I.n Scenarios - Tumblr Posts

Love is a flight away | Y. JGN

Pairing: Idol!I.nxnonIdol!reader

Words:

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, soft, lovey dovey (yay)

A/n: This one was kinda requested, and I'm really happy to give our beloved maknae a disclosure. Sorry that I took too long for it, but yeah, here it is. Hope everyone enjoyed ❣️

💌: @marcillfll

Jeongin didn't knew what to do. After trying to talk to you by the phone, he's mother had called him, telling that his brother was hitten by a car, and was at the hospital.

Lee Know had to pull the car, so his younger friend could make a proper decision, and even though he really wanted to go after the love of his life, but he needed to stay closer to his family.

That happened two months ago. That night his Hyung took him to the hospital, and called the others members, telling them the hole story. That night Yang Jeongin cried in fear for his brother, and then cried a little more for the love of life already gone.

But the boy didn't knew that his friends and bandmates were trying their best to at least reach you, since it was only fair for the both of you to have a honest conversation — even if it's the last.

They texted, called, and one day Felix considered sending a letter to you, but the idea was fast discarded. After the accident, JYPE gave to the youngest the time he needed to be by his brother side, and published a oficial note. And you actually saw that, but since it happened only a couple of days after you leaving, you didn't minded much about it.

But one day you got tired, and actually picked up Chan's call. Your first intention it was to only telling him to stop bothering, and to pass the message to all the boys, but you actually didn't expected what you heard.

"Jeongin!" Yang hear your name being called and believes he finally gone crazy, or that he finally reached his limits with coffee, since he hear you calling him. "Yang Jeongin!"

Once he turned around and saw you running on his direction, the world stoped turning. You we're really there? Was he dreaming one more time? Did something happened and the doctors had to give him some pills, and now he was hallucinating?

The boy only realized it was real when you didn't stop, and only hugged him. And then when you hitted him at the chest. And then when you hugged him again.

The boy could finally smell your perfume, feel your soft skin against his own, and your body warm against his cold one. He felt good again after a very long time.

"We need to talk" you said again, separating from him. Coming back to reality he made you sit at one of those benches that were at the corridor. "Is your brother okay? How that happened?"

"Well, he broke a leg, had some bruises but nothing really serious after all, he's getting better fast" he explained looking at this coffee probably not thqt warm anymore, when something clicked in his head "wait, how do you know? What are you actually doing in here? What... What about your university?"

You smiled and holded his hands before explaining "chan called... actually all the boys called and texted, but I was really mad and upset, so it took me a while before actually listen to them. So I came back as soon as possible to see him, your family and, well... You."

Jeongin couldn't stop his heart from beating that fast. You we're actually there for him, you were holding his hands, you were worried and did all of that. And that made him felt horrible... You probably were really heart broken because of him, and actually came back, when he was worried about a possibility and left you alone.

"I'm sorry y/n" he said weekly, feeling his eyes starting to tear up. He kissed your hands before continuing with his apologies "I left you down that week, and thers not justification for that... I-I... I saw someone on twitter saying that their girlfriend went to another country to study, and broke up with them for this other person, and I just..."

"Freaked out?" You complete for him, laughing a little bit "yes, I noticed" you said before a silence took over the conversation.

Jeongin could barely look at you in the eyes, even though he really wanted since he missed the way you look at him. He missed how he always felt the warmth of your love whenever you looked at him; he missed how the excitement took over your eyes and the went big and sparkling; missed the proud look on them whenever you went to see him performing with stray kids, and how you looked as his members as if they were your family too.

"I got really upset after listening all that bullshit by the phone" your low and callm voice called his attention again, but he could only look at your hands, holding his. "I felt like you had lied to me, when you said you were excited and proud, and that boiled my blood more..." You took a little bit more of time, and once you realized that he wasn't goi to look at you, you holded his face to do it so. Slowly caressing his cheeks, and seeing his tired eyes, slightly changing when looking at you.

"Listen I really believe we can make it if you want to it...but you have to promise me, that you are going to be 100% honest with me all the time."

