siilent-wanderer

[siilent-wanderer]

Tethered

Summary: In a toxic cycle of love and manipulation, Y/N tries to move on — but Aeri always comes back. And Y/N always lets her. Even when she knows love isn’t enough to make someone stay. Or change.

Genre: pure angst, toxic af, just a little suggestive

Word Count: 2k words

Aeri Uchinaga (Giselle) x fem!reader

A/N: prompt credits go to @urfriendlywriter !

Y/N had started over. New course schedule. New circle. Even a new club — something she joined on a whim, desperate for air. For the first time in what felt like months, she didn’t feel like she was suffocating.

Aeri hadn’t crossed her mind in weeks. Or maybe that was a lie. Maybe she’d just become better at shoving her into the farthest corner of her heart. She never truly left. Aeri never did.

So, when she walked into that club meeting — a guest, the president had introduced — and Y/N saw her again, standing at the back in a leather jacket and a ghost of a smirk, she felt her lungs collapse.

“Didn’t think this was your scene,” Aeri said afterward, when the meeting ended and Y/N tried to leave unnoticed.

“I didn’t think you remembered where I went to school.”

Aeri laughed. “I always remembered. You just weren’t picking up my calls.”

“You stopped calling,” Y/N corrected.

A shrug. “You blocked me.”

And just like that, the conversation spiraled. Not into shouting. That was never their game. It was the undercurrent, the invisible thread, the way Aeri looked at her like she was still hers, and the way Y/N hated that it still made her ache.

Later that week, at a study session with her new friends, the topic of the club meeting came up.

"Who was that person who kept trying to talk to you?" one of them, Yunjin, asked, a slight frown on her face. "She seemed... intense."

"Just an old acquaintance," Y/N mumbled, trying to wave it off.

Another friend, Chaewon, chimed in, "Yeah, she kept staring. Are you two okay? You seemed a little on edge."

Y/N forced a smile. "Totally fine. Just haven't seen her in a while."

But the questions, though well-meaning, felt like tiny needles, pricking at the fragile peace Y/N had built. It was a stark reminder that while she tried to move on, the past, embodied by Aeri, was a shadow others could already perceive. And a part of Y/N hated that Aeri's reappearance had already begun to isolate her, even amongst people who genuinely cared.

Weeks passed, and Aeri lingered like smoke — familiar, intoxicating, suffocating.

She was all charm at first. Showing up at events. Praising Y/N’s leadership skills. Offering her coffee on rainy afternoons. “I’m proud of you,” she’d whisper, arms brushing against hers. “You’re really doing well.”

Y/N wanted to believe her. God, she needed to. But it started again. Subtle jabs.

“You sure you trust her?” Aeri asked one day about Y/N’s new club friend. “She gives off weird vibes.”

“You looked happier last semester. You were always around me then.”

“I saw the way he looked at you. Don’t you think he’s just using you to get ahead?”

Isolated. That’s how it started. Y/N began declining invites. Ghosting group chats. And Aeri’s presence filled the silence.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Y/N said one night, her voice trembling. They were alone in her apartment. Aeri had shown up with dinner, uninvited.

“Doing what?” Aeri asked. Innocent. Always innocent.

“Crawling back into my life like nothing happened.”

Aeri tilted her head, eyes softening in mock sympathy. “You looked lonely.”

“I wasn’t,” Y/N snapped, a sharp crack in her voice. “I was fine. I was actually fine.”

Aeri stepped forward. “Then why did you let me back in?”

Because I’m weak, Y/N thought. Because I still love you.

She didn’t answer.

Later that night, they sat in suffocating silence, barely touching.

Y/N bites her lip hard, swallowing the sharp sting that rises in her throat. She knows this isn’t right. She knows how this story ends — broken glass, broken hearts, the quiet hum of regret at 3AM. But god, it’s Aeri. And when she turns to look at her, eyes soft with exhaustion and something else — something almost like vulnerability — Y/N caves.

Again.

“If I begged, would you stay?” Y/N whispered finally, voice fragile.

Aeri didn’t reply.

“Please,” Y/N breathed. “Just this one last time… pretend you still care.”

Her eyes were downcast and glassy, lips trembling as she blinked hard against tears.

“I do care,” Aeri said too quickly.

“Do you really?” Y/N said. “Because it seems like you only care when it’s convenient. When no one else answers. When you’re bored.”

Aeri’s smile is almost sad. “And yet, you always let me in.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Then don’t.”

It’s a challenge. Aeri’s always been good at that — twisting honesty into games, love into manipulation.

Y/N takes a shaky breath. “I want to stop. I swear to god, I want to stop.”

“Then do it,” Aeri says.

But when she leans in, when her hand brushes Y/N’s cheek, Y/N doesn’t move.

She never does.

“I would’ve burnt the world down for you, Aeri,” Y/N whispered. “And you—”

“So would I ha—”

“Liar.” Y/N’s voice cracked, the word landing like glass against concrete.

Aeri turned away. “This again.”

“This always,” Y/N snapped.

The worst part wasn’t the fights. It was the aftermath — the pretending. The pretending they were okay. The pretending it was love.

Y/N’s hands shook when Aeri kissed her neck one morning, like nothing had happened. She didn't push her away, but her body was rigid.

“I don't miss you,” Y/N said later that afternoon when Aeri cornered her at the campus café, her eyes guarded.

“Look at me and say it,” Aeri challenged. “Then I’ll leave, Y/N.”

Y/N opened her mouth but faltered. Her throat clenched. Her eyes burned. She couldn’t look at her. Not really.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

Aeri smirked. “Thought so.”

Aeri didn’t push further. She just stepped closer, slowly, like she always did when Y/N was too raw to resist. Her hand lifted to Y/N’s cheek, her thumb brushing under her eye as if to wipe away tears that hadn’t fallen yet.

“You still feel it, don’t you?” she murmured.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her body betraying her before she could find the words to deny it. And Aeri took that as permission.

One step, then another, and their bodies were flush. Aeri’s fingers skimmed down Y/N’s sides, ghosting over her hips like she still had a right to touch her like this.

"You say you want me gone," she whispered against Y/N’s jaw, her lips brushing skin, “but you keep letting me in.”

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. She hated this. Hated how her body responded to the heat of Aeri’s mouth against her neck, the way her pulse raced when Aeri’s hands slipped under her sweater — just barely, just enough.

“Aeri…”

“Tell me to stop,” she breathed.

Y/N didn’t. Couldn’t.

Because even now — especially now — this was how Aeri pulled her back in. With the weight of her body pressed against her, the familiar scent, the possessive grip on her waist, the breathless kisses that always left her dizzy and more alone afterward.

She tilted her head instinctively when Aeri kissed down her throat, soft gasps replacing every thought in her head.

