Jeongin X You - Tumblr Posts

can i walk you home?

8. accidental late night studio session

warnings food mention, getting stood up

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can i walk you home?

9. odd east

⇀ wc 1.2k

⇀ warnings maybe angst if you squint, reader talks about how they smell, two dorks who are both so awkward and so dumb but one more so than the other

chan had told you to just wait in the lobby of the dance building, so that’s where you are now, scrolling on your phone with your dance bag thrown over your shoulder. you had texted the skz president to ask which one of the guys was picking you up but you assume he had gotten distracted by his latest project as he had failed to text you back. chan had been the only one to take you back to your dorm previously but you couldn’t think of a member of skz that would be a bad choice in this situation.

you’re getting ready to text chan again to find out where your “buddy” is when the front door to the building opens and you look up to find none other than yang jeongin. you’re about to ask how he could get in, the building doors lock after 6pm except for majors or students in current dance courses, but he beats you to it once he spots you.

"i'm in the intro to movement course," he supplies nervously, gesturing to the doors behind him and you realize you must have worn your confusion on your face. he clears his throat as he glances down to your feet quickly, avoiding your gaze.

this is kind of how the boy had been for the past few weeks as you'd both grown from simply classmates to study buddies, rarely making eye contact and almost never staying still, always fidgeting just slightly whenever you'd initiate conversation or glance his way. similarly now he stands several feet in front of you with hands clasped and shoulders hunched slightly, fingers playing with the rings he always wore as he waits for you to, you assume, respond.

instead you simply nod, clearing your own throat gently before gesturing toward the doors jeongin had just entered. "are you," you trail off with a light shake of your head in a mix of confusion and question.

"right! yes," he scrambles to answer, head suddenly shooting up to look at you before he steps to the side and stretches his arm toward the doors. "can i walk you home?" he asks seeming almost nervous you'll say no even though you were the one to request the service.

"yes please," you answer with a slight chuckle and sharp nod of your head before taking the few steps to the doors and he shuffles along behind you.

once you're outside the building, jeongin takes one large step to his right, placing a few feet of distance between the two of you and you're suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you probably smell like a mix of the fading body spray you'd applied earlier today, several hours worth of sweat, and the ultra specific scent of the dance studio, a room that sports its own mix of not entirely unpleasant but strange odors. you wouldn't blame anyone for the way they might want to keep a bit of a distance but for some reason this is the only time you've felt this conscious about it, recalling all the times you'd been around lia or taehyun in similar states. you decide to simply blame it on the fact that jeongin is still a relatively new friend, if you would even really consider him that. you've only ever seen each other on days you weren't going to be in the studio or before you went, this was the first time you'd interacted after you'd been working on a series of combinations for hours on end.

"so where do you live?" jeongin speaks up, drawing you from your thoughts, and you realize you've both just been standing awkwardly in front of the dance building for a few seconds while he waited for you to point him in the proper direction.

“oh, i live in odd east this year,” you supply ticking your head lightly in the general direction of the usual path you take from the dance building to your dorm.

“that’s the green one right?” your buddy asks and you’re reminded that he’s a freshman, still learning about campus considering you’re only just over a month into his first semester.

you just nod in response, a silent chuckle leaving you as you both take the first steps along the sidewalk.

jeongin manages to keep the distance he’d set between you and several times throughout your silent stroll you catch yourself with an apology on the tip of your tongue. you’ve never felt the need to apologize for the way you’ve looked, or smelled for that matter, before this moment. maybe it’s the way jeongin is so obvious with his avoidance but as you think about it, he’s not acting all too dissimilar from how he has when you’ve gotten together before. maybe it has something to do with the privacy of this interaction, most students asleep or studying in their dorms, as opposed to all the times you’ve met in more populated spaces, the chaotic skz house, a busy coffee shop, or a packed library, that is making you hyper aware of jeongin’s behavior.

as you brainstorm about his behavior, jeongin is trying his best to avoid tripping over his own feet as he thinks about how pretty you look right now. something about how you look so relaxed and natural like this, in your more casual dance clothes and messy hair, has him feeling almost the same way he had when he saw you wearing his clothes at the skz party a few weeks ago. some uneven mix of excitement and nervousness that he’d felt brewing in him at the party, but now it feels as though it may tear him apart at the seams.

every few steps he glances over at you, partly to make sure you’re okay but mostly, to see if you’ve noticed the way he’s distanced himself from you, only to observe the determined, if not slightly frustrated, expression you sport. he’s seen you wear the same look several times in class or during study sessions and so simply chalks it up to you focusing on whatever you must have been working on in the studio before he picked you up. he’s tempted to reach out to you and brush away the hair that had escaped from behind your ear as you walked but he resists, stuffing both of his hands into his pockets rather forcefully and turning back to face the direction he’s headed.

his slightly sudden and abrupt movement catches your eye briefly, snapping you out of your own thoughts before you bring your focus to the path in front of you, counting the pavements as you go to keep your thoughts occupied.

you each had felt that your recent interactions outside of class had significantly decreased the awkwardness between you two, especially after the way jeongin had acted at the party, but with every step you took toward your dorm you could both feel the tension climbing. by the time you reached the front door of your dorm building it was obvious by either of your body language that it felt like you’d regressed back to that point right before jeongin had offered you his coffee.

“uh, thanks,” you say, clearing your throat as you reach for your key card to let yourself into the building.

jeongin nods, once again staring intently at your shoes, and you sort of wonder if they need to be cleaned, before he lets out a pathetic, “of course.”

“see you in class.”

and with that you’re closing the door behind you, making the trek toward your dorm, where lia is sure to scold you for coming back so late, and jeongin is left standing in the thick tension of the night that he can only blame himself for building.

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can i walk you home?

9.5

warnings worried taehyun and chan, taehyun teasing reader about smelling

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can i walk you home?

10. momo and mina’s match making

warnings talk of reader being self conscious, talk of ex-fling, a curse word if you consider hell a curse word

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can i walk you home?

11. it’s a date

warnings jung coming on very strong and a subtle innuendo

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can i walk you home?

12. ayo new gender just dropped

warnings cursing, reader is very anxious and snaps at taehyung

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can i walk you home?

13. a good plan

warnings a little angst, cursing, ice cream

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can i walk you home?

14. if people let you down

warnings cursing, reader discussing insecurity

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can i walk you home?

16. puppy day

warnings food, dogs

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can i walk you home?

12.5 (mina’s pov)

warnings none

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(reminder: polls are completely anonymous)

D͙o͙ w͙e͙?

Jeongin x reader

Category: very angst (with smut) with a happy ending

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You were crying in your bed, blankets covering your whole body. You were crying for the past week, because your heart got broken. You described it like painfuller than a knife in your throat.