I.n's response it was a very happy and relieved yes, hugging you — in a very uncomfortable and wird way because of those chairs, but neither of you could care. So he took you to see his brother, and family, that also were very happy to see you again. But before you actually get into the room he asks one more time about your university.

"Oh yeah, I said it was a family urgency, so I'm gonna watch the classes online while I'm here"

"And how long are you staying?" Yang stops walking now really excited to hear that, and waiting for your answer "huuum... I think time enough for you to take me to dates to repair the lost time he had".

He definitely were happy now, just not his brother, by the joke he said about breaking his other leg so you could stay longer.

Stray Kids when you accidentally curse:

Bang Chan:

I feel like Chan won't be able to stop himself from snorting when he puts a band-aid on the small cut on your ankle, which your clumsy ass got from brushing against a sharp rock, and you suddenly let out a curse at the stinging pain, your quiet 'shit' ringing in your boyfriend's concentrated silence as he patches you up. Chan will freeze for a second, his fingers hovering over your bruised skin before he breaks into a huge grin, managing to stifle the chuckles threatening to rise before clearing his throat and scolding you half-heartedly. But you know he's not really serious when his small smile keeps peeking out every few seconds, along with him repeating the curse you used in a whisper every now and then, followed by a fond giggle and a shake of his head.

"Hey, I know it hurts, babe, but you shouldn't curse."

Minho:

Minho is that asshat boyfriend that will probably be the reason you curse in the first place lmao. When you let out a shriek followed by a 'holy shit!' as Minho pops out from behind the wall of the hallway, his eyes shining and an evil grin lighting up his face, your boyfriend's smile will change into pure shock as his mouth drops open, before he starts cackling uncontrollably, to the point he's literally crouching down and holding his stomach so it won't spill all over the apartment floor. Lee know will literally never let it go, constantly reminding you of the situation and mimicking your high-pitched shout and terrified face until you storm away, only to grab your wrist gently and tug you back to him, kissing your pout away with his own huge grin, and yes, you can't resist his annoying ass.

"Holy shit!! Minnie, you scared me~~" *cue the chipmunk voice*

Changbin:

I don't think Changbin will make a big deal out of you cursing, to be honest. It's just a word after all. He'll probably hear you curse for the first time when the two of you are jamming to some hip-hop songs on the radio, and you suddenly bust out some rap verse with a shit-ton of curses lmao. And then your boyfriend will just be like, damn. He'll probably be more impressed than anything else, just cheering you on the whole time, and he'll find you super cute and squishy even when you say foul words lol. In fact, I think that you cursing will just spure him to curse more as well, because he was always uncomfortable and careful next to you, not wanting to teach you bad words. So let's say it's a win-win situation for both of you haha.

"Wow~~ Y/N, you should debut as a rapper!"

Hyunjin:

I think that Hyunjin won't mind you cursing, as long as there's a good reason for it. When you tell him about the new guy that tried to touch you during work, using an assortment of interesting words to describe him, your boyfriend doesn't even comment on the matter, too busy consoling you and trying to calm down the bubbling anger in his chest at the thought of someone touching you without permission. After you tell Hyunjin how you cussed the man off, warning him you'll report him to the police the next time he gets close to you, your boyfriend is undeniably proud, hugging you close to him and mumbling about how cool you are and how well you handled it. He'll even teach you more curse words to expand your vocabulary in case you ever get into a similar situation lol.

"You're so amazing, jagi, so strong and brave. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

Han:

Jisung is surprised by the fact that you even know how to pronounce these words lmao, as if he isn't the one prancing around your apartment and cursing ninety nine percent of the time. When your boyfriend comes home to hear you spewing foul words one after another as you try to rescue your phone from where it fell between the sofa cushions, he can't help but find the sight hilarious, to be honest, and Han couldn't help but let out a laugh before coming to help you retrieve the electronic device. Jisung doesn't mind at all that you curse, even if he's constantly shocked that someone so angel-like can say such filthy things lol. But he'll definitely tease you a lot as well, just because he loves seeing you blush cutely uwu, and yes, your duality drives him crazy lmao.