For a moment, it felt like love again.

But only for a moment.

Because when Aeri pulled back, her eyes weren't soft — they were smug. Victorious.

And Y/N hated how it still worked.

She started losing herself.

The new friends drifted away. Invitations stopped. Y/N was quieter. Duller. Her professors asked if something was wrong.

“You’re not showing up like you used to,” one said.

Because I don’t know who I am anymore, Y/N wanted to say. Because she’s here again, and I don’t know how to be without her.

That same evening, Aeri had come home again, this time with flowers in her hand and takeout in the other.

“I missed you, baby. Thought you needed a little something for how hard you’ve been working lately.”

A few hours later, they end up in bed.

Not out of love, but out of habit.

The sheets were still tangled around their legs, warm from the friction of skin against skin. Y/N’s lips were parted, breaths shaky in the aftermath. Aeri’s hand traced lazy patterns along her thigh, their bodies still slick with sweat, clinging in a way that felt too close and not close enough.

For a moment, it was quiet. Heavy. Still.

Y/N stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling — not from exhaustion, but from something else she couldn’t name. Her skin was flushed, her body humming, but her mind — her chest — felt suddenly, achingly hollow. Her throat tightened. Her stomach churned.

It started with a tremble in her lip, then a sharp breath she couldn’t control. And then the tears came, uninvited — slow at first, then harder, until she was shuddering silently beside the woman she swore she wouldn’t let back in.

She turned away instinctively, curling slightly, hoping Aeri wouldn’t notice.

But she always noticed — especially when she needed to.

“Y/N?” Aeri's voice dropped, soft and careful, fingers still ghosting over the curve of Y/N’s hip. “Hey… are you okay?”

Y/N didn’t answer, only let out a slow, uneven breath that betrayed everything. She felt the bed shift. Aeri was closer now, pulling her into her arms, lips brushing against her temple.

“Hey, no… don’t cry.” Her voice was deceptively sweet, soaked in concern. She wiped a tear with her thumb, gently tilting Y/N’s chin. “Talk to me. What’s wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?”

Hurt was an understatement, but Y/N knows Aeri didn’t mean hurt in the way she felt it. But, that nickname, so familiar, felt like a hook in her chest.

Y/N shook her head, barely able to speak. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Aeri sat up slightly, pulling Y/N into her arms, cradling her like something fragile. “You know I care about you, right? You know I don’t like seeing you like this and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

Y/N closed her eyes. She always says that. Every time. When she leaves. When she returns. Always with the same false tenderness wrapped in promises she never keeps. It always sounded real. The warmth of her touch, the gentle way she kissed the crown of Y/N’s head, the way she murmured “I’m here, okay? I’ve always been here.”

But that wasn’t true. Aeri left. Again and again. And she always came back only when the rest of her world was quiet. Only when she needed something.

Y/N knew that. She knew.

But she let her arms wrap around Aeri anyway. Let her inhale that familiar scent, let herself be touched like she still mattered.

Because this — this dizzying comfort wrapped in barbed wire — was all she knew. Her body remembered the tenderness even if her mind screamed against it. No one else looked at her like this. No one else made her feel like the only person in the room. Not like Aeri did — even if it was only temporary. Even if it came at the cost of herself.

“I’m just tired,” she whispered.

“Then sleep,” Aeri murmured. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

But Y/N knew better. She always knew. And still, she just let herself sink into the familiar ache of arms that once promised everything, even if all they ever delivered was confusion.

And when morning came, all that remained was the indentation on the pillow beside her — and the ache she never quite got used to.

Then one night, it boiled over.

“I still love you,” Aeri confessed after a particularly tense silence, eyes wide and pleading.

“No, you don’t,” Y/N bit back. “You love using me. You hate that I’m standing up for myself now.”

“Y/N—”

“You loved me when I was quiet. When I didn’t say anything. When I let you come and go as you pleased.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you watching me rebuild my life just to tear it down again.”

Aeri scoffed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re a fucking virus, Aeri.”

That hit. Aeri’s expression flattened, defensive. But Y/N wasn’t done.

“I look at you,” she said, her voice shaking, “and I feel miserable.”

Silence. Aeri blinked. Her face fell.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered.

But Y/N did.

And she didn’t.

That night, Aeri left.

But she’d be back.

She always came back.

And Y/N hated herself for knowing that she would probably open the door again.

Because love, no matter how broken, was still love.

And love was a habit Y/N didn’t know how to break.

A/N: if you’re in a relationship like this, please get out. I am personally begging you, don’t do this to yourself. this is not okay

[siilent-wanderer]

The Things We Never Say

Summary: Love isn't always in sync for some people. Y/N loved too much, held on too tightly. Minjeong walked away before anything could happen. Months later, when they cross paths again, old wounds reopen — not because there's hope left, but because there's still love.

Genre: pure angst

Word Count: 2k words

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x fem!reader

A/N: prompt credits go to @urfriendlywriter !

Y/N hadn’t been to this part of the city in months, but her feet knew the way by heart. The sharp turn after the café with the blue chairs. The uneven sidewalk three blocks down. The creaky elevator that always stuttered on the fourth floor.

Everything still looked the same. But nothing felt familiar anymore.

Days had bled into weeks, and the weeks into months, each passing moment a silent testament to the chasm that had opened between them. Y/N had tried to forget the apartment's layout, the way the light fell through the kitchen window in the morning, the specific scent of Minjeong's shampoo that used to cling to her pillows. But the landlord's insistent emails about the lease, and then Minjeong's terse text, had dragged her back. It felt like tearing open a scab, but a part of her, a foolish, hopeful part, wondered if peeling it off might finally let it heal.

Her hands curled tighter around the straps of her bag as she stood in front of Minjeong’s apartment door. She could hear faint music through the wood — a song they once danced to in the kitchen, barefoot and giddy on wine and love. She remembered the feel of Minjeong's hands on her waist, the way their laughter echoed off these very walls, a sound so full it felt like it could last forever. She swallowed.

There was no reason for her heart to still ache, but it did.

She shouldn’t have come, she told herself as she stood at the doorway. She was only here to pick up her things — the ones Minjeong had texted about, months after their silence had stretched thin and unbearable. A box of clothes, a couple of records, maybe the hoodie she used to steal on cold nights.

Y/N raised her hand to knock, hesitated, then knocked twice.

The door opened too quickly, as if Minjeong had been standing right behind it.

Her hair looked longer now, tied up, wearing a faded gray shirt Y/N didn’t recognize, but her eyes — those same soft, stormy eyes — looked just like they always had. Just like they had that night.

“Hey,” Minjeong said, voice quieter than Y/N remembered. Or maybe she’d just forgotten how soft it could be when it wasn’t laughing, teasing, or fighting.