Your now ex-boyfriend Jake and you had a heated argument, and you can say it got pretty wild. He suddenly brought another woman up during the argument, that was the last straw. You never saw him with rage in his eyes. It felt weird, and you couldn't look towards him the same way.

Your roommate Jeongin tried to cheer you up by watching some movie's or going to the mall. But it didn't help, it did help a bit, but not enough.

Another week pasted by, and you hoped for a phone call from him, but it never came...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month passed and your head was light as a feather. You were concentrating on your work for the past month. You got promoted and were doing great. You had a high position for someone with the age 23.

Tonight you had a formal dinner party. You actually didn't want to go, but you had to represent your company. You recently bought a tight black dress, which gave shape to every curve of your body.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'You a bit excited?' Jeongin asked.

'Yeah, maybe, a tiny bit.'

'You know, there is going to be lots of food.'

'Thats the only positive part of tonight. But you know maybe ill met somebody.'

'Thats the spirit!'

You both were in a big limo the company bought. Jeongin stepped first out of the car and he reached his hand out to you. You placed your hand in his and stepped out of the car.

You two walked inside the building, getting greeted by everyone around. Hearing some whispers and some of the latest gossips. Jeongin had placed his hand on your waist, without you noticing. Everyone was talking with eachother.

When it was time to get seated to your table, Jeongin kept holding you by your waist. The chair was very comfortable and you had a good view.

Suddenly the lights went off, because it was time for a speech. You never saw this coming...

Jake (your ex) had to give a speech. He had everyone raise their glass. Jeongin putted his hand on your thight, because he saw you needed some comfort. The speech at first was very emotional and inspiring, but than...

'I want to thank mine company, mine family and ofcourse mine beautifull girlfriend, seated over there.'

He was pointing at some girl, she was seated at the back. It hurted you that he could move on so fast, and that he did this infront of your eyes. He knew you were seated in the front.

And the worst part was that everyone kinda knew about your break-up, so it was very uncomfortable. Tears started to appear in your eyes. You stayed strong the entire speech.

Finally the lights turned back on, and everyone was again walking around.

'I have to use the restroom, ill be right back.' you whispered in Jeongin's ear. He heard your voice crack a bit.

You walked fast upstairs, towards the bathroom. You locked yourself in a bathroomstall. Crying your heart out.

It isn't fair!

It isn't fair!

It isn't fair?

It isn't fair...

Jeongin got very worried, because you were locked up for the past 30 minutes.

'Excuse, i am going to use the restroom.' he said.

He ran upstairs, towards the ladies-restroom. He threw the door open. He looked which stalls were used, only one was... He could hear your sobs.

He knocked gently on the door: 'Y/N?'

Nothing.

'Y/N, could you open the door for me?'

Nothing.

'Please?'

You opened the door, tears rolling down your cheek.

'Oh, Y/N.' he placed his hand on your cheek, wiping your tears away.

'Why would he do that?'

'Because he is a bastard who doesn't deserve you.'

He opened his arms.

'You need a hug.'

His arms wrapped around your waist. Gently moving from the right to the left. One of his hands going towards your head. Softly petting your head. He looked at you. Your puppy eyes looking up to him.

His eyes looking from your eyes towards your lips. You saw what he was planning to do. His face coming slowly closer to yours. You could feel his warm breath.

His lips slowly pecking on yours. His lips were soft and plump. The warmth you feel was magical. Slowly you parted your mouth so he could get more access. His hand supporting the back of your head.

Your arms wrapped around his neck. He pushed you a bit on a wall. He started to leave sloppy kisse's on your jaw, then he found his way towards your neck. Leaving beautifull hickey's behind.

You started to undo his tie and unbutton his blouse. He started to do the same to you.

'Wait.' he whispered in your ear. He sprinted towards the door and locked it so nobody could interrupt you both.

This time his kisse's were a bit wild, but you loved it. Getting rid of your clothe's like a beast. Throwing everything aside only leaving your panties on. Him also throwing everything, but his underwear, aside.

His fingers finding a way in your panties, glinding in your fold. Hearing whimpers from your mouth. Suddenly he turned you around. His slowly pulled your panties to your knees. He took his lenght outside his underwear, he wrapped his hand around it and leaded it towards your ass.

He jerked his hips towards you, hearing a moan leaving your mouth. (You two weren't really talker during intimacy). He placed his hands on your hips and started to slowly pump into you. Your hand holded his head for support.

His pace started to go faster. You could hear him groan by every pump. His hands grabbed your hands and pinned them on the wall. The room was filled with skin-slapping sounds, it made everything more romantic.

Your back arched, because you were about to cum.

'Jeoniee, ah-h, i-i c-c-.' you couldn't create a sentice anymore. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head. His head was laying on your shoulder, licking and kissing your shoulder.

He suddenly slipped out of you and turned you around.

'I want to look at you when i cum.' he said out of breath.

He started to slowly pump in you again, while he was again pinning you against the wall. His eyes locking with yours, not looking away. Your orgasm was about the come, you really couldn't take it any longer.

'I i-need to c-cum.'

He started to fasten his pace, pumping into you as fast as possible. Throwing your head back. You could feel him hiding in the crook of your neck. You and him came at the same moment. Staying in the same position for a bit.

He grabbed your chin gently and brought you in for another sloppy kiss.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You two finally were dressed up again. He kissed your cheek.

'You really want to go back downstairs?'

'We have to, don't we?'

'Do we?' he smirked.

'No we don't.' you smirked.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE END

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

☆.｡.:* Neighbor ☆.｡.:*

Neighbor!Jeongin x fem!reader

Category: fluff ❤

Warnings: ♥ None ♥ (but... maybe a little smut towards the end)

Note: A short story about some neighbor fluff, very romantic (in mine opinion), i hope you enjoy!

Xoxo

Rachel

You were wearing headphone's, jumping around with your music.

"I bring, I bring all the Drama-ma-ma-ma (hey, hey) I bring drama-ma-ma-ma (hey, hey) With my girls in the back"

You singed, making some little dance move's.

'나로 시작되는 drama (all that)'

You were heading towards your house when you saw a moving van. That's weird, you didn't move, did you? You snuck a little closer and saw a new family moving into the house next door.

You saw two people standing there, they were probably a couple. They looked quite old, maybe they had children. Oh! That would be so nice, to finally have friends in your neighborhood.

You went inside and grabbed a snack from the fridge. You didn't have much to do before school tomorrow, so you could finally get some rest and enjoy these beautiful spring days.

─── ❤ ── დ ── ❤ ───── ❤ ── დ ── ❤ ────── ❤ ── დ ── ❤

Eventually you started to get bored in your room. You went downstairs to your garden. Your garden was so beautiful, because all the sunlight always shone in your garden.

Beautiful, but a few clouds in the sky. The trees glistened in the sunlight, everything looked more beautiful than usual. Suddenly you heard a voice.

'안녕하세요, Hey.'