"I need to buy more soap to shove into that dirty mouth of yours smh."

Felix:

Felix is possibly the chilliest out of all the members when it comes to cursing. Like, he's not cheering you on hysterically nor scolding you, but I feel like he's the type to like girls that look angels on the outside but are actually savage and badass when people get in their way. When your boyfriend sees you cussing out JYP and anyone else who has the slightest connection to the company after seeing the line distribution for Stray Kids' latest song, he'll smile slightly and stay quiet, letting you calm down on your own. Although he likes it when you get protective and defensive over him, he really finds you cute more than anything else, but he won't say that, instead choosing to pull you into a tight hug, mumbling encouraging words in your ear.

"Don't worry, bae, you know that I'm living my dream. I can't ask for more than what I already have."

Seungmin:

Seungmin is straight up cackling when you start cursing, especially when you're so excited that you just can't control all the 'fuck' and 'shit' coming out of your mouth. It usually happens in situations where your boyfriend is involved, like when Stray Kids' got their first win, or when they won some other grand prize. Seungmin doesn't seem like the type to curse a lot, but he doesn't mind you doing it, and actually finds it hilarious when he sees you jumping around like a rabbit, eyes sparkling and a huge smile on your lips. Obviously, he can't say anything to that addicting grin on your face. So he'll just smile and shake his head instead, showing his own happiness by pulling you in for a tight hug.

"Oh my god, Y/N." *cue flustered laughter*

I.N.

Okay, so the maknae is not having it lol. When you go backstage to see your boyfriend before his performance, you can't help but tell him how he's 'so fucking handsome', and then you quite literally have to save him from death by choking as I.N. starts coughing loudly, his face turning too red for your liking as he covers his mouth, eyes wide. Your boyfriend will need a few seconds to recover before he'll start investigating you to understand who teaches you these words, since he never curses next to you (it'll probably be Han and Changbin lmao), before he'll scold you gently, telling you that these words aren't nice, but also making sure you know how much he loves you by leaving a soft kiss on your hair and smiling at you fondly.

"You're too beautiful to say ugly words like that, love."

"I Would've Loved Her Right"

Broken! Jeongin x Dead! Reader(fem)

Part-1

Jeongin stood at the edge of his new apartment, surveying the scene before him. Cardboard boxes were piled high around him, like miniature mountains threatening to topple, each one marked with black ink scribbles indicating their contents. The scent of fresh paint clung to the walls, mingling with the cool, crisp autumn air that slipped through the cracked window, bringing with it a distant hum of city life. It wasn’t much to look at—just a modest one-bedroom unit tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, the kind where the nights were still and the mornings were slow. But it was his. It was a new beginning, a fresh canvas. After months of his life being nothing but fragmented pieces, scattered and disordered, this move felt like the first step toward stitching the chaos back together.

At twenty-one, he hadn’t imagined starting over would be part of his plan. And yet, here he was, standing in a space that was both foreign and strangely comforting.

The breakup had been hard. No—brutal. The kind of heartbreak that left you breathless, hollowed out, with sharp edges where soft feelings used to be. Her words still echoed in his mind, playing on a relentless loop: “You’re not enough, Jeongin. I need more. I need someone who knows what they want.”

He couldn’t shake the sting of it, the way those words had carved into him. But a part of him wondered if she really knew what she wanted. Or was it just easier to push him away with that excuse? Jeongin had loved her. Maybe not in the perfect, all-consuming way people talk about in songs or movies, but in his own quiet, steadfast way. He had loved her deeply, or at least he thought he had. But clearly, it hadn’t been enough.

The past year had been a blur of confusion and soul-searching, trying to pick up the pieces of his identity after she had left. He thought he’d come further by now. He thought moving to this new place would finally make him feel whole again. But now, standing in this empty apartment, the loneliness seemed to press in on him from all sides, an invisible weight that was hard to shake.

