, throat running dry. Beautiful was the only description that came to mind. It was even thicker than you thought, longer than average and veins visible on the sides. 

“Any objections before you choke on my cock?” As harsh as he was, you realised he had been asking for consent every step of the way and you knew he was genuine since his eyes would slightly soften each time. Your nerves lessened considerably and you leaned in to lick a thick stripe up his shaft. Sucking in a breath, he tipped his head back, groaning, when you took him in as much as you could. You used your hand for the rest and alternated between pumping him slowly and playing with his balls. You thought he had never looked so striking. Looking up at him from beneath your lashes almost made him cum on the spot but he wasn’t about to let you know that. He gripped your hair hard and gently started thrusting into you, hitting the back of your throat. You made a gagging noise and he quickly pulled out to let you breathe. When he saw the drool and precum on your lips he had to force himself not to violently stuff you full of himself. 

“Look how fucked out you are. Can’t handle me hmm?” You never backed down from a challenge and placed his hand back on your head while taking him in harshly. He moaned loudly and started thrusting into your mouth so deeply you were sure you wouldn’t have a voice left. You raked your nails down his thighs, causing him to shudder. He pulled out of you, and pushed you onto your back again.

“Jesus Christ, I need to have you now.” He lined himself up between your thighs and looked carefully at you.

“Ready, beautiful?” You nodded and gripped his ass, trying to pull him into you but this man was built like a brick wall. “Words, baby girl.” His eyes gleamed. “Yes…sir” He let out a small laugh and whispered “You’ll be the death of me.” 

He slowly started easing into you, groaning when he realised how tight you were. Suddenly he was worried that he would hurt you. When he bottomed out he stopped, waiting for you to adjust to the sharp pain. After a minute the pain melted into an undeniable bliss and you were hungry. You tapped his shoulder, giving him the signal to move. And move he did. He thrusts were slow and steady, your brows were furrowed and you were sure you looked a mess but you simply did not have any fucks to give. He lifted your thighs to wrap around his waist so that he went deeper and sat up slightly, starting to pound into you. You let out a wail as he fingers came down between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit. He stared at where you connected and felt you clench.

“You gonna cum on my cock, sweetheart?” You had been trying to hold onto it but his words tipped you over the edge. Especially when he made you scream his name throughout. “Who’s making you feel this good? Who do you belong to!” When you had quieted down he grew even more desperate, he had never had such intense sex before and marveled at the chemistry. He pulled out and turned you onto all fours, getting you to arch your back. He slipped back into you roughly and continued to thrust hard and heavy. Your mind was blank, mouth open, tears running down your cheeks. He pulled you up by your throat until your back was against his chest and sped up, biting and sucking into your shoulders and neck. You couldn’t be mad because you had done the same to him when he was hovering over you. All this extra stimulation got you keening and he tightened his grip on you.

“You’ve got another one in you, I can feel it. Cum for me, baby.” he growled. As you did, you felt him start to stutter and he began babbling. “You’re doing so well, you’re taking me so well, god - your tight pussy is so greedy, sucking me in. Where do you want me to cum?”

Panting, you answered, “I’m on birth control, cum inside, Chris.”

At your desperate plea, his motions got violent, his grip tightened even more and he shuddered to a stop, pulling you tightly against him, filling you to the brim. He came so hard that you couldn’t contain it, feeling it run down your thighs. When he finally came to his senses, he loosened his grip and kissed you softly on the shoulder. He went to his ensuite and came back with a wet cloth, cleaning you gently and himself afterwards. You started to get up and walk to your clothes when you felt his arms around your waist.

“Where are you going, baby?” He rested his chin on your hair, his warmth enveloping you.

“Home?” You turned and stared up at him with wide eyes, waiting for his response. He whispered one word that gave you butterflies.

“Stay”

However, he caught himself and stepped back, staring at his feet. “I mean, if you want to.” You giggled at his suddenly shy state and led him back to the bed. You fell into a deep, comfortable silence as you cuddled - simply savouring the moment. You absolutely adored his arms and realised, sadly, that you would hate leaving them. 

“So why do you eat strawberries all the time?” You looked up at him in confusion before understanding what he meant.

“Oh, you noticed that? Now I know why you mentioned it when you were… you know.”

“Tasting you? Yeah, I’ve never tasted anything as sweet.” He laughed at you trying to hide your face in his neck. “So? Why?”

You thought a bit, trying to find the right words. 