You looked around to see where the voice came from. You looked to your right and saw a boy leaning against the gate of your garden. He had black hair that fell slightly over his eyes.

"Hey."

"Do you live here?"

'No, I'm just sitting in their garden, sorry, I'm being sarcastic again. Yes, I live here.'

"So you're my new neighbor?"

'Ahh, so you are our new neighbors, welcome to the neighborhood by the way. It's very quiet here, so you're going to love it here.'

"I'm sure I'll like it here." he said under his breath.

"So, what are you doing?"

"I was actually listening to music."

'Can I listen in?'

"Of course, come."

He carefully opened the gate and approached you. When he came closer, you could observe his face better. He was actually very beautiful. He calmly took the headphones from your head and placed them near his ears.

"I know this song!"

'Really? What's it called then?'

'Let me think...

I'm a 퀸카 I'm a 퀸카 I'm a, I'm a, I'm a 퀸카 I'm a 퀸카 "

he started to sing. You laughed, he could actually sing very nicely.

"So you know it."

'Of course I know. Can I show you some songs?'

"Sure, go ahead."

He grabbed your phone and started typing something on Spotify. You recognized the lyrics immediately.

“Ahh, BTS run.

손 뻗어봤자 금세 깨버릴 꿈 (꿈, 꿈) 미칠 듯 달려도 또 제자리일 뿐 (뿐, 뿐)

그냥 날 태워줘, 그래, 더 밀쳐 내줘 이건 사랑에 미친 멍청이의 뜀박질 ..."

You both started laughing.

"Actually, I should be helping my parents, so... I'll see you later?"

'Yep, ofcourse.'

He waved and went out of sight. Finally someone to be friends with, or so you thought...

─── ❤ ── დ ── ❤ ───── ❤ ── დ ── ❤ ────── ❤ ── დ ── ❤

Every day you learned something new about him. He had a big brother and a little brother. He likes his personal space and he has some different tastes in music. His favorite colors are also Coral and Teal. He also has a lot of passion for music.

He told something about his friends, it doesn't mean that he has moved that he has to change schools. You've already heard of someone named Seungmin and Changbin. They sound very funny. He is the youngest of his group of friends.

You sat with him in his room, you lay on his bed.

"You know, I'd love to build a time machine and go back to the '90s."

'How so?' Jeongin asked.

"I just want to see how everything works there."

'Do you like the 90s concept?'

'Yes of course! The hair, the clothing style, the stuff, wow.'

'Yes, that's possible.'

'Which era do you find most interesting?'

'I don't really know, maybe just this time, because we live in the moment now. We live now and not in the past. We will never be able to live in the past, so why compare this time to the others?"

“Wow, very poetic Jeongin.”

'Am I wrong?'

"No, in a strange way it all makes a lot of sense."

"Let's change the subject."

"Okay sure, what do you want to talk about?"

'Maybe about love? Do you believe in soulmates?'

'Me? I don't know, sometimes I feel like there's one person for everyone. But sometimes I think that certain people just fit together because of certain interests. And you?'

'I don't know, I think so. I want to live with the idea that there is someone for me, who suits me exactly. Okay, maybe not exactly, but still.' 'Yes..'

"You know, this might sound really weird, but maybe I can try out my flirting techniques on you?"

"Sure, but don't think it'll work."

'Bet?'

"Okay bet."

He came next to you on the bed. He grabbed your hand with one hand and caressed your cheeks with the other.

"Do you think that'll work?"

"Shh, I wasn't ready yet."

He breathed deeply and started looking into your eyes.

“You always look like an angel Y/N.”

'Am I an angel? More like a devil.'

He rolled his eyes and turned back to you. He looked from your eyes to your lips and vice versa. He touched your lips with his thumb, your heart skipped a beat.

“These lips Y/N, these lips, the most beautiful thing.”

You couldn't say anything anymore, what could you say? Your hands slid to his hands. Even though he was so confident, his hands were a bit sweaty.

His face moved closer to yours and... he kissed your cheek softly.

'And? Good flirting techniques?' he says as you still hold his hands.

You cleared your throat.

'Yes, quite good, yes, I have heard better.'

'Are you sure?'

'Sure.' you avoided eye contact.

He turned your face so you were looking at him.

'A bad liar.'

Suddenly he pinned you down on the bed.

'And now?'

'Hmmm, it could be better.'

His eyes fell on your neck, he grinned. His mouth came closer to your neck, so close that you felt his warm breath on your so sensitive skin. His tongue made small circles on your neck, leaving small bites.

'And now?'

'It's better already.'

"I can always make it better."

His face came closer to yours, so close that you were about to kiss, but he only kissed your forehead.

Your puppy dog ​​eyes looked up at him. You wanted more... but not in a bad way. He wanted to leave again, but you didn't just let him go. You grabbed his face and pressed your lips together.

His eyes went wide, but he didn't back down. When your lips parted again, he just stared at you in surprise.

"How about that?" you said with a very big grin on your face.

You got up and went to his door.

“This was fun, I'll see you tomorrow. Same hour.”

You wanted to open the door but he stopped you.

"Do you think you'll leave now?"

He kissed you again and pushed you against the door a little. You felt his hands over your body, it couldn't be more romantic.

You looked down and saw that the bulge in his pants was big. He saw what you were looking at.

"Are you going to help me with this?"

'With pleasure.'

You said, leaving small kisses on his face.

─── ❤ ── დ ── ❤ ───── ❤ ── დ ── ❤ ────── ❤ ── დ ── ❤

• texting boyfriend stray kids in your native language | OT8 x you

genre: romance

warnings: suggestive

Like I Do

(i just wanna love you)

genre:; fluff, best friends to lovers. word count: 1864

jeongin x reader. college jeongin!. architect student Jeongin! (writing for him cause university jeongin is what i always dream of *sobs*0

wherein: you tried to stop you feelings for your best friend especially he has a girl.

College is something—

Something you don’t want to do but have to do.

Something hard to do, but you need to do it anyway because your future is in there.

You sigh for the third time as you look at the problem you need to solve for your hydraulics subject. You feel overwhelmed, so you decide to close your book and stand up. "This won’t do. I need caffeine."

You walk to the cafeteria, buy what you need, and sit at the nearest table when someone places a piece of bread in front of you.

"Hello. Miss me?" You sigh, then look at the man who sits across from you.

"I’d rather swim than see you," you joke because you hate swimming.

"Aww, I missed you too." He smiles, then takes your coffee and sips, leaving the cup half empty.

Jeongin has been your best friend since high school. Now in college, where you take different courses, you rarely see each other. He’s studying architecture, and you’re in civil engineering. Neither of you is in your dream course, but you took it anyway.

"How’s life?" he asks after you both rant about that one instructor you share—the one who doesn’t teach well but gives hard quizzes anyway.

"Better until I saw you."