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath, the silence almost deafening. Maybe this apartment was a symbol of something more. Maybe it wasn’t just the walls that needed to be filled—it was him too.

“I’ll get used to it,” he muttered, running a hand through his unruly hair, the strands sticking up at odd angles. His voice bounced off the bare walls, filling the room for a moment before being swallowed by the empty space. Aside from the occasional groan of the old wooden floorboards beneath his feet, there was nothing but silence—a silence that almost felt alive, watching him, waiting for something.

The day had been long, the hours spent unpacking stretching endlessly. Every box he opened seemed to remind him just how much of his past he was carrying with him, both physically and emotionally.

Finally, Jeongin let himself collapse onto the old leather couch he’d painstakingly dragged up three flights of stairs. It groaned under his weight, the worn cushions sagging slightly, but it was the only piece of furniture that felt even remotely familiar.

The rest of the apartment had come furnished, a detail that had seemed convenient at first. But now, sitting among the mismatched, outdated pieces, it felt a little unsettling. The furniture was old, fraying at the edges, and the entire place seemed as if someone had lived here once and left in a hurry, abandoning more than just their belongings.

The eeriness of it gnawed at him, a faint unease settling in the pit of his stomach. There was a story here, lingering in the dust, in the creases of the worn upholstery. Who had lived here before him? And why had they left so abruptly? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers to those questions.

Kicking his feet up onto the rickety coffee table in front of him, his eyes fell on something he hadn’t noticed before. A small drawer tucked underneath the table, its handle crooked, as if it had been pulled too many times. It caught his attention like a whisper in the dark, urging him to look closer. Curiosity piqued, he leaned forward and gave the handle a gentle tug. The drawer slid open with a creak, revealing something unexpected.

Inside, nestled in the dusty interior, was a small, leather-bound book.

"Huh..." he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, as he reached into the drawer and carefully lifted the small book from its dusty resting place. It was heavier than he had expected for such a compact object, the weight of it somehow amplifying the sense of mystery that surrounded it. He turned it over in his hands, the worn leather cover soft under his fingers, smoothed by time and use, as though it had been held and handled countless times before. Its deep brown surface was cracked in places, like the lines of an old map, hinting at a long history. The texture, though weathered, felt oddly comforting—like the embrace of something familiar despite being unknown.

There were no markings on the cover. No title, no name, no decorative embossing. Just the plain, unadorned leather, worn and faded, offering no clues as to its contents or origin. He ran his thumb along the spine, where the stitching had frayed just slightly, evidence that it had been opened and closed many times, its secrets shared and sealed again. The pages, however, were a different story. Though yellowed slightly with age, they seemed remarkably well-preserved, untouched by the passing of time that had left its mark on the cover. He could feel the smooth edges of the paper beneath his fingers as he fanned them lightly, a faint, musty scent escaping—a smell like old libraries, full of forgotten stories and hidden memories.

His heart skipped a beat. It looked like a journal, the kind people pour their thoughts into when no one else is listening. But something about it felt... different. More personal. Almost sacred, as though it held more than just mundane daily entries. It was as if this little book, so unassuming in appearance, contained pieces of someone’s life—fragments of their soul—trapped between its pages, waiting for someone to discover them.

For a moment, he froze, fingers hovering over the edge of the cover, unsure of whether or not to open it. A strange sense of reverence washed over him, making him hesitate. This wasn’t just some discarded item, left behind carelessly with the rest of the furniture. This was someone’s diary, someone’s private thoughts, written down with the intent of being hidden, or at least kept secret. Whoever had lived in this apartment before him had probably filled these pages with their most intimate feelings, things they hadn’t been able to say out loud, things they couldn’t confide in anyone else. Maybe even things they hadn’t admitted to themselves.

Was it wrong to read it?

The question buzzed in his mind, a moral dilemma he hadn’t anticipated. His first instinct was to close the drawer, to put the journal back where he’d found it and leave it untouched. It wasn’t his to read. These weren’t his memories, his experiences. It felt invasive, like he was crossing a line, stepping into a space that wasn’t his to occupy. He imagined someone reading his own thoughts, the vulnerable words he kept buried inside himself, and a knot formed in his stomach.