Y/N’s mouth was dry. “Hi.”

Neither of them moved for a moment. They hadn't seen each other in months. Texts had died out, calls stopped before they could even ring. And now, here they were — in the same room, breathing the same air, acting like strangers in a space that once knew every inch of them together.

“I just came to get…the stuff,” Y/N said. Her voice was too steady. Too practiced.

Finally, Minjeong stepped aside. “They’re in the box by the bed.”

Y/N walked in. The apartment smelled the same — like clean laundry and citrus candles. Like her. Same quiet beige walls. Same scuffed corner near the kitchen where they'd once danced tipsily at 1 a.m. Same low hum of a fridge that had once held half of Y/N’s favorite snacks, placed there thoughtfully by Minjeong before every visit — before Y/N moved in altogether.

Everything looked untouched, and it made something inside Y/N twist. She half expected to see her slippers by the couch, or their polaroids still pinned on the fridge. But those were gone. Each object was a silent accusation, a timestamp of a life that had been so perfectly intertwined. She half expected to hear Minjeong's humming from the bedroom, or to see their favorite show paused on the TV. It was all a cruel illusion of permanence.

Y/N’s heart clenched as she walked toward the bedroom. Her old hoodie still hung on the back of the chair, the same way she used to leave it. On the nightstand, tucked behind some old receipts, was the photo booth strip they’d taken at a beach fair two summers ago. Her eyes stung.

She spotted the box, sealed and neat. Final. Like her place in Minjeong’s life had been packed away too. Y/N moved slowly, kneeling beside the box. Some books. A few shirts. That old perfume bottle she’d always forget to take with her.

“Did you check if I left anything else?”

Minjeong nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

But as Y/N rifled a bite more, her hand froze. At the very bottom was the candle she’d bought them after their third month together — the one with the scent Minjeong used to say reminded her of Y/N’s apartment, even though it had never been lit. Said it was too pretty to ruin.

She looked up, lips parting. “You kept this?”

Minjeong’s eyes flicked to the candle. “Didn’t have the heart to throw it out.”

Silence again.

It wrapped around them like static. The kind that made your skin itch with all the things left unsaid.

Y/N stood, hugging the box to her chest. “Well. I think that’s all of it.”

Minjeong looked like she wanted to say something. Her jaw flexed. Her gaze dropped, then lifted again — hesitant.

“Do you want coffee?” she asked. “Or water?”

Y/N blinked. “I don’t want to bother—”

“It’s just coffee,” Minjeong said, already turning toward the kitchen. “You came all this way.”

Y/N hesitated. Then followed.

The kitchen was the same too. Mugs still organized the way she had insisted on. The one with the hand-painted star still sat in the rack — her favorite. She could still remember the day they went to the pottery class Minjeong had booked for their anniversary. Y/N never stepped foot in a pottery studio ever again.

Minjeong handed her a cup. Their fingers brushed, just slightly. Minjeong’s gaze, for a fleeting second, caught on Y/N's worn bracelet — a gift from Minjeong herself — before quickly darting away. The brush of their fingers was electric, a jolt of recognition in a space now defined by absence. And for a while, time folded. They were back in the mornings they used to share — sleepy smiles, sleepy kisses, and quiet coffees.

Y/N looked at Minjeong over the rim of her mug. She looked good. She always had, but there was something about her now that seemed… lonelier.

Or maybe that was just Y/N’s projection.

“You look well,” Y/N offered.

Minjeong’s lips twitched. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not.”

A beat.

“You do, too,” Minjeong added.

It was nothing. A few exchanged pleasantries. But it felt like a thread being pulled — unraveling something carefully stitched shut.

Y/N placed the mug down. “I should go.”

Minjeong nodded. But didn’t move.

Y/N stepped back, then paused. “Minjeong—”

“Yeah?”

Y/N licked her lips, eyes flicking to the floor. Then back up. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“That night… when you said it didn’t work out between us,” she began, voice low, cracking. “Was that the whole truth?”

Minjeong stared. Her fingers curled around her mug tighter.

“It didn’t work out,” she repeated.

Y/N shook her head slowly. “Yeah, but… is that all?”

The question hung heavy between them. And just like that, the air shifted. Time rewound.

Three months earlier.

It was a Wednesday when it happened. Random. Uneventful. The kind of day that shouldn’t have meant anything.

Minjeong had come home late. She looked tired, distant. Y/N had cooked her favorite stew and even set the table. But something in Minjeong’s eyes that night felt far away.

They sat in silence for most of dinner. Y/N kept asking about her day. Minjeong kept answering in one-liners.

And then, out of nowhere, Minjeong said it.

“I don’t think we’re working anymore.”

Y/N dropped her spoon. “What?”

“I think... I think this isn’t working. Us.”

It didn’t make sense. Not to Y/N.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, voice already shaking. “We were fine yesterday. We were laughing. We—What changed?”

Minjeong looked down. “I’ve felt it for a while. I just didn’t say it.”

“You didn’t say anything.” Y/N stood up from her seat, panicked. “I—I know I get too attached. I know I always ask too much. But you knew that about me from the start, Minjeong. You said it was okay. You said it was okay.”

Minjeong flinched. “It was. I tried. But I don’t think I can be what you need.”

“I never asked you to be anything but here,” Y/N said, voice cracking.

Tears were already rolling down her cheeks as she took a step closer. “Just tell me what to do. Please. How can I fix it?”

“You can’t.”

“Please, Minjeong, don’t f—don’t fuck with me. Don’t say that. Tell me what to do. How can I make this work?” Her sobs broke free now, raw and trembling. “Just tell me. Please.”

Minjeong’s jaw clenched. “Y/N... I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to give up like this — just like that — and then say sorry.”

She reached out to hold her, to make her stay.

Minjeong stepped back.

That was the night Y/N learned that even love could vanish with silence. That even someone who once held her like the world could walk away without a fight.

Now

Minjeong still hadn’t answered. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then looked away.

Y/N stood by the box, hands clenched.

“I’m not here to argue,” she said. “I came for my stuff. But I need to know. Was it really just that? That we stopped working?”

Minjeong looked like she was holding something back. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said honestly. “That you miss me? That I didn’t make it all up in my head? That maybe it wasn’t one-sided?”

Minjeong hesitated. “It wasn’t.”

That one sentence broke something open.

“But I don’t know how to stay,” Minjeong added. “I never have. I always cut people off before it hurts.”

Y/N laughed bitterly. “Well, congratulations. You beat the pain to it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Silence.

“I still think about you,” Minjeong said. “More than I should.”

Y/N’s heart jumped. “Then why didn’t you call?”