He squints his eyes and rolls them. "I think you’ll see me more often. My girlfriend is in your department."

You stop sipping your drink at his words but then pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You’ve had a long-time crush on this best friend of yours. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s handsome and cute at the same time. He knows you better than anyone else in this world and is always there for you in hard times. Tell me, who wouldn’t?

But you tried to suppress it when you realized he’s a gentleman to everyone, not just you. He’s like that to anybody, and you’re not that special. Well, you are his best friend, but that doesn’t differ from how he treats his other female friends. He’s just that kind of potato to everybody.

"Who? Why didn’t you tell me?" You put on an upset face.

"Well, you’re busy. Every time I go there, I see you spacing out, so I can’t tell you."

"Well, that explains it." You try to act calm, but honestly, you’re just as hurt as if you were pricked by a tiny splinter that goes deeper into your skin until it swells. It hurts like hell, but you’re afraid to tell anyone—they might say you’re overreacting. It’s just a small wound.

"Are you angry?" Jeongin suddenly feels uneasy. He knows you well.

"Nothing. I’m just tired, but you drank my coffee, you prick."

He laughs in relief. "Don’t worry, I’ll buy you another." Then he stands up. You’re about to say it’s okay, but you feel too weak to do so and let him do what he wants.

He comes back with the same coffee and two cupcakes—your favorites: strawberry and chocolate.

"Here, our future engineer. Keep fighting!" He places them in front of you, cheering you up. You can’t help but smile. You seek comfort from him. You stay there until who knows when, talking and catching up until you run out of things to say.

You return to your study area, feeling like the burden you were carrying is now gone. You pick up your pen and answer your problems quietly.

-

You step out of your classroom, feeling happy. Your long quiz is finally finished. You’re not sure about your answers, but at least it’s done, and now you can rest!

"Ohoy there!"

You look toward the end of the hallway you’re walking down and see Jeongin with a tube slung over his back (probably his plates).

You smiled. "What are you doing here? Aren't you busy?"

"I was busy, but I need to look for my inspiration. Have you seen her?" Jeongin's eyes twinkled as he teased, but you knew he meant his girlfriend. The words made your heart sink, but you played along.

"She's inside taking the exam. You should be quiet and let her take it in peace," you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

Jeongin chuckled, leaning against the wall next to you. "How's the quiz? Did you ace it?"

"Finished, at least. Whether I aced it is a different story," you said with a small laugh. "But I'm just glad it's over."

"That's the spirit!" Jeongin gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow. "How about we celebrate? Let's go to that ramen shop we used to visit in high school. My treat."

The suggestion brought a rush of memories—late-night study sessions, bowls of steaming ramen, and laughter that echoed through the small, cozy shop. It was your place, your little refuge from the world. But now, the idea of going there with him, with her, made you hesitate.

You forced a smile and nodded. "Sure, sounds good."

Later that evening, the three of you sat around a familiar table at the ramen shop. The comforting aroma of broth filled the air, but the atmosphere was different, heavier.

Jeongin's girlfriend sat close to him, her arm looped through his as she leaned in, talking softly. You tried to focus on your ramen, stirring the noodles absentmindedly. Jeongin noticed and, without a word, pushed a small bowl toward you.

"I asked them to leave out the vegetables and tone down the spice," he said, his voice warm with familiarity. "Just how you like it."

"Thanks," you murmured, trying to ignore the way his girlfriend's eyes narrowed at the gesture.

Throughout the meal, she grew increasingly clingy, touching his arm, laughing louder at his jokes, as if marking her territory. You felt smaller with each passing second, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you.

"I need to go to the restroom," you suddenly announced, standing up before either of them could react. You needed air, needed space away from the suffocating tension.

In the restroom, you stared at your reflection, trying to compose yourself. But the tears came anyway, hot and uncontrollable. It was too much—pretending you were okay, pretending you could just be his friend when every moment with him reminded you of what you couldn't have.

You cried until you couldn't anymore, until the mirror showed a person you barely recognized, someone worn out from hiding too much. Wiping your eyes, you took a deep breath and made a decision. You needed to set boundaries, for your own sake. Jeongin had a girlfriend, and you had to let go of the feelings that were tearing you apart.

The next few days were hard. You avoided Jeongin, making excuses whenever he tried to hang out. You buried yourself in your studies, in anything that could distract you from the ache in your chest. But Jeongin noticed. Of course, he did.

One day, he cornered you outside your classroom, his expression serious. "You've been avoiding me."

You sighed, unable to meet his eyes. "I’ve just been busy, Jeongin. You know how it is."

"Bullshit," he said, his voice unusually sharp. "You’re not just busy. Something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me."

"Why does it matter?" you snapped, finally looking at him. "You have a girlfriend now. Go focus on her."

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. "Is that what this is about? You think I don’t care about you just because I’m dating someone?"

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill again. "No, it’s not that. It’s just… I need space, okay? I need to figure things out."

"Figure what out?" His voice softened, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to you.

You stepped back, shaking your head again. "I can’t do this, Jeongin. I can’t keep pretending that I’m fine when I’m not."

The silence between you was deafening. He looked at you, his brows furrowed in confusion, and maybe something else. You didn’t wait for him to say anything else. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, alone and confused.

Days turned into weeks, and the distance between you and Jeongin grew. You tried to move on, focusing on your studies and pushing your feelings aside. But every time you saw him, your heart ached, a constant reminder of what you’d lost—not just the chance to be with him, but the friendship you had cherished.

Jeongin, on the other hand, became more and more withdrawn. His girlfriend noticed, of course, and their relationship began to strain under the weight of his unresolved feelings. He missed you, more than he thought possible, and the longer he went without seeing you, the more he realized something that terrified him.

He liked you. He always had, but he had been too blind to see it, too caught up in the idea of finding the perfect girl that he overlooked the one who had been there all along. The one who knew him better than anyone, who made him laugh, who made him feel at home.

And now, he was losing you.

It was a rainy afternoon when Jeongin finally found you in the library, your nose buried in a textbook. You didn’t notice him at first, too engrossed in your reading. But when he sat down across from you, you looked up, surprised.

"Jeongin, what are you—"

"I broke up with her," he blurted out, cutting you off. His eyes were intense, filled with a determination that you hadn’t seen before.

You blinked, taken aback. "What? Why?"

"Because she’s not you," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Because I’ve been looking for something, someone, who was right in front of me the whole time. And I was too stupid to see it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of hope and fear swirling inside you. "Jeongin, you don’t know what you’re saying…"

"I do," he insisted, leaning forward. "I know exactly what I’m saying. I like you. I like you so much that it hurts, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you because I was too scared to admit it."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of joy. You had been holding onto this hope for so long, and now, it was finally happening.