But then again, the person who had written this was long gone. Whoever they were, they had left the apartment, left this life behind, and hadn’t bothered to take the journal with them. Maybe they had forgotten it, or maybe they had meant to leave it. Maybe, in some strange way, it was meant to be found.

He couldn’t help but wonder about the previous tenant. Who were they? What had their life been like here, in this same space where he now stood? Had they been happy? Lonely? Had this apartment held the same weight of solitude for them that it did for him? Or had it been filled with warmth, with love, with laughter, before something changed? Jeongin felt an odd connection to this unknown person, someone he had never met and would likely never know. Their presence lingered here, in the worn furniture, in the faint smell of something sweet that still clung to the walls. And now, in this journal.

The more he thought about it, the more his curiosity grew. What kind of person leaves behind something so personal, something that surely held significance? Maybe it wasn’t just the apartment that carried a story—maybe this little book did too. And maybe, just maybe, it was a story he was supposed to uncover. After all, wasn’t that the whole point of starting over? To find meaning in the things that had been lost? To rebuild not just his own life, but to make sense of the world around him? Perhaps this journal, left behind in the empty shell of an apartment, held a piece of that meaning, waiting to be discovered.

Jeongin exhaled slowly, his decision made. He wasn’t sure if it was fate or just happenstance, but he couldn’t resist the pull of the unknown. The temptation was too strong, the mystery too compelling to ignore. After all, wasn’t this what he had wanted—a fresh start, a way to move forward? Maybe this journal, with all its secrets, could offer him some kind of clarity, or at least a distraction from the thoughts that had been circling in his own mind for too long.

He swallowed the lingering hesitation, his fingers tightening around the edges of the book. Slowly, carefully, as if he were unwrapping a delicate gift, he opened the cover.

He flipped open the first page, and his eyes skimmed over the neat handwriting.

“There are some things I’ll never say aloud, some truths that stay buried because they’re too heavy to carry. I’m tired of pretending to be whole when I’m rotting inside...”

Jeongin blinked, his breath catching in his throat. It was just ink on a page, but the weight behind it felt like a punch to the chest. This wasn’t the casual doodling of someone passing time. No, this was a confession, the kind you only make to yourself when the world has turned away and left you alone with your thoughts.

He found himself reading the sentence again, letting the words settle in his mind. I’m tired of pretending to be whole... That line stuck with him. It wasn’t dramatic or over-the-top, but it cut deep, the honesty of it almost too sharp. Whoever wrote this—whoever lived here before him—had been carrying something heavy, something they couldn’t share with anyone. It was a loneliness he recognized too well.

For a second, he thought about closing the book, about putting it back where he found it and walking away from the private pain hidden in its pages.

But instead, his fingers tightened around the leather cover.

He knew he wasn’t done reading. Not yet.

He flipped the pages, as if to get an overview of the whole thing, and his eyes landed upon this sentence:

“I loved him, but love isn’t enough. Not when you’re broken. Not when every ‘I love you’ feels like a lie because you don’t love yourself.”

He cried. It was too relatable, it was too painful, he set it aside and looked at it as if it slapped him in the face.

It felt like the book looked back at him, with an intense gaze, a gaze that was too painful, begging to ease the burden it has to bear, with the painful words written on it.

He carried that book with him wherever he went now, as if it had become a part of him. It wasn’t just a book anymore; it was a place he could retreat to, a source of unexpected answers hidden within the questions scribbled across the pages. The questions she wrote were sometimes the very ones he found himself asking, though he never quite put them into words. And when he read those questions, it felt like, in some strange way, he received answers too, as if the act of reading her thoughts gave clarity to his own.