“Well take an apple, you get many different types right? Pink Lady, Golden Delicious, Granny Smith etc. Do you get many different types of Strawberries?” Chan shook his head, wondering where this was going. “I move around. A lot. What do you think would happen if I was addicted to one kind of apple? Would I find it everywhere I go? No. So I chose to become addicted to strawberries because I can always find them and the taste won’t be as different.” Chan stared at you in bewilderment and then the meaning hit him, “Ok I get it, you can’t form attachments with people but you can always depend on the consistency of …strawberries?” You nodded and he paused, watching you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. He propped himself up on one hand and worded his next question carefully, “Tell me about that, why do you move so often - is it for a job?” You laughed sardonically and avoided eye contact, lost in thought. He saw the turmoil pass over your features and his eyebrows furrowed. 

“No, it’s not for a job.” You turned to look at him and found enough there to continue. “ I… had a difficult childhood. After I studied, I needed to escape my old life. To start fresh and not be that scared little girl anymore. And then I became addicted. When I become scared, insecure and bored, I move again in order to be someone else… again.” Chan held you and asked, “Why would you be scared or insecure?” You turned back to stare at the ceiling once again, you didn’t want him to see your nerves since you had never gone into specifics with someone outside of your circle before. “I’m scared of putting down roots, I feel an aversion to it. I am insecure because I was always told, growing up, that I was unworthy of love and so, when I meet someone and they try to love me - well, I can’t handle it. I don’t believe them and I feel suffocated. What if I gave in, opened myself up and they hurt me?” Chan thought hard about this, he wouldn’t be anywhere without the kids and he felt his heart bleed for you. He was angry at the figure who abused you. “I’m guessing you just left another life behind? What happened there?”

“A man told me he loved me. He was sweet and I had no reason to doubt him but then, on the last night, I had a horrible dream. It was the same routine everyday. He was getting ready to go to work and I was already in the kitchen, making his lunch. He came down, kissed me quickly, took the lunch and left. It doesn’t sound that terrible but I woke up with such a feeling of suffocation that I had to leave. The thought of getting up early to make him a lunchbox every single day for the rest of my life depressed me. It scared me. So I broke it off, quit my job and went on this vacation. I’m still deciding where to go next but, honestly, I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.” Chan cupped your face and turned you to look at him. He leant down and kissed you softly, for a long time. “I’m sorry.” He murmured against your lips. You smiled weakly and snuggled back into him. The conversation became easier after that as he realised you needed to be distracted. You talked about what you knew about him and Stray Kids, which songs you liked and if you had watched any of their content. Suddenly, he groaned and rolled away, placing an arm over his eyes.

“ Please don’t tell me you saw the live where I ate spicy food?” You grinned at him, causing him to do that embarrassed wail of his. “Awww, don’t be shy! It was hilarious! You really took one for the team, my favourite part was when you started boxing thin air.” You grabbed his shoulders to turn him to face you. “You know what I didn’t love though?” He grew serious, curious as to where this was going. “When you didn’t take off your shirt. You really teased us!” He cackled loudly and rolled onto you, kissing you playfully. “Well, I made up for it tonight, didn't I?”

“You certainly did.” You smiled sleepily, lulled by his warmth on top of you. He noticed and kissed you on the forehead, moving to spoon you. “Good night, baby girl.”

A couple hours later, the hint of sunlight woke you up. You decided you needed to go before the others woke up because you didn’t feel like doing the walk of shame in front of everyone. So you got dressed quietly and as you stood up, you heard Chan stirring.

“Where you going?” You shushed him, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.

“I should get home before the others see me.” Chan smirked at you in his groggy state, causing your heart to flutter.

“I think they know what we did here all night.” You groaned and started for the door but he managed to jump out of bed with a ‘wait for me’, slipping into some fresh underwear to let you out. He took your hand and led you quietly through the house to the sliding door. A few people were asleep on the couches but you supposed the majority were in the numerous guest rooms. He opened the door to the garden and, as you attempted to walk past him, he slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss. You were a little self-conscious but he looked so adorable with his fluffy hair and disheveled state so you had to give in. His soft lips pressed onto yours and you sighed contentedly, leaning in even more. The kiss started to pick up so he had to pull away, chuckling as he shook his head at you.

“Go home, I’ll see you later.”

“You mean that?” He saw the slightly nervous look in your eyes and understood, cupping your face. 

“I promise, sweetheart.”