"I like you too," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Jeongin smiled, that familiar, boyish smile that you had fallen for all those years ago. "So, what do you say? Should we give this a shot?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. He reached out, taking your hand in his, and just like that, the distance that had grown between you disappeared. It wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

Blue Sticky Note

straykids fic wherein a mysterious note confession appears in your binder. Unsure of who left it, you embark on an investigation among your eight close friends, each with their own quirks and possibilities.

genre: Fluff. and fluff

ot8 x reader! stray kids x reader!! word count: 3.3k

AN: i want to make a fic with multiple members in it but i might make more of it after i finished all individual members. btw can you teach me how tumblr works? i might pin a masterlist soon hehe

You just got back to your apartment after a long day of classes. Exhausted from wrestling with numbers and equations, you flopped down on your bed and closed your eyes.

But your moment of peace was interrupted by the sudden ringing of your phone.

“Hey,” your friend Seungmin’s voice greeted you through the speaker.

Used to how he always greeted you, you sighed and listened as he continued, your tiredness making it hard to focus.

“You didn’t turn in your literature assignment. I’m on my way to your building,” he said, causing you to bolt upright in surprise.

You had forgotten to give it to him during class earlier. Glad he reminded you. And you were glad to be friends with him because he was the class representative. You enjoyed a lot of benefits from being his friend.

“Okay, thanks for the reminder. No need to come up—I’ll meet you downstairs,” you replied before ending the call.

Grateful for Seungmin’s help, you quickly gathered your things and checked your binder for the assignment. You sighed in relief when you found it. “I thought I lost you.”

As you were about to close your binder, a flash of blue caught your eye. A blue sticky note on the front page—one that you definitely didn’t own.

You pulled it out and read the message, which made your heart skip a beat: “I like you. But i you only see me as a friend.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d received a confession, but this note felt different. There was a mystery to it that intrigued you.

Confusion swirled in your mind as you tried to piece together who might have left this note. The message was neatly written in capital letters, offering no clues about the writer's identity.

Who could it be?

You had a lot of friends, but who might have done this?

You had male friends, all of whom felt like brothers to you. Could it be one of them? But they were like family.

The note was a sweet but outdated way to confess—charming in its own way but not something you’d expect from anyone in particular. You read it again and again, hoping to find a hint about who it might be from. But aside from the neat handwriting on a blue sticky note, you found nothing.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. You immediately sprang out of bed, remembering Seungmin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, peeking through the door.

“It’s okay,” he smiled reassuringly. “I know you were tired, so I decided to come up.”

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, quickly picking up some clothes that were strewn on the floor. You grabbed your assignment and saw the sticky note again, hastily hiding it by placing a book on top.

As you handed over your paper, you decided to test the waters, curious about who the note could be from. “Do you own any sticky notes?” you asked casually.

Seungmin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“I was taking notes and thought I might need some,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You have plenty already,” he said, gesturing to the stack of colorful sticky notes on your study table. “And no, I don’t have any. I keep running out of them. I should buy more.”

He glanced at his watch and then looked back at you, his eyes full of concern. “I should go now. You should continue resting, and don’t forget to eat.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. President,” you said, a playful tone in your voice.

“No problem. Take care and always lock your doors. Bye, see you tomorrow.”

Before he left, Seungmin ruffled your hair affectionately.

As the door closed behind him, you found yourself staring at the sticky note again, your mind racing. If it was Seungmin who left the note, did he feel that way about you? His caring nature and playful attitude seemed to match the tone of the note, but could he really be the one?

Then again, what if it wasn’t him? You couldn’t jump to conclusions based solely on a sticky note.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside. Until you had more evidence, you couldn’t be certain. You needed to consider all possibilities before drawing any conclusions.

Sticky notes and neat penmanship alone weren’t enough to figure out who left the note. Everyone in your class had decent handwriting, and blue sticky notes were too common to offer any real clue. They were practically identical—anyone could have bought them. It wasn't unique, not even close.

So who could it be?

"What are you thinking about?"

You were lost in thought when a voice pulled you back to reality. You looked up to see who it was.

"Uh, nothing," you replied, somewhat startled.

It was Changbin.

He was a friend of yours, though vastly different from Seungmin. If Seungmin was a green flag, then Changbin was the complete opposite—a walking red flag who had a reputation for playing with people’s hearts.

"Let me copy your physics assignment," he demanded more than asked, flashing you a grin that was both charming and mischievous.

Changbin had that bad-boy aura, and you sometimes wondered how you two even became friends. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t be the one who left that sticky note in your binder. When Changbin liked someone, he didn’t shy away from telling them directly. He would flirt openly, not leave anonymous notes.

So no, it wasn’t him.

"Why should I?" you replied nonchalantly. You were used to his antics, which might be one of the reasons why you were friends.

"Because I’m cute, and after class, I’ll buy you your favorite toothpaste-flavored ice cream," he teased.

"It’s not toothpaste! It’s mint chocolate!" you corrected, rolling your eyes.

"My bad," he smirked, unfazed. "Now, let me copy."

Too tired to argue further, you handed him your assignment. Changbin eagerly started copying, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

As you watched him scribble down your answers, you noticed his messy handwriting. There was no way it could have been him—the note’s handwriting was neat and careful, the opposite of his chaotic scrawl.

"You really have terrible handwriting. What are you, a kid? It looks like a storm blew through it," you teased, watching him.

"If I had more time, I could make it look like it was printed with a font," he shot back, not looking up. "But since the prof will be here in a few minutes, I don’t care what you say. Now, shush."

You let him finish copying, trying not to overthink the situation again, when suddenly he pulled out a blue sticky note from his bag.

"I almost forgot to give this to you," he said, handing it to you slowly. "It’s the address for the party this weekend. You should come. If I don’t see even a glimpse of you, I won’t enjoy it."

Surprised, you stared at the sticky note in his hand. It was the same color and size as the one you found in your binder. Why would he have this?

Seeing that you weren’t taking it, he grinned mischievously and stuck it to your forehead, laughing at your shocked expression.

Could it be him?

But…

You glanced at the two sticky notes in your hand, comparing them as you strolled through the expansive university yard.

Confessing like this wasn’t his style.

So it couldn’t be, right?

But the sticky notes were identical—the same length, the same height. Plain as they were, they were unmistakably the same.

Yet, you remembered how he would laugh if he knew someone confessed like this. He’d call it plain, boring, and probably mock the person as weak.

You shook off the thought, placing the sticky notes back in your binder and hugging it to your chest, forcing your mind to focus on your lessons.

"Hey, monkey!" You halted mid-step, rolling your eyes at the familiar voice and nickname.

"What?" you snapped, turning to face him.

"So you really accept now that you’re a monkey?" he teased, laughing. It was Minho.

Your friend (well, sort of?). In your group, you were like a cat and dog—he was the cat, and according to him, you were the dog because your face reminded him of one.