The book had become his constant companion, the one thing he couldn’t leave behind, no matter where he went. It wasn’t just a collection of someone else’s thoughts anymore; it was a lifeline, a whisper of understanding in a world that often felt indifferent. Each page was like opening a door to another world, another mind, another soul. There, tucked between the messy handwriting and tear-stained pages, was a person—someone raw and real, someone who hurt, laughed, and raged, just like him.

The questions she wrote haunted him. They weren’t just idle musings, they were the kind of questions that circled in his own mind late at night when sleep wouldn’t come.

"I'm in the kitchen now. Everyone's asleep. I'm hungry, but I don’t want to eat anything from the fridge. I don’t even know what I want anymore. Do I want to eat? Do I want to sleep? Do I want to wake up tomorrow?"

It wasn’t just hunger she was talking about. He could feel it in the words—the deeper, unspoken craving for something more, something that would fill the emptiness gnawing at her. He recognized it because he’d felt it too. That nameless ache that made you feel like you were missing something essential, something that everyone else seemed to have.

"My mother wants me to become a lawyer. She thinks it’s a respectable job. But how do you explain to someone that you can’t even imagine living long enough to pick a career?"

That line had hit him hard the first time he read it, and it hit him again every time he went back to it. He didn’t know how to explain that kind of heaviness either—the weight of expectations that pressed down until you couldn’t breathe, until the future felt like a foreign concept, like something that didn’t belong to you.

"Why is the hair on my legs so much healthier than the hair on my head? Maybe even my body knows it’s a waste of time to take care of the parts that matter."

Her humor was sharp, biting in a way that made him smile despite himself. But underneath it all, there was always that thread of pain, of uncertainty, as if she didn’t even believe in her own jokes.

"These relatives... she told me I was too young to be having back pains. Well, alright, you rotten chicken fungus of an aunt, you're too old to be alive, but here we are, aren’t we?"

Jeongin had laughed out loud the first time he read that. It was such a strange, unexpected combination of words. She was angry, frustrated, but instead of letting it consume her, she twisted it into something absurd. It was her way of fighting back against a world that didn’t make sense. And maybe that’s why he felt such a strong connection to her.

She was like him, trying to make sense of things that couldn’t be understood.

But then there were the moments when her humor cracked, when the weight of everything she was carrying bled through the pages.

"Even the shrimp in my soup looked at me like it was disgusted to be eaten by someone as useless as me. Maybe that’s why I threw up when I got home. Maybe my body is rejecting me, just like everything else does."

Those lines made his chest ache. He didn’t know her, but he could feel her pain as if it were his own. And in some ways, it was. They were strangers, but their experiences overlapped in ways that were impossible to ignore. She wrote about her feelings of worthlessness, her moments of self-doubt, and it mirrored so much of what he had felt in his own life.

"I bled too much this month. I honestly got scared, thought I might die. And for a second, I hoped I would. Isn’t that pathetic?"

Sometimes, he felt like he was trespassing on something sacred, like he had stumbled into the most private parts of someone’s soul and wasn’t supposed to be there. But he couldn’t stop. The more he read, the more he understood her, and the more he understood himself.

She had written about love too, though it was clear that love had never been kind to her.

"I think the worst part of being in love is realizing that you’re not worth being loved back. I waited for him to notice me, but I was invisible. I gave everything, but it was never enough. I’ll never be enough. Maybe no one will ever love me."

"I think about him all the time. What he’s doing, where he is, why he hasn’t called. And when he finally does, it’s like I’m waiting for scraps of his attention, begging for something that never comes. I hate myself for it. I hate myself for loving him."

"He’s always busy, always tired, always has an excuse. But when he needs something, I’m the first person he calls. And I always go. I always show up. I can’t say no, even when I know I should. I think I’m scared he’ll leave for good if I stop trying. But why do I care? Why do I care about someone who doesn’t care about me?"

"I told him I needed more. That I was tired of feeling like an afterthought, like I was always chasing him. He laughed. Laughed. Like I was being ridiculous, like I was overreacting. He said I was being clingy, that I was too emotional. He made me feel like I was asking for too much, even though I knew I wasn’t. All I wanted was for him to care about me the way I cared about him."