Chan went back to bed and after a few hours was woken up by the sound of laughter downstairs. He took a quick shower, grinning when he saw all the marks you left on him and joined the others outside. They eyed him with different expressions. Most of the boys were smirking and howling and the girls were either stiff and disapproving or giggling in response. He was never one to brag so the tips of his ears went bright red as he tried to ignore them. He was suddenly bombarded with questions and went up to get the barbecue ready as a distraction.

“Did you have fun? Sure sounded like it.”

“To be honest, it sounded more like you guys were in intense pain. Was there knife play involved?”

“Oooh Channie!”

“Shut the fuck up, Minho.”

“No but seriously, what the fuck did you do to Y/n?”

Chan’s head snapped up at that one, realising it was Felix talking and he was not making a joke. He followed his gaze and saw you on the patio - even from there it was clear to see how marked up you were. He felt an odd mix of guilt and pride. 

Mark spoke up. “She’s eating those strawberries again. God, I can only imagine what she tastes like…” Chan turned his whole body towards him, jaw clenching in response. Jisung noticed the glint in his eye and laughed nervously, pulling Mark by the arm to the house. 

“I’ll call you when it’s safe to come out.” 

Chan relaxed when he was no longer in sight. Why was he feeling so territorial? You guys weren’t together and there couldn’t be a future either. But he had this irrational urge to protect you which he couldn’t shake. He glanced at you again and his mouth watered at the sight of the juice running down your lips. You really had tasted incredible and just the memory of it was enough to make him shift on the spot. What had started off looking so pure the day before had been thoroughly ruined and he was not sorry. You were dressed in a bikini and robe and you looked so at peace - the only things out of place were the purple blotches that lined your neck, collar and chest. You hadn’t done anything to hide it and it gave him the confidence to be open about it as well. He had wanted the others to know how good he made you feel and he certainly achieved that with all your sounds. He shouldn’t be shy about that. He was snapped out of his daydreams when Felix casually remarked, “Perhaps you should invite her over for a real breakfast. Especially since we’re leaving tomorrow.” 

As Chan made his way over to you, his heart sank. Never had he been so impulsive in his life and thus he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He had developed feelings alarmingly quickly which only served to remind him how terrible he was at it. As you heard him approach, you looked up with a smile - melting his tormented brain. As for you, your heart practically stuttered as you took in his appearance. He hadn’t covered his marks either and the loose tank practically showcased them. They weren’t as bad as yours however, should have known he was a biter, but there were no regrets here. In fact, you were kind of hoping for a reaction and that’s why you lightly shook your hair from your shoulder, pretending to be busy with your mug. Sucking in a breath, he came to stand next to you - lightly tracing the marks on your neck with his fingers. He couldn’t help his protective nature.  

“Are you okay, do they hurt?”

You maintained a stoic expression, staring up at him.

“I mean, you could have disclosed your tastes beforehand.” 

He hung his head, shifting on his feet. He looked absolutely defeated and you just knew he was going to beg your forgiveness so you jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck, surprising you both in the process.

“I’m joking! It was honestly the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.” Realising how much of a simp you came off as, you moved to pull away, blushing, but he gripped onto your wrists tightly and leaned in. 

“Oh no you don’t. C’mere.” He pulled you in for a soft kiss and you cherished the quiet moment together, brain refusing to dwell on the fact that he was leaving soon. 

“Would you like some coffee?”

He looked over at his garden to see his guests drilling holes into you. Fuck it. He wanted some alone time with you, without having Mark or Nayeon ( how did he not realise before?) perving over you.

“That would be great, however, I don’t drink coffee.” 

You stared at him in shock. “My my, I guess it’s true what they say about red flags coming out after the lust evaporates.” 

He grinned widely, doing that annoying tongue-in-cheek thing he does and stated cockily, “Oh baby, your lust is nowhere near gone.”

You didn’t reply, instead pouring him a juice whilst he chuckled at your burning cheeks. 

You spent the day with the others - lying on the beach, jumping around in the waves and just generally basking in the sun. Everyone accepted you and you genuinely enjoyed their company, feeling confident in your body. Perhaps the cocktails helped but who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Still with me, sweetheart?”

Finally alone with Chan, curled up in his tight grip on the sand whilst the hazy sun was setting. You looked up at him, murmuring about how you were just relishing this moment. He swallowed hard.