Minjeong exhaled shakily. “Because I was scared. Because you were all in, and I didn’t know how to be. Because I didn’t know how to hold something good without crushing it. And if I let you in again, I’ll ruin you again.”

“You could’ve told me,” Y/N blinked back tears. “I asked you what I could do to fix it, Min.”

“I didn’t know how,” Minjeong said. “Every time I looked at you, I felt like I was seconds away from ruining it all.”

“So, you left before I could ruin you.”

Minjeong flinched. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You did hurt me,” Y/N said, voice trembling now. “You just didn’t stay to see it.”

The words sat between them, raw and aching.

Minjeong blinked hard, like she didn’t want to cry.

Y/N looked at her one last time. “I would’ve chosen you, again and again. Even when it got hard. Even when I got hurt. But you didn’t even let me try.”

Minjeong placed her cup down. Her eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “I believe you.”

There was a pause. One last, aching breath of everything that used to be.

Minjeong looked at her. “You should go. It’ll rain soon.”

Y/N nodded. Picked up her box. Walked to the door.

But before she opened it, she turned.

“If you ever…” she hesitated. “If you ever want to try again—”

Minjeong’s gaze dropped.

Y/N nodded, the rest of the sentence dying in her throat. “Right. Never mind.”

She opened the door and left.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit her coat.

Y/N stood there, clutching the box tighter, tears now slipping freely. Not loud or messy — just quiet, aching grief. The kind reserved for almosts and maybes.

Minjeong hadn’t chased after her. She hadn’t expected her to.

Because some things weren’t meant to be held again.

Some things — no matter how loved — were meant only to be remembered.

[siilent-wanderer]

The Ones Who Leave

Summary: Yizhuo always comes back, and Y/N always lets her — even when she knows love isn’t enough to make someone stay. But when disappearing becomes routine, and returning feels like a habit, even the softest hearts begin to wear thin.

Genre: pure angst

Word Count: 1.9k words

Ning Yizhuo (Ningning) x fem!reader

Yizhuo was always like that — ephemeral. Like smoke you couldn’t hold no matter how tightly you tried to cup your hands.

Y/N knew it. She knew it from the very beginning. But it didn’t stop her from loving her.

And Yizhuo — Yizhuo loved in flashes. Intense, bright, addictive. She’d show up at Y/N’s door with late-night takeout and sleepy eyes, or send her songs that reminded her of the way Y/N laughed. She’d kiss Y/N like she meant it. She’d say things like, “I like you way too much, it’s annoying,” and Y/N would pretend her heart didn’t stumble over itself every single time.

But just as quickly, she’d fade out.

And it was always without warning.

She left, and then she came back. And somehow, each return felt softer and more cruel than the last.

She’d never come back with apologies, not even promises. Just a message at 1:27 a.m., vague and familiar — “Are you up?” And somehow, Y/N always was.

She shouldn’t be. She knew that. She knew the pattern: late-night texts, tentative conversations that slowly bled into mornings spent tangled up in sheets and silences. Then, one day, the messages would stop. No explanation. No closure. Just gone.

Then weeks — sometimes months — of nothing.

And then, she’d come back again.

Because she always came back to Y/N.

And that used to mean something. Maybe it still did. But lately, Y/N wasn’t so sure.

Still, this time wasn’t any different.

Y/N stared at her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. She didn’t even have to ask who it was. No one else texted her like that. No one else had that brand of casual gravity, like a black hole in the shape of a girl.

She typed, “yeah. come over if you want,” and hit send before she could stop herself.

The knock was heard twenty minutes later. Y/N opened the door to find Yizhuo standing there in an oversized hoodie and messy hair, eyes red but not from crying ��� more like exhaustion. Maybe regret. Though that was wishful thinking.

“Hey,” Yizhuo said, voice too soft for someone who’d left so loud. “Can I come in?”

Of course she could.

She always could.

Y/N stepped aside without a word, watching as Yizhuo slid past her and into the apartment like she’d never left.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be up,” Yizhuo murmured, not meeting her gaze.

Y/N closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, trying to breathe past the familiar ache in her chest. “I figured you'd come back eventually.”

That made Yizhuo pause. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

After that, they didn’t talk much. They never really did when it started this way. A hesitant touch, a brush of the hand, and then suddenly it was Yizhuo curled up on Y/N’s bed again like she belonged there. Like she hadn’t ghosted her for six weeks.

Morning came with silence. It always did. And as Y/N stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, she felt it—the weight of pretending this was fine.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Yizhuo murmured, walking up beside her, rubbing her eyes. “Have you been okay?”

Y/N handed her a mug. “Why do you ask that like you didn’t vanish again?”

Yizhuo blinked, taking the cup but avoiding her gaze. “I was busy.”

“With what?”

“Life.”

It wasn’t the answer Y/N wanted. It never was.

“You could’ve said something,” she whispered. “You could’ve said anything.”

Yizhuo leaned against the counter, sipping. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“That you didn’t want to talk to me anymore?” Y/N asked, sharper than she intended. “That you got bored of me again?”

Yizhuo flinched. “I didn’t get bored.”

“You always leave,” Y/N said softly. “And you always come back when there’s no one else left.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“I don’t come back because I have no one else,” Yizhuo finally whispered. “I come back because it’s you.”

And maybe that was supposed to be a comfort. But it wasn’t.

Not anymore. But that was the truth of it, raw and bleeding between them. Y/N, with her full heart and open hands, always waiting. Yizhuo, with her walls, her vanishing acts, and her inability to stay.

Y/N stepped away, rubbing her temple. “It’s like I’m the only one who tries. Every time.”

“I didn’t ask you to wait for me,” Yizhuo said.

“But you keep coming back, Yizhuo. I don’t understand.”

That landed.

“I don’t know how to stay,” Yizhuo admitted after a long moment, her voice smaller than usual. “I don’t think I’m built for it.”

Y/N looked at her. Really looked at her.

And still — still — there was a part of her that loved her. That remembered laughter on the fire escape, Yizhuo singing under her breath while folding Y/N’s laundry, their fingertips brushing under dim cafe lights. It wasn’t that she hadn’t felt anything. Y/N was sure of it.

But maybe feeling wasn’t enough.

Later that night, they found themselves lying side by side in Y/N’s bed. It was familiar — almost muscle memory. The lights were off, the rain had stopped, and Yizhuo had changed into one of Y/N’s oversized shirts like she always did.

They weren’t touching, but the space between them buzzed with everything they weren’t saying.

“You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?” Y/N asked quietly into the dark.

Yizhuo didn’t respond.

And that, more than anything, was the answer.

The next morning, Y/N woke up alone.

She wasn’t surprised.

What surprised her was the sound of the front door opening again an hour later. Yizhuo stood there with two cups of coffee and a hesitant smile.

“I thought you might want something warm.”