Despite the constant teasing, you appreciated how he looked out for you and was always there when you needed him.

But what did he just say?

"I'm not in the mood to fight with you," you muttered. On a normal day, you would have started bickering with him, refusing to back down until he surrendered (yes, like kids). "What are you, a chicken?"

"Oh, you noticed my hair. Do you like it?" he winked.

"You look like a rooster." His hair was dyed orange, and although he didn’t look like a rooster, you wanted to get back at him.

"That's better than being a monkey," he grinned.

"Crazy."

The two of you walked together, talking about random things with the usual bickering sprinkled in. Then, you remembered the sticky note. You knew it wasn’t from him because, well, why would it be?

Still, you decided to show it to him.

"Who do you think did this?" you asked, handing him the note.

He read it aloud, the words dripping with sarcasm, "That’s the cringiest thing I’ve ever read in my whole life."

Just as you expected.

"You shouldn’t say that! He must’ve gathered a lot of courage to do this."

"Why wouldn’t he just tell you in person? Is he weak?" Minho scoffed, lowering his voice when he saw you weren’t amused.

"Maybe he didn’t want to ruin our friendship."

"Then he shouldn’t have liked you in the first place."

"Can we control our feelings? It’s hard, you know!" You rolled your eyes. "Why am I even telling you this? You don’t understand anything," you mumbled, though loud enough for him to hear. "Anyway, I should go. I have something to do at the library."

"I like you."

You froze in your tracks at his words.

"That’s what he should do! It’s really easy, you know," he said, smirking before suddenly sprinting off in the opposite direction.

What was that?

Confused by Minho's words, you made your way to the library, replaying the conversation in your mind.

"What was that? Does he like me, or was he just using it as an example?"

You tried to shrug off the thought as you arrived at the library. The familiar scent of books enveloped you, a comforting distraction.

At the librarian's desk, you spotted Han, your friend who worked there as a student assistant.

"Oh, what brings you here?" he greeted you with a smile, lowering his voice in contrast to Minho’s usual volume.

"Hello. I’m returning this book." You handed him the physics book you had been hugging to your chest.

"Already? Are you sure you’re done with it? It’s okay if you missed the deadline. You know I can always talk to the senior librarian for you," Han offered, his tone warm and reassuring.

If you were to consider another suspect in your mystery investigation, Han would be a possibility. You’d never questioned how he took care of you before, but now, as you tried to solve this puzzle, you began to wonder.

Could he like you?

Or were you just overthinking things?

No, you shouldn’t read too much into Han’s actions. Like Seungmin, he was someone who genuinely cared for the people he loved.

"No, it’s okay. I’m done with it. Thank you, Han. And thanks for the offer—I might take you up on that one day and maybe never return the book," you joked, earning a laugh from him.

"Now I should go. I need to meet Hyunjin—he asked me for a favor."

"Sure! Take care!"

"Thanks. You too."

As you left the library, you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Turning around, you saw Han, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, was this yours? You forgot it," he said, handing you the sticky note.

You didn’t know how it ended up with him, but you quickly took it and placed it in your binder.

"Oh, thanks."

"No worries. That was a cute confession," he said, still catching his breath, then laughed. "I should get back—lots of work to do."

You nodded, watching as he returned to the library.

A question formed in your mind: Was it Han?

Why didn’t he ask who wrote it?

Why wasn’t he curious?

But then, he did ask if it was yours, as if he didn’t know.

So maybe… it wasn’t him.

"You literally owe me for this one," you whined, though you knew you didn’t have much of a choice as you glanced at your friend Hyunjin, a med student with an ever-present smile.

"Yes, I promise I'll buy you whatever you want," he said, clasping his hands together in gratitude, his eyes gleaming with a sincerity that made it hard to stay annoyed. You sighed, relenting, and extended your arm.

He needed a blood sample for one of his "you-don’t-know-the-details" assignments, and apparently, you were exactly what he needed.

Like a seasoned pro, he pricked the needle into your skin and attached a small hose to collect your blood. It wasn’t the first time you’d been his willing guinea pig, but you couldn’t say no to Hyunjin.

"Thank you," he said earnestly after he was done.

"Right. You should be thankful," you retorted with a mock glare, though you couldn’t help but smile when he laughed.

Hyunjin had the most stereotypical 'doctor-y' penmanship you’d ever seen—impossible to decipher, even as you watched him scribble something in his records.

"By the way, I left a note before in your binder," he said casually.

His words rang in your ears. "What note?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying the suspense. "A note about how you should remember to take the vitamins I gave you."

Oh.

Seeing you internalize his words, he added, "And I noticed another note in there." He adjusted his white coat, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "And I know who put it there."

You looked up at him, curiosity written all over your face as he towered over you.

"And you should find that out on your own," he teased, winking before walking away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"Why’d you call me here?" Jeongin asked as he walked into the coffee shop, a guitar slung over his back.

"Because I promised to buy you coffee," you replied with a smile.

Jeongin was a year younger than you, a music major who could play practically any instrument, though piano was his favorite.

"Really? But I’m not craving coffee right now. You should buy me a meal. I’m hungry," he said, not even trying to be cute but somehow managing to be utterly adorable.

As per his request, the two of you headed to a nearby restaurant. You let him order whatever he wanted and watched as he dug into his food.

"You must’ve been really hungry," you remarked.

"I didn’t have lunch or dinner yet," he admitted between bites.

"You shouldn’t skip meals like that! Our bodies are our main investment. We need to take care of them," you scolded, playing the role of the older sibling.

"I know, Mom," he teased.

"Good son," you laughed.

"Are you going to Changbin’s party?" he asked after stuffing more food into his mouth. You took a sip of your strawberry latte, considering your answer.

"I don’t know. I’m kinda busy."

He got back to eating, and you hesitated, feeling a question bubbling up inside you. It felt awkward, but you knew you wouldn’t be at peace until you asked.

"Uh, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You're already doing it," he said, his mouth still half-full.

"Let me finish!," you squinted at him. "This question is kinda weird, but…"

"Faster! I’m curious!" He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Uh, do you know if anyone who’s close to us… erm…" You coughed, trying to find the right words. "…likes me? I mean, like, likes me?"

Jeongin looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I don’t know who, but I know everyone loves you."

Well, that much was true—friendship came naturally with your group.

"And me too. I love you," he added casually.

"Aw, thank you. I love you too."

He didn’t reply, just smiled at you for a moment before turning back to his meal, leaving you with a warm feeling that was hard to shake.

"I'm so tired of that neighbor of mine!" Felix, a friend who lived three floors above you, burst into your apartment wearing pajamas and hugging his pillow.

"You can’t sleep again?" you asked, watching as he plopped down onto your sofa bed with a dramatic sigh.

"I don’t know what the hell he’s doing in the middle of the night! Was he doing construction or something?" he whined, making himself comfortable. "Oh, this is so comfortable. Let me crash here."