“I don’t know if I told you but we’re uh leaving tomorrow.” You placed a hand gently on his arm and nodded your head, afraid to give your emotions away. He continued, needing to make you understand. “Since you’ve seen my lives, you know how constantly stressed out I am, right? I mean, I don’t sleep, I hardly eat, and I’m always worried that I’m not good enough. That I’m not good enough for my members. In fact, this month has been especially bad as I’m not allowed to talk to Stays online anymore. All because of a stupid slip up I made.” It was the first time he was fully opening up so you simply listened, occasionally running your fingers up and down his arm in response. “It got so bad that they forced me to take some time off to come here. It was rough the first couple days. I enjoyed seeing my family, obviously, but this dark cloud was constantly at the back of my mind, eating at my sanity. I could barely breathe, the shame was ringing in my ears.”

You sat up, thinking he was going to ask for your cooperation. To say that he couldn’t deal with you too but you should have known better. Seeing your slight trepidation, he quickly grabbed your face, kissing you softly. Again, how was he able to read you so easily?

“What I mean is that you helped me. Yes, you did. I haven’t felt so content, calm, in months. I know it sounds strange but I slept so well last night, I woke up with an appetite and I haven’t felt that guilt since I saw you eating those damn strawberries a few days ago. I just wanted to say thank you. For showing me what being care-free feels like.”

You simply looked at this man in front of you. Fuck, you were going to miss him. You didn’t want to cry so you smothered him in kisses, causing him to giggle before rolling onto his back, taking you with him. 

You enjoyed your last night with him. Most of it was spent in the bedroom, to be honest. It started off as fucking but, as the night drew to a close, he took it slower. It grew intense. It resembled something a little like love but this time, you didn’t shy away. You didn’t shut down and want to leave. You embraced it. 

After you went back to yours the next morning, Chan packed his bag with a sigh. He wrote songs about this kind of thing but it hadn’t prepared him in the slightest. As he was walking out to pack the car, Changbin grabbed his arm, dragging him into the living room before quickly shutting the door. As all seven members faced him, his heart raced. Did he fuck up somehow?

You were sitting on the lounger again, staring at the waves…again. Just your fucking luck. You didn’t want to wallow in your self-pity but Christ, when were you gonna catch a break? How in hell’s name did you end up falling for an idol? This only happened in Kdramas. Or in Nora Roberts' novels. Closing your eyes, you lay back, resolute to keep your tears at bay until after they left. It was at that moment that you heard your name being called. You thought you were hearing things because you had already said goodbye - all night, to be exact. Steeling yourself, you sat up - only to be pulled to your feet by strong, familiar arms. 

“Chris -”

“How do you feel about me?” He stared at you with a frantic expression. 

“What? I-” You started to turn away - why was he torturing you?

“I saw it. Y/n, I saw it in your eyes last night. It’s different, isn’t it? We’re different.”

You glared at him, angry at what he was doing to you. Your chest was tight and your eyes were glistening. He continued to hold you, waiting for an answer.

“Chris, I don’t know what to tell you. Yes, I felt things last night. Things I haven’t felt in years. And yes, I feel them now too. And I’m not scared either. But I don’t know what you want from me - didn’t we say goodbye, isn’t that enough?”

“No.”

You glanced at him in bewilderment. “No? What do you mean no?”

His next words sent your heart racing. “Come with me.”

“The fuck? Where?” Your walls were going up again, eyes dimming, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.  

“On tour. You want to travel, right? Well I need to de-stress. Let me have you close, reminding me that I’m human. And I’ll take care of you - reminding you that you belong somewhere. That you belong with me.”

You started to protest but his steady gaze kept you grounded. Did he really mean this? Would he take care of you and your heart, not leaving you behind? You wanted to distrust him but thinking back on how protective he was of his members, how he looked after them, how he loved them. How could you not try? How could you not yearn for that? Speechless, you turned at the sound of a commotion - you spotted Felix beckoning for you to hurry up. Grinning slowly, you turned back to Chan.

“How would we even do this?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He pulled you closer, softly kissing your forehead and murmured something that had you laughing.

“And don’t worry, baby girl, I won’t have you make me a lunchbox in the mornings.”

Author's note: This is my first fic on here, can you tell I'm nervous? Heh. Well, I hope you enjoyed it and please, reblogging and commenting will go a long way in improving my technique! I've got a Hyunjin fic raring to go so don't hold back. Have a great day!

©strayerthings 2023 | Copying, translating or reposting my work is strictly prohibited.

#holy fucking shit?! #what the fuck this is an absolute masterpiece wow #like i do not have words to describe how amazing this piece was #jesus christ #fics i would reread #stray kids #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan fluff