Y/N stared. “So, you didn’t leave.”

“I almost did.”

Y/N didn’t know what to do with that.

But that night, things finally broke.

They were in the kitchen. Y/N had been chopping vegetables, trying to distract herself from the gnawing ache in her chest, when Yizhuo came up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist.

“I missed this,” she murmured against her shoulder.

“You always say that,” Y/N said without turning around. Her voice was sharp. Tired.

Yizhuo pulled back slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N set the knife down. She turned to face her, eyes flashing. “You say you miss me, but you always leave. You come back when you're lonely, when you’re tired, when it’s convenient. And every time, I let you in.”

“I’m not using you,” Yizhuo said, jaw clenched. “Don’t say that.”

“Aren’t you?” Y/N challenged. “You want connection when it suits you, but the second it gets too real, you disappear. And I’m the idiot who keeps letting it happen.”

Yizhuo looked like she wanted to argue. But she didn’t.

“Why do you keep coming back?” Y/N asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Yizhuo looked away. “Because... you feel like home.”

That made something in Y/N crack.

“Then why can’t you stay?” she asked, voice trembling. “Why am I never enough to make you stay?”

The silence stretched long between them.

Finally, Yizhuo spoke. “I don’t know how to stay. I don’t think I’m built for forever.”

“Then don’t promise it,” Y/N said. “Don’t come back if you’re only going to leave again. I’m tired, Yizhuo. I’m so tired of hoping you’ll choose me.”

Yizhuo’s eyes shimmered. She stepped forward, hesitated, then stopped. “I do choose you.”

“No, you don’t,” Y/N said softly. “You choose comfort. You choose safety. But not me. Not really.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

When Y/N went to bed, Yizhuo stayed on the couch. Curled into herself, silent.

In the morning, Y/N woke up to an empty apartment.

No coffee cups. No folded blankets. No note.

This time, Y/N didn’t cry. She cleaned the sheets. Watered her plants. Folded the laundry. She even deleted their text thread. Muted Yizhuo’s Instagram stories. Went about her day like it didn’t matter.

But the ache didn’t go away.

Minjeong noticed first. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N lied.

“You still letting her come back whenever she wants?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

“Y/N,” Minjeong said gently, “you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“She doesn’t mean to hurt me.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t. I know you’re smarter than that, wake up.”

Two weeks passed. Then three.

Then came the knock.

Y/N didn’t answer it this time.

But the knock came again. Louder.

She opened the door.

Yizhuo stood there, hood up, eyes wary. “Hey.”

Y/N said nothing.

Yizhuo stepped forward. “Can we talk?”

Y/N folded her arms. “What’s left to say?”

“I miss you.”

“You miss having someone to come back to.”

“I’m really not trying to hurt you,” Yizhuo had said quietly. “Sometimes I just need space.”

“Space doesn’t mean cutting someone off,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “Do you even miss me when you’re gone?”

Yizhuo hesitated. “Of course I do.”

“But not enough to check in? To reply?”

Silence.

Y/N looked down. Her hands were trembling slightly, fingers curling around the edge of her sweatshirt. “You leave like I don’t exist. And then you come back like nothing happened.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“But you do it anyway.”

“That’s not fair. I just—”

“No?” Y/N’s voice cracked. “Then tell me what this is. What we are.”

Yizhuo hesitated.

“You can’t, right?” Y/N laughed, bitter and exhausted. “Because every time I think we’re getting somewhere, you run.”

“I’m scared,” Yizhuo admitted. “I’ve never known how to do this. Look, I’m sorry I’m not built like you. I can’t... I don’t cling to people.”

Y/N flinched. “You make it sound pathetic. I wasn’t asking you to be perfect, Ning. I was asking you to try.”

“I was trying—”

“No, don't even. You were taking. I was the only one giving.”

The silence stretched thin. Yizhuo stepped back slightly, shoulders tense.

“You don’t understand,” she muttered.

“No,” Y/N said, voice low. “You don’t.”

And she closed the door.

And it stayed closed for a long time.

Then came the message.

Not a midnight “are you up?” this time. Not a breadcrumb or a backtrack.

Just three words.

“I’m really sorry.”

Y/N stared at the screen, fingers shaking.

She didn’t reply.

She still loved her. God, she did.

If Yizhuo had come knocking again, would she let her in?

Y/N hated that despite everything, she’d still do it. Again.

Because that’s what you do when you love someone who doesn’t know how to stay — you make a home in yourself and offer it up every time they’re lost.

Even if they don’t unpack their bags.

Even if they don’t intend to stay.

But love isn’t a home when it only shelters one person. Maybe this time, love wasn’t enough. Maybe this time, silence was the only answer she had left to give.

The ache crept in like it always did — subtle, then sharp. It wasn’t just about missing her. It was the not-knowing. The silence that echoed like a punishment.

What did I do wrong? Was I too much again? Did I say something? Was I not enough?

Y/N sat in her bed, staring at their last photo together — Yizhuo asleep on her shoulder, soft and peaceful, the sun catching in her hair. Y/N had taken it quietly, not wanting to wake her.

She’d looked so... safe.

And yet, here she was. Gone. Again.

Maybe she was too much.

Maybe she wasn’t enough.

Or maybe — just maybe — Yizhuo was never meant to stay.

And maybe that was the saddest part of all.

[siilent-wanderer]

coming this week

hope y’all are ready for a roller coaster of emotions this week ◡̈

[siilent-wanderer]

Too Quiet

Summary: Two people fall in love despite their differences — one needing constant connection, the other needing space. But when silence becomes louder than love, they begin to slip through each other’s fingers.

Genre: pure angst

Word Count: 2.2k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem!reader

A/N: prompt credits go to @keyotosprompts !

Jimin needed people. She needed noise, presence, warmth. She didn’t say it out loud — never did — but it showed in the way she stayed just a little longer during goodbyes, in how she reached out to touch someone mid-conversation, even just their sleeve, just enough to remind herself they were there. It was in her Instagram posts and bubble updates, her overflowing energy during performances, the way her smile seemed like it was holding everything together.

Y/N, on the other hand, didn’t need much. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. Give her silence, her books, a warm drink, and a closed window on a rainy day. She could disappear into herself and feel perfectly fine, like solitude was her secret language and the world didn’t need to understand.

So maybe it was foolish of them to try. But they did.

And for a while, it worked.

It worked because they tried hard. Jimin would wait patiently for Y/N to open up, to lean in. And Y/N would step out of her bubble, just far enough to meet Jimin halfway. They found quiet nights where Jimin would lie in Y/N’s lap while she read, or mornings when Y/N would wake up early just to cook Jimin’s favorite breakfast before she headed to practice. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

For some time, it was enough. Until it wasn’t.