It wasn’t the first time he’d crashed at your place, so you were used to it. You didn’t mind at all.

"Did I bother you?" he asked, his head still buried in the pillow.

"Never."

"I should really move to this floor. It’s so peaceful."

"You could always move into my apartment and be my roommate," you suggested, a plan you’d considered before.

"No way. Someone might get angry."

"Who would that be?"

Felix didn’t answer, his silence leaving the question hanging in the air. You thought he might be teasing, but his continued silence suggested otherwise.

"And I don’t think I could handle living with you," he added.

"Why’s that?"

Once again, he didn’t respond.

"You should get some sleep. It’s past midnight," you said, heading toward your room.

As you were about to close the door, Felix called out, "I know about the blue sticky note in your binder."

You stopped in your tracks.

"Keep it, okay?" he said with a knowing smile before burying himself back into the pillow.

You wanted to ask more, but Felix seemed to be done with the conversation. With a curious mind, you went to bed, pondering over his cryptic words.

“Chan, did you really make this?” you asked, your voice brimming with excitement as you listened intently.

He nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face as he observed your reaction.

“This is the best music I’ve ever heard!” you exclaimed, pressing the earphones deeper into your ears.

“Oh, of course you’d say that because I’m your friend,” Chan said with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious!” you replied, though you could only read his lips. The music’s high volume made it difficult to hear clearly. “This is amazing!”

“Yeah, that’s Han in the background and Changbin rapping.”

You bobbed your head along with the beats, completely immersed in the music Chan had created.

“Was Jeongin in it?” you asked, recognizing a familiar voice.

“Yes, and Hyunjin, Felix, Minho, and Seungmi—”

“This part is definitely Seungmin!” you shouted, and Chan laughed at your enthusiasm.

You continued listening, enjoying every note until the very last one, which was a soft piano melody.

“Wow, that was beautiful! I still can’t believe my friend created this. It’s a masterpiece.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a great compliment from the person the song was inspired by,” Chan said with a knowing smile.

You didn’t catch that last part, too absorbed in the music to fully register his words.

“What’s the title of the song?” you asked, still in awe.

“Blue Sticky Note.”

The title made you stop dead in your tracks. Chan’s gaze lingered on you with an unreadable expression, as if he knew something you didn’t.

The realization hit you—the lyrics, the melody, everything about the song—

We’ve been friends for so long, shared laughter and tears,

But there’s something more inside, I’ve held back for years.

So I turned our feelings into a song, hoping you’d see,

How much you mean to me, how much you mean to me.

Oh, blue sticky note, you’re my secret, my confession,

Wrapped in notes and beats, my heart’s true expression.

In every verse, in every line, it’s you I adore,

From a simple blue sticky note to a melody I’m pouring out.

it was all connected to the note you had hidden in your binder.

part 2 here!

..maybe that's why

(bsn ending #8)

jeongin x reader! i.n x fem reader!! wordcount: 2.2k

bsn alternative ending wherein jeongin doesnt want to call you 'noona' but you dont know why.

(an: last alternative ending. next to this will be the special chapter where a lot of yoou requested.)an: help! im dying! college is too hard.

an: i love jeongin!

part 1 and part 2 first

“Can you give me that spoon, please?”

Jeongin’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, and a teasing grin spreads across your face as you quickly hide the spoon behind your back. “Okay, if you call me ‘noona,’” you tease, already knowing the answer but still hoping.

He sighs, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “I won’t,” he replies, standing up to head towards the kitchen to grab a new spoon.

You shake your head with a small chuckle and place the spoon back on his plate. Was it really that hard to do?

Jeongin was just one year younger than you—a small gap, really. When you were nine, he was eight. That never felt like much of a difference. But then again, he had that same gap with Seungmin, and Seungmin got the honor of being called "hyung." So why didn’t Jeongin ever call you "noona"? The thought lingered in your mind often, and you teased him about it constantly.

But no matter how much you tried, he always brushed it off, never giving in.

You couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t treat you like he did the others.

Everyone doted on him, hugged him, and treated him like their adorable little brother. He would roll his eyes and push them away half-heartedly, but it was clear they all adored him. And who wouldn’t? Jeongin was cute. The kind of cute that made you want to squish his cheeks and ruffle his hair.

But he never seemed to mind when you hugged him. Like now, for example.

Your arms wrapped around his waist while he sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone as if you weren't even there. He didn’t push you away, didn’t squirm or protest like he did with the others. He just let you hold him, completely at ease, even as your head rested against his shoulder.

You don't know why, but you are willing to know the answer.

You never had a younger sibling, and the thought of taking care of Jeongin stirred something in you. He was just so easy to dote on—so talented, smart, and capable. Yet, there was this small part of you that still saw him as someone you wanted to spoil.

If he were your little brother, he’d probably be the most spoiled kid in the world.

But no matter how much you treated him like a little brother, there was always that lingering question: why didn’t he call you “noona”?

“Can you tie this for me?”

His voice breaks your thoughts again, and you look up to see Jeongin standing in front of you, holding the ends of his necktie. He’s dressed for his presentation, and you don’t hesitate to set your notebook aside and move to him.

You start tying his tie carefully, focusing on the task as his eyes linger on your hands.

Maybe it’s because he’s taller than you now?

That thought crosses your mind as you glance up at him, only to meet his steady gaze. The teasing thought bubbles up again, and a mischievous grin tugs at your lips.

“You should say, ‘Please, noona,’ if you want me to finish,” you say, your hands pausing mid-tie as you look up at him playfully.

Jeongin sighs, his patience visibly wearing thin. “Just finish it, please. I’ll be late,” he says,

“Not until you call me noona,” you insist, stepping back with your hands on your waist, fully embracing the playful banter. You expect him to groan or roll his eyes, but instead, his gaze sharpens, and the room feels suddenly smaller.

His next move catches you off guard.

Without warning, Jeongin steps forward and pins you against the wall, his hands braced on either side of you. His face is close—too close—and your breath catches in your throat. For a split second, all the teasing falls away, replaced by a tension you can’t quite place.

“I. Won’t,” he says, each word slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that leaves you speechless.

You blink up at him, your brain trying to catch up to what just happened. But before you can say anything, he pulls back, adjusting his tie on his own with a swift motion. “You can stay as long as you want. Just lock the door when you leave,” he says coolly, grabbing his bag without a glance back and heading out the door.

You stand there, heart racing, still pressed against the wall, wondering what on earth just happened.

Did you push him too far? Was he mad? Or… was it something else?

Days pass, but teasing Jeongin about calling you "noona" doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s something different now, something unspoken lingering between the two of you. You can’t quite place it, but it makes your chest feel tight, and the teasing doesn’t come as naturally as it used to.

Even now, as the others gather at your friend's hideout.. which was Jeongin’s apartment, you find yourself watching him a little too closely.