"I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’ve become this person who waits around for someone who doesn’t care if I’m there or not. I feel so small, like I’ve disappeared into the shadows of his life, and he doesn’t even notice. I’m losing myself, and I don’t know how to get me back."

"He never even said he loved me. Not once. And I think that’s what hurts the most—that I gave him everything, and he couldn’t even give me those three words."

Those words stayed with him long after he closed the book, hanging in the air like a ghost he couldn’t shake off.

He traced his fingers over the blotchy ink, smudged from what he could only assume was a tear that had fallen while she wrote. It was old now, the paper yellowing around the edges, but the pain still felt fresh. His own tears fell onto the page, mingling with the remnants of hers, creating new blotches, new marks of shared sorrow.

It reminded him of his own heartbreak, the nights he had spent lying awake, wondering what he had done wrong, why he hadn’t been enough. At least he had experienced it, love, even if it had been fleeting and unreciprocated. He had felt it, even when it was small, even when it had hurt. She, on the other hand, seemed like she had never even had the chance. She had never known what it felt like to be truly loved, to be held, to be seen. And that, more than anything, broke his heart.

And sometimes, in those quiet moments when the world felt still and all he had were her words, Jeongin couldn’t help but think:

If I had met her, I would’ve loved her. I would’ve loved her the way she deserved to be loved. I would’ve held her, told her she wasn’t invisible. I would’ve loved her right.

It was a strange thought, irrational even, to love someone he had never met, someone whose face he couldn’t even picture. But it wasn’t about that. It was about the way she made him feel, the way her words spoke to the deepest parts of him. They were both broken in their own ways, both wandering through life with pieces missing. But together, even if only through the fragile connection of ink on paper, they were whole. At least, that’s what he told himself.

In one of her final entries, she had written something that had stayed with him longer than anything else:

“I wonder if anyone would notice if I disappeared. If I just...faded away. Maybe it’s better this way. No one gets hurt when you’re invisible.”

He had gone to the kitchen that night, seeking out the spot she had described. It was cramped, barely enough room to stand, let alone sit and write. He had pushed the table aside, just a little, and squeezed himself into the space. It was uncomfortable, awkward, nothing like the peaceful image her words had painted. Yet, as he stood there, the cool air brushing against his skin, he understood why she had chosen that spot. It was a place where she could be alone, but still feel connected. A place where she could write her pain into the world and, in doing so, release it, even if only for a moment.

He stood there for a long time, just reading her words, feeling the weight of them settle into his bones. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel so alone.

In that moment, he felt closer to her than ever, connected by this strange, unspoken bond through the pages of her diary.

Months passed, and Jeongin had read the diary so many times, he could recite some of the entries from memory, it was like some kind of faith, like some kind of devotion.

Everytime he reads it, he finds something new.

It was only after the 6th read he was able to figure out that her handwriting was actually bad, she wanted to maintain her diary well.

Only after the third read he found out that she had siblings, and she was the eldest.

Yet, no matter how many times he read it, the ending always left him haunted. The last page she had written on was almost too painful to bear.

“I wonder if anyone would notice if I disappeared. If I just...faded away. Maybe it’s better this way. No one gets hurt when you’re invisible.”

After that, the pages were blank.

She had stopped writing, and no matter how many times Jeongin flipped through the journal, hoping for just one more entry, there was nothing. No final thoughts, no explanation, not even a hint of what might have happened to her. The silence in those empty pages gnawed at him, as if the story had been abruptly cut off, leaving him suspended in a web of unanswered questions. Each time he opened the journal, his fingers traced the edges of the worn paper, yearning for some kind of closure, but it never came.

It had been a long time since Jeongin had written anything of his own. In his younger days, he had filled countless journals with his thoughts, feelings, and the trivial moments of everyday life. But somewhere along the way, as the years passed, life became too overwhelming—too fast, too chaotic, too painful. The words that once flowed easily from his pen had dried up, like a river dammed by the weight of reality. Yet now, as he stared at the blank pages in front of him, something deep inside began to stir. It was a faint, almost forgotten feeling—a quiet urge to express, to release. The silence of her journal, the unanswered questions, seemed to call out to him, beckoning him to fill the empty space with his own words once again.