The decline wasn’t sudden. It came in slow bruises, little aches neither of them noticed until it hurt too much to ignore.

Missed texts. Unread messages. A “sorry, I’ve just been out of it” from Y/N, paired with a tired smile and an even more tired heart from Jimin. A canceled dinner. A promise to call, left unfulfilled.

Jimin started to shrink. She didn’t mean to. But she could feel herself folding inward, smaller and smaller, like making herself less would be easier for Y/N to handle.

And Y/N… she wasn’t malicious. Just used to being alone. So, when she didn't hear from Jimin for two days, she assumed she needed space. She gave it to her. And Jimin, hurting in silence, mistook that space for indifference.

One night, Jimin had a breakdown in the dance studio. It was late, everyone else had gone home, and her body just… stopped. Mid-count. She dropped to the floor, chest heaving, and cried into the sleeves of her hoodie. She didn’t text Y/N. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But she was tired of being the one who always reached first.

A week passed before they saw each other again.

Jimin was back at her dorm, scrolling blankly through her phone, when she heard the door open. It was past midnight, and she was curled up on the couch in one of Y/N’s old shirts.

Y/N stepped in, looking worn but soft. Her eyes lit up faintly at the sight of Jimin.

“Hey,” she said gently, setting down her bag. “I brought your favorite — those banana muffins from the bakery near your studio.”

Jimin didn’t say anything.

Y/N walked closer, placing the small paper bag on the coffee table before kneeling in front of her.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, eyes searching Jimin’s face. “I know I’ve been quiet. I just needed to reset.”

Jimin tried to understand. To be calm. She really did. But something in her snapped.

“You needed to reset,” she echoed. “Y/N, I needed you.”

The weight of her words landed like a stone between them.

Jimin’s voice shook. “I had the worst week of my life, and you didn’t even check in. You didn’t ask. You didn’t call.”

“I didn’t know,” Y/N whispered. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Because I’m always the one who tells you!” Jimin’s voice cracked. “I’m always the one who reaches out first. Who gives more. Who needs more. And I’m starting to think you just… you don’t care as much as I do.”

“That’s not true,” Y/N said quickly, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her panic. “Jimin, that’s not fair. Just because I don’t show it the same way doesn’t mean—”

“But I needed you,” Jimin interrupted, tears now sliding down her cheeks. “We— I can’t do this anymore. Sometimes, I really need you, and you’re just not there.”

Y/N froze.

The living room fell silent, except for the dull hum of the air conditioner and the sound of Jimin’s uneven breathing.

Y/N moved to sit beside her. “Jimin…”

But Jimin pulled away.

“I’m tired,” she whispered. “Of having to explain why I’m hurting. Of loving you out loud while you stay silent.”

It wasn’t angry, not even cruel. It was heartbreaking in its honesty.

Y/N sat still for a long time. The guilt was a slow burn in her chest. She thought back to every missed moment, every time she chose space over presence. She had thought she was giving Jimin breathing room. But what she was really giving her was loneliness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N said quietly.

“Then show up,” Jimin said. “Be here. Not just when it’s easy for you. But when I need you. Even if I don’t say it.”

Y/N nodded. She wanted to say a thousand things. That she’d try harder. That she’d change. But she knew that wouldn’t mean anything right now.

So instead, she reached out and took Jimin’s hand in both of hers. She didn’t say anything. She just held it tightly — because for once, Jimin wasn’t the one reaching first.

Y/N shows up at Jimin’s apartment with a bag of pastries and trembling hands.

They hadn’t talked since the fight. Not like before. A few exchanged texts, short and stilted, like two strangers dancing around familiarity. But the air between them still buzzed with unsaid things, and when Jimin opens the door — still in her oversized hoodie, hair tied back messily, lips pressed tight — Y/N almost turns back.

But she doesn’t. Because she’s trying.

“Hi,” she says, voice small. “I brought those custard buns you like.”

Jimin stares for a second, unreadable. Then she steps aside, wordlessly letting her in.

The apartment is quiet. Lived-in. Dim. Not cold, but not warm either. It mirrors the distance between them perfectly.

Y/N sets the bag down on the kitchen counter like it’s the only thing tethering her to this moment. She turns to find Jimin watching her, guarded, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N blurts.

Jimin says nothing.

Y/N breathes in. “I should’ve said something sooner. I know I shut down a lot. I know it’s not fair to you when you’re always… reaching for me.”

Jimin’s jaw tightens. “You weren’t just shutting down, Y/N. You were disappearing. For days. Weeks. I didn’t even know if I mattered to you sometimes.”

“You do,” Y/N says quickly. “God, Jimin. Of course you do.”

The words hang in the air, soft and honest, and Y/N takes a tentative step forward.

“I just… I’m not good with people,” she says. “I wasn’t raised to need much. I’ve always had to handle things alone, and I thought I was doing okay like that. But then you came along and suddenly I—”

She breaks off, struggling.

Jimin’s voice is quiet. “Suddenly what?”

Y/N meets her eyes. “Suddenly I wanted to do better. For you.”

A flicker of something passes through Jimin’s expression — pain? Hope?

“I get overwhelmed,” Y/N admits. “Sometimes it’s easier to shut everything out than say something wrong. But I never meant to shut you out.”

Jimin exhales, slow. Her shoulders drop just a little. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to sound like an excuse.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Jimin’s voice is softer now, and she looks at Y/N with that same gentleness that always made her feel seen. “I just wanted you to let me in. Even a little.”

Y/N nods, guilt carving through her. She steps closer.

And for a moment, it feels like maybe they’re okay.

They share a quiet dinner, side by side on the couch, legs brushing. Jimin plays with Y/N’s fingers absentmindedly, tracing her knuckles, letting herself lean into the touch. Y/N presses a kiss to Jimin’s temple and murmurs, “I missed you,” and Jimin closes her eyes at the tenderness of it all.

Later, when Y/N dozes off against her shoulder, Jimin brushes a hand through her hair, smiling faintly.

It almost feels like peace.

Almost.

But things don’t stay soft for long.

Y/N keeps trying. She texts good morning. She checks in. She sends photos of sunsets or cats she passes on the way home. She shows up more.

And Jimin notices. Of course she does.

But the thing about effort is — it doesn’t erase time.

Time spent in silence. Time where Jimin cried alone after long days and long nights, wondering if Y/N cared. Time she begged the universe for even a little piece of the girl she loved — and got nothing but echoes.

The more Y/N tries to patch the cracks, the more Jimin realizes some things already bled out through them.

There’s one night, quiet and ordinary, where it all unravels again.

They’re lying in bed, side by side, hands touching but not quite held.

Y/N’s talking about something — a new café that opened, maybe — when she notices Jimin’s eyes are distant.

