All the Words Left Unspoken.
INCLUDING. fem!reader. stray kids hyunjin, seungmin, minho, chan, felix, changbin, han, and jeongin. ateez seonghwa, mingi, and wooyoung. bts taehyung and jungkook. blackpink lisa. itzy yeji. twice nayeon and sana. somi.
GENRES. university!au, friends with benefits, best friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smut.
SUMMARY. What’s one to do when your boyfriend of four years suddenly ghosts you, and reappears dating another girl not even one week later? Your best friends, Lisa and Yeji, insist on helping you move on. But that proves hard to do when you see him all over campus, the new blonde right by his side. Not mention that your friends, were also his friends. With the aid of numerous frat parties, drunken mistakes, and even a couple new friends, can you make it through?
A/N. i’ve had this idea in my head for so long, but never... done anything about it? so here we are! this is basically my first my first attempt at fanfiction, but i hope you’ll like it anyways! i don’t have a set schedule, so chapters will be uploaded just whenever i finish them. i’m super excited to finally bring this idea to life, so here’s to All the Words Left Unspoken. ( credits to one of my beautiful best friends for helping me with the title! ) ❥︎
© all rights reserved to mmelancholicdaze, 2021. do NOT copy or modify any part of my stories. do NOT translate or repost my works on any platform.
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a/n: is this too long to be a timestamp? ah well-t/w:(mentions of panic attacks and/or depression)
1:53 a.m. song recommendation: If I Be Wrong
Jisung woke up and found your bed empty, the house silent and anxiety nestling home under his ribcage. He was on a break because of it. Because he couldn't perform and had a breakdown in practice and now? He was here, at home and you were gone because why? Because he cannot have a grip on himself. No wonder he kept breaking down the moment things got hard.
Stop. No, this isn’t you. The voice in his head tells him. The voice belonging to you.
Even though his heart lurches as his feet touch the warm floor and sweat beads on his skin, Jisung gets out of the bed, looking for you. Everything seems in place. The bathroom light is off, the extra room’s door is open. He checks it. Empty. The kitchen. Empty. Your study. Empty. He is about to head out to look for you when he hears a dry cough. From the living room.
He should take a pill really; his heartbeat was getting dangerously loud in his ears.
He ignores it and dashes to the living room, heart thundering sweat dripping down his back. Who switched off the air-con? He thinks idly before seeing you on the couch, tucked against one of the corners, impossibly small.
Carefully, quickly he closes the distance, kneeling in front of you, but not touching. Something tells him not to touch. You simply stare ahead, no sound coming from your lips. He can’t even tell if you’re breathing, an unnatural catatonia settling over you.
“Baby…?” So loud. His voice feels so loud in the hallowed silence.
You don’t move, don’t respond, despondence keeping your bones and muscles from moving. The couch feels overwhelmingly soft, like its quicksand and you will drown in it if Jisung doesn’t catch you first. If he doesn’t touch you first.
Everything was suddenly weighing on you like the weight of the sky on Atlas’ shoulders, bringing you down to your knees. But who are you to confide in? When Jisung himself needs to take a break from his own burden of Atlas? You couldn’t whine to him about the worldly affairs. You should’ve. You know you should’ve. He would listen, of course. But that would mean being a burden on him when you’re supposed to be the pillar of support, right?
“Baby, talk to me,” Jisung’s voice is soft, scared even, tears threatening to spill from the big eyes.
You try to. But words don’t come from your mouth. They are there in your head but some connection between your brain and tongue is broken and now you can’t talk, except for one feeling that is making you tremble in this quicksand of cloth. A minute passes and Jisung’s hand has snuck onto your leg, rubbing gently, waiting for you to form words.
He doesn’t show but his chest palpitates at the silence, at your tired eyes and ghost look. And still he waits. He has played the waiting game before, albeit being on the other side of the board. About five minutes later, his name slips out of your mouth, like a final prayer.
“Ji, I’m cold,” your voice is broken, hoarse after hours of crying. How long has it been since you snuck out of your bed and ended up on the couch, stifling tears and screams and digging crescents shaped marks into your arms with fingernails? Everything feels so cold, even though you know it’s almost forty degrees outside, and the A/C is off. You were the one who switched it off before ending up on the couch in darkness. Jisung hasn’t turned on the light either, but in the dim illumination from the streets, you can see the tear streaks on his face and wonder how he can hold himself together so easily, when you fall apart at a moment’s notice.
“Do you want me to hold you?” He asks, hand rubbing your ankle and up, massaging gently. You nod and he wastes no time sliding between you and that quicksand of a couch. You end up on his chest, ear against heart, hand, held in his. The cold starts diffusing, slowly at first from your torso where Jisung’s hands rub circles on your back and tears start flowing again from the corners of your eyes and he whispers to you.
You know how much I love you. Don’t struggle alone.
To which your head answers, you have your own struggles.
To which he already is answering as if he can read your mind, yes, everyone has their own problems but that doesn’t mean you hide from the people you love till you feel like… like this. How do you feel right now, love?
To which you verbally answer, “Warmer.” Jisung holds your tighter then, his legs squeezing your own between them, as if releasing some pressure valve, making you feel like you’re floating. It’s a good feeling. Jisung makes you feel better without even doing anything much.
“… do you wanna talk about what happened?”
“Too much,” you whisper back, breath hitching ever so slightly when his hand traces your spine, settling on your lower back. He feels broad, strong, warm, so contrasting to how he was three days ago, trembling and crying and curled on the practice floor. If he can, then why can’t you?
“What was too much?”
“Everything. Everything was… work was…,” he hears your voice falter and shushes you, It’s okay, we’ll work it out together, okay? I’m here.
“Ji, I love you.” It’s not a sweet confession, not a casual ‘I love you’ thrown between lovers, between spouses. I love you, means I need you, means I will need you, so don’t go again. Don’t leave, because it’s scary alone.
But you don’t say all that, and he doesn’t ask questions further, humming a gentle tune, chest rumbling and pulling you to sleep.
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