He grabbed a pen and began to write.

The journal had become a lifeline for Jeongin. Every day, he’d write. Sometimes it was a response to something she had written, just beside or above and near the empty spaces of the page, with a different colored ink—other times, it was just his own thoughts, the things he couldn’t say to anyone else. The pages that had once been hers were slowly becoming his too.

The breakup didn’t hurt as much anymore. The scars were still there, of course, but they had faded. He had begun to move on, even if the world felt a little lonelier without her words to guide him.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. About what might have happened to her after she stopped writing. The thought gnawed at him, and after a year had passed, after his graduation and the start of his new job, Jeongin made a decision.

He was going to find her.

Jeongin spent weeks searching for her, digging through old records, asking neighbors and looking for any clue as to what had happened to the woman behind the journal. It was difficult, especially since the diary hadn’t given any specific details about her life—no name, no address, no family.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he owed it to her. She had shared so much of herself with him, even though she hadn’t known him. The least he could do was find out who she was.

Eventually, after much frustration and countless dead ends, Jeongin found his answer.

She was dead.

The news hit him like a punch to the gut. He sat in the small, local library where he had been doing his research, staring at the old obituary. There was no photo, just a brief mention of her passing, no cause of death listed. It was as if she had simply vanished from the world, just as she had written about.

Jeongin felt tears burn at the back of his eyes. All this time, he had been reading her words, connecting with her, hoping that maybe she had found peace. But she hadn’t.

She was gone.

The funeral had long passed, but Jeongin found the grave—a small, unmarked stone in a quiet corner of the cemetery. It was so unassuming, almost like no one had cared enough to give her a proper place of rest, as if she were some kind of dead fish, no, a fish would've had a better funeral.

“I would have loved you,” he whispered, kneeling by the gravestone. His fingers traced the cold marble, his heart heavy with all the words he wished he could say to her. “I would have loved you right.”

The wind blew softly, as if the universe itself was listening, but no answer came.

Jeongin stayed there for a long time, just sitting with her, feeling the weight of her absence. When he finally stood, he pulled the journal from his bag, the pages now worn from his constant reading. He had one last thing to ask.

[1:12 PM]

the doorbell rings right as you bury your face in jeongin's chest, arms wrapped tight around his warm body. you make a point of sighing as loudly as you can, even though the noise is muffled by his shirt.

"baby, I...can you, like-" he starts, trying to wiggle his way out from under you to see who's come to interrupt your time together.

of course, you don't plan on cooperating. instead, you wriggle further up his body until your nose is pressed against his neck and your arms are wrapped around him again like his personal cuddlebug.

he seems to get the impression that you're not exactly enthusiastic about the idea of moving anywhere for at least another hour, but he feels bad because he's pretty sure it's felix at the door, coming to ask for his headset back.

"alright, in that case," he says as he sits up, bringing you with him, "you can come with."

and so he somehow manages to stand with you still clinging to him, and as he stumbles towards the front door he can't help but feel a bit like a mother koala carrying her sleepy young.

the ringing of the doorbell doesn't stop until he actually opens the door, and as it turns out, it was indeed felix coming for his headset.

"hey, just wanted the headset back since we're about to-" felix pauses as he looks up, "um, hi Y/N."

you reply with a quiet hum in greeting, your face still hidden from view against jeongin's shoulder.

"anyway, that's all I'm here for."

jeongin shuffles back into the apartment, searching for the headset while simultaneously trying not to drop you or fall over. once he succeeds in his mission and felix is on his way, he returns to his position on the couch.

you can't help but let out a series of giggles at his dedication to travelling around the apartment with you instead of dropping you off on the cushions, and he joins you laughing as whatever netflix series you were watching plays in the background.

kissing your nose softly, he doesn't even have to speak for you to know what's on his mind.

yes, this is love. this is happiness.