“Hey,” she says gently, “you okay?”

Jimin nods, but it’s a lie. Y/N sees it.

“You can tell me.”

Jimin stays quiet for a long time. Then, in a voice that’s too calm, she asks, “What changed?”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” Jimin gestures between them. “You. Now. What made you start trying?”

Y/N pauses. “You said you were done. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Jimin looks at her. “You almost did.”

“I know. I’m trying to make it up to you.”

“I know you are,” Jimin says softly. Then, with more weight: “But what if I don’t have anything left to give you back?”

Y/N’s heart cracks. “Don’t say that.”

“I loved you through all your silences,” Jimin whispers, “through every unanswered message, every time I wondered if I was just… too much for you.”

“You’re not.”

“But I needed you. And you weren’t there.”

The room is silent.

Y/N feels the ache rising again. The kind of ache that comes when you know you’re too late.

“I’m here now,” she says quietly.

Jimin gives a sad smile. “But I’m not.”

And that’s when Y/N knows.

She can try and try. She can love with every fiber of her being now. But sometimes, even love isn’t enough. Not when you waited too long to speak it.

Jimin turns away, curling into herself, and Y/N doesn’t follow. She just lies there, staring at the ceiling.

Two people, inches apart, galaxies away. And nothing but silence between them again.

It’s been months since the last time they spoke, but the memory still plays in Y/N’s chest like a bruise that never fully healed.

She remembers the night like a freeze-frame — too quiet, too fragile, the air tense between them like glass threatening to crack. Jimin had looked tired. Not just physically, but also soul-deep. The kind of tired that came from reaching and reaching and never quite being held the way she needed.

And Y/N… she had always been the quiet one. The one who loved in pauses, in late-night playlists and packed lunches, in sitting silently beside someone for hours without needing to speak. Her love was gentle. Careful. Barely there unless you knew where to look.

But Jimin needed noise. Reassurance. Attention she could touch.

That night, they sat at opposite ends of the bed— not far in distance, but worlds apart in need.

“I just don’t know how to keep showing up for someone who disappears when I need them most,” Jimin had said, voice steady, but her eyes already glassy.

Y/N had opened her mouth to explain — to say “I don’t mean to disappear,” to confess how crowded everything felt in her head when someone needed too much. How she wasn’t wired to keep up with emotional expectations that hung in the air like unspoken ultimatums.

But she said nothing. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Even when Jimin begged for something real, something vulnerable — she said nothing.

Now, weeks later, Y/N sits on her bedroom floor, staring at an old polaroid Jimin once stuck on her bookshelf. It’s a blurry photo of the two of them from last spring — Jimin’s arm slung around her shoulders, Y/N’s head tucked against her chest, both of them smiling like they didn’t know how it would end.

She traces the curve of Jimin’s smile in the photo.

She remembers how Jimin always tucked her into the safe parts of herself. How she kissed Y/N’s forehead before bed even when they weren’t speaking. How she waited — god, she waited — for Y/N to say anything that sounded like, I need you too.

But the words always got caught in Y/N’s throat, stuck somewhere between fear and the only version of love she knew — the quiet kind. The kind Jimin could never feel fully wrapped in.

And she doesn’t blame her. She could never.

Y/N places the photo face down.

This wasn’t some fiery breakup. There were no slammed doors, no screaming matches. Just two people who tried. One who loved loudly. And one who loved quietly — too quietly.

And maybe, in another lifetime, she would’ve known how to be better.

But in this one?

She only hopes Jimin finds someone who listens without her needing to ask. Someone who shows up without needing a reason. Someone who stays — not just beside her, but with her.

Like Y/N never quite learned how to do.

[siilent-wanderer]

Flight 143

Summary: Yujin doesn't do "airport crushes". But one smile, one conversation, and one tragically discarded napkin later, she’s stuck wondering if she missed her shot. That is, until the universe gives her a second chance — with coffee, nerves, and maybe a little flirting to make up for lost time.

Genre: fluff, romcom

Word Count: 1.1k words

flight attendant!An Yujin x fem!reader

A/N: wrote this after remembering how yujin wanted to become a flight attendant if she didn't become an idol

The moment Yujin spotted Y/N at the check-in counter, she knew she was in trouble. It was the kind of trouble that made her heartbeat stutter for just a second longer than normal, the kind that had her sneaking glances while pretending to check the flight manifest. Y/N wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary — just speaking to the agent at the counter, passport in hand, a carry-on resting against her leg — but there was something about her. Maybe it was the way she tucked her hair behind her ear while listening intently, or how she smiled politely even while waiting.

Yujin swallowed, forcing herself to focus as she made her way toward the gate where passengers were beginning to board.

When Y/N finally stepped onto the plane, Yujin straightened her uniform and took a deep breath. "Welcome aboard," she greeted with a warm smile, her signature dimples making an appearance.

Y/N returned the smile, a little shy but polite. “Thank you.”

Yujin wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip by. As Y/N made her way down the aisle, struggling to lift her carry-on into the overhead compartment, Yujin was quick to step in.

“Let me help you with that.”

“Oh, I got it—” Y/N started, but Yujin was already reaching up, effortlessly slotting the bag into place.

“There we go,” Yujin said, brushing her hands off dramatically before flashing another dimpled grin. “No need to strain those arms.”

Y/N chuckled. “That was smooth. Thanks.”

Yujin winked, not missing the way Y/N’s ears turned a little pink before she settled into her seat.

Throughout the flight, Yujin found herself glancing in Y/N’s direction whenever she passed by. Her fellow flight attendants teased her about it, but she didn’t care. When the meal service began, she saw her chance.

As she placed the tray in front of Y/N, she subtly slipped a small napkin underneath, upon which she had scribbled her number. It wasn’t something she did often (she’s never done it before), but Y/N was special — she could feel it.

Yujin sent her one last knowing smile before walking away, hoping — praying — that Y/N would see the note.

Except she didn’t.

Y/N, entirely unaware, used the napkin to wipe her hands and then casually tucked it onto the tray with the rest of the used items.

Yujin, who had been waiting for any sign of acknowledgment, was met with absolutely nothing. She bit her lip, confused but hopeful. Maybe Y/N was just playing it cool? Maybe she’d text later?

When it was time for passengers to disembark, Yujin made sure to be near the exit, greeting each traveler with a smile. And when Y/N walked past her, she offered her brightest one yet.

“Have a great day,” she said, hoping that Y/N had indeed found her note.

“You too,” Y/N replied, her voice sweet as ever, but there was no extra glance, no hidden smile, nothing that suggested she had seen the message. Yujin’s heart sank just a little.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

Yujin checked her phone more times than she’d like to admit, waiting for an unknown number to pop up with a message. Nothing.