“My favorite baby is here!” Chan announces dramatically as he bursts into the room, immediately engulfing Jeongin in a hug. Jeongin struggles against him, whining, “Hyung! I’m not a baby!” but Chan only tightens his grip.

Minho, who’s busy in the kitchen, glances over with a smirk. “He’ll always be our baby,” he teases, and you can’t help but laugh, even though a small part of you feels envious. They always get to smother him in affection.

“He’s my baby,” you chime in proudly, earning a playful glare from Jeongin as he squirms under Chan’s grip.

“I’m not your baby,” Jeongin mutters, his voice slightly muffled as he tries to push Chan away.

“If he doesn’t want to be your baby, I can be,” Minho jokes, causing everyone to laugh.

“Shut up, Minho, you’re old,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes.

or maybe that’s why Jeongin doesn’t call you "noona"—because sometimes, you act like the younger one.

“I want ice cream,” you announce, pouting dramatically.

Jeongin, ever the responsible one, shoots you a disapproving look. “You haven’t even had dinner yet. You should eat something proper before you have ice cream,” he scolds, sounding more like an older brother than anything.

You sigh dramatically. “But I’m not hungry for dinner. I want ice cream,” you insist.

“Are you a baby?” he asks, laughing at your pout. But when you straighten up and fix your posture, you say, with as much dignity as you can muster, “I’m your noona.”

He smirks, clearly amused, and after a moment, he gets up to leave. “I’ll be back,” he says.

A few minutes later, he returns with a gallon of your favorite ice cream, and you light up, but before you can grab it, he holds it just out of reach.

“Eat this first,” he says, handing you a bag of fast food.

You sigh but comply, because, well, he’s Jeongin.

…maybe he doesn't want to call you noona 'cause he hates you?

"Do you hate me?" you asked one time

"Why would I?" he asked back. As far as he can remember he told you he loved you in that restaurant where you treat him.

"'Cause.. I don't know," you don't know how to explain

He ruffles your hair affectionately. “Stop overthinking. I don’t hate you.”

Or maybe he doesn’t wanna call you noona ’cause… he loves you?

That one sentence played over and over in your mind. It was the answer you’d been searching for, though you weren’t ready to admit it at the time.

After the sticky note incident and that night at Changbin’s birthday, things started to make sense. All the little moments clicked into place.

He didn’t want to call you noona because he didn't want to.

A week after Changbin’s party, you found yourself wanting to talk to someone, and Jeongin came to mind. He’d always been the one checking on you, sending you messages even when you didn’t reply. In one of them, he’d said, “If you ever need someone to talk to, just call me.”

But you hadn’t called.

Instead, you went to his apartment. You knew the passcode, as did most of the group. Still, you knocked. When no one answered, you entered, your steps careful, almost hesitant.

The silence was comforting, in a way. You sank into the soft cushions of his couch and waited, hoping the familiar space would calm the chaos in your mind.

It was getting dark when Jeongin finally came home, guitar strapped to his back. He hadn’t expected to find you here, yet there you were—curled up on his couch, looking so peaceful despite the turmoil you had been feeling.

For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes softening as he took you in. All his worries, the small frustrations, the confusion—it all faded away when he saw you like this. His heart ached in ways he couldn’t explain.

Quietly, as if afraid even the sound of his breath might wake you, he moved closer, kneeling beside the couch. His fingers hesitated before gently brushing the strands of hair away from your face, lingering in that tiny gesture, his thumb grazing your cheek.

His smile was bittersweet.

You had no idea how hard it was for him to stay in the role of the younger brother. How much he despised the label, how much he longed to break free from it. You didn’t know how many nights he lay awake, wishing he could grow up faster, become someone you’d look at differently—someone you might want to be with.

When you stirred slightly, he jerked back, standing in an instant. His heart raced as he quickly slipped into his usual facade, moving to sit on the smaller couch across from you. By the time you opened your eyes, he had an upside-down book in his hands, pretending to read.

"Oh, you’re awake?" he asked casually, as if nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just been admiring you moments ago.

You stretched, sitting up, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. "When did you get home?" you asked, your voice still soft from sleep, your lips curling into a smile.

"Not long ago." He shrugged, placing the book down carefully, his voice neutral, though his heart was anything but calm. "You should’ve called me."

"And disturb your class?" You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No way."

He wanted to tell you that it didn’t matter. That no class, no distance, nothing could stop him from coming to you if you needed him. But instead, he just smiled.

"How are you?" he asked, his gaze searching your face, seeing through the mask you always wore.

"I’m fine." The lie rolled off your tongue with practiced ease, but even you could feel how hollow it sounded.

Jeongin’s eyes lingered on you a little too long. He wanted to push, to ask why you were really here, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He knew you wouldn’t open up until you were ready.

Then, out of nowhere, you asked, "Can you call me noona?"

Jeongin blinked, caught off guard. The request was so unexpected, it almost felt like a joke. He scoffed lightly, unsure if you were teasing him or testing him.

You bit your lip, looking down as if you were afraid of his answer. "I just… I want to confirm something."

His heart sank. He didn’t want to call you that. Not now, not ever. He had spent so long trying to distance himself from that word, from the idea that you’d always see him as just your younger friend.

"Just once…" Your voice was softer this time, and it broke something inside him.

He swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at you. "Noona," he said quietly, barely able to force the word out, his voice thick with emotions he tried so hard to hide.

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he had ever felt before. You didn’t say anything, and it scared him. He finally dared to glance at you, only to see you staring at him, your expression unreadable.

"Now I know the answer to my question," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Jeongin’s chest tightened. He didn’t ask what you meant, but every fiber of him was screaming for an explanation.

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes glistening as you finally looked back at him. "Noona doesn’t feel right coming from you."

He froze, the weight of your words sinking in. He knew what you meant—he could feel it in the way your voice trembled, in the way you were struggling to keep your feelings contained.

"I don’t want to be your noona."

It wasn’t just a statement. It was a confession. A quiet, undeniable truth.

You, who had once been so unsure, so careful with your feelings, were now looking at him with a clarity that left no room for doubt. You didn’t want to hide from it anymore.

And neither did he.

--

an; i saw vids of jeongin bowing on stays and it made my heart warm. jeongin was indeed raised right by his hyungs. so precious.

| Drunk Stray Kids text you

HYUNG LINE

MAKNAE LINE

Warnings: crack..?(idk) mentions of drinking, swearing.. and some other stuff.(tell me if I missed something!!)

| Han Jisung

| Felix

| Seungmin

| I.N

| Your friend snitched on you for having a crush on them (Stray Kids)

HYUNG LINE

MAKNAE LINE

Warnings: swearing

a/n: sorry for posting late I was busy at school :(

|Han Jisung

|Felix

|Seungmin

|Jeongin

"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.