At first, she thought Y/N was just taking her time. Then doubt started creeping in. Maybe she had lost the napkin? Maybe she wasn’t interested at all? Maybe she had a boyfriend—

“Still no text?” Yuna, another flight attendant, asked during a layover.

Yujin groaned, flopping onto the hotel bed dramatically. “Nothing. Maybe I should’ve just been upfront instead of doing the whole mysterious note thing.”

“Or maybe she just didn’t see it,” Yuna suggested.

That thought kept Yujin going.

Whenever she had a flight, she found herself looking out for Y/N. It was a ridiculous hope, but she couldn’t help it. She scanned the boarding passengers, checked every coffee shop in airports, and even peeked into bookstores when she had time between flights. And then, as if fate had finally decided to take pity on her, Yujin found her again.

Yujin had just landed back home and, as was her habit, she stopped by her favorite café to grab a much-needed coffee. She stepped inside, rubbing the back of her neck, and was about to pull out her phone when—

There she was.

Y/N, standing behind the counter, adjusting her apron as she laughed at something a coworker said.

Yujin nearly walked into a chair.

Regaining her composure, she strode up to the counter, heart hammering in her chest. Y/N turned around, ready to take the next order, and the moment her eyes landed on Yujin, they widened in surprise.

“Oh,” Y/N said, blinking. “It’s you.”

Yujin raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You remember me.”

“Of course,” Y/N said, a small laugh escaping her lips. “You were the flight attendant who helped me with my luggage.”

“That’s all?” Yujin feigned offense. “I thought I made more of an impression than that.”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… You did smile a lot. Dimples. Very cute.”

Yujin grinned, resting her arms on the counter. “Well, I also left you my number. But you never texted.”

Y/N frowned, clearly confused. “You did?”

Yujin sighed dramatically, but she was smiling. “I slipped it under your napkin during the flight.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, realization dawning on her. “Oh my God.” She covered her mouth, looking horrified. “I—I didn’t see it. I must have thrown it away!”

Yujin let out a laugh, shaking her head. “That explains a lot. I thought I got rejected.”

Y/N groaned, looking genuinely regretful. “I’m so sorry. I swear, if I had seen it, I would’ve texted.”

Yujin leaned in slightly. “Then how about I fix that mistake right now?”

Y/N blinked, then her lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking for my number this time?”

Yujin grinned. “No, I’m asking for a date. You can give me your number after you say yes.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, but there was a warmth in her eyes. “You really don’t give up, huh?”

“Not when it comes to someone who caught my eye at check-in,” Yujin said smoothly.

Y/N pretended to think for a moment before finally sighing dramatically. “Fine. I suppose I owe you after accidentally ignoring you for weeks.”

Yujin pumped a fist in victory. “Finally! Took me long enough.”

Y/N giggled, reaching for a napkin and scribbling something on it before sliding it across the counter. “Here. My number. Just don’t throw it away like I did.”

Yujin took it, holding it up triumphantly. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m keeping this one safe.”

As she walked out of the café, a new spring in her step, she glanced at the napkin in her hand, smiling to herself.

Maybe fate really was on her side after all.

part 2

[siilent-wanderer]

a little update about me

the reason why I’ve been so busy lately is because… I’m graduating in a few days !

I still have a really major exam in a few months but I’ll try to write as much as I can cuz I still have a lot of ideas and drafts ◡̈

[siilent-wanderer]

Where It Hurts

Pairing: aespa x 5th member!reader

aespa reacting to you getting an injury onstage

Jimin

you see the moment her eyes snap to your injury mid-performance

she doesn’t react dramatically (she’s the leader, she has to be calm)

but her gaze sharpens instantly, tracking your movements like a hawk

she positions herself closer to you subtly for the rest of the show

her body tenses visibly every time you drop to your knees or hit a sharp move again

the second you’re offstage, she’s the first to reach you

“Where is it? Let me see. Sit down.”

her fingers are gentle but firm as she checks the bleeding area, jaw tight

she blames someone

whether it’s the stylist, choreo, or just the timing

doesn’t leave your side

even when staff try to pull her away for makeup or interviews

later that night, she’s whispering apologies into your hair while she helps clean your wounds

“Next time, I’m double-checking every stitch on your costume”

she also lets you rest your head on her lap and strokes your hair in slow, grounding circles

“Rest now. I’ll stay here.”

Aeri

notices you wince mid-routine, and her entire mood shifts

she keeps stealing glances at you between counts, biting the inside of her cheek

tried not to make it obvious to the crowd

but anyone who knows her can see she’s rattled

first one to grab tissues and crouch beside you the moment the stage lights go out

“Holy—baby, what happened? Are you bleeding? Why didn’t you say anything?”

her hands shake slightly as she presses the tissue gently to your wound

kisses your forehead while the medic rushes to bandage you

later in the greenroom, she jokes lightly just to make you laugh

“Guess I’ll just bubble wrap you before every stage now”

you catch her staring at your bandage with that quiet, softly wrecked expression

brings your fave snacks to cheer you up

“Okay, one full set of cheesy chips, one yogurt drink, one you”

keeps her hand at your lower back or shoulder, constantly checking you're comfortable

“You scared the crap out of me. I still haven’t forgiven the stylist, btw.”

Minjeong

FREEZES the moment she sees blood

you feel her brush close to you mid-choreo, her fingers ghosting your lower back or arm

“Are you okay?”

keeps dancing but with noticeably muted energy

she’s only half-present because she’s focused on you

after the performance, she gently steers you to the dressing room before staff even react

“Let’s sit down. I’ll clean it. Please just sit, baby.”

her hands are surprisingly steady, her voice softer than usual

“You should’ve told someone”

“I didn’t wanna stop performing”

“You’re too tough for your own good”

sits on the floor in front of you, chin resting on her folded arms against the couch cushion

quietly watches as you sip your drink, her expression unreadable

but her hand never leaves your shin

“Promise me next time, you tell someone the second it hurts.”

“I’m really fine, love”

you kiss her hair and she just melts, eyes fluttering shut

Yizhuo

GASPS visibly the second she sees blood

doesn’t hide it at all, she’s just dramatic like that

mouths “oh my god” during choreo when she sees your scraped knee

RUSHES to you at the very second the lights go off

“You’re bleeding—wait, let me—wait, do we need a medic?!”

frantically pulls tissues or wet wipes from a stylist’s bag while borderline panicking

her voice is high-pitched, worried, but her touch is delicate.

“It’s not that bad, Ning”

“Not that bad? You’re literally bleeding through your tights!”

clings to you the rest of the night, arms around your waist, refusing to let go

“From now on, I’m sewing your stage outfits myself”

“You don’t even know how…”

“Don’t underestimate me”

might secretly cry in the bathroom for two minutes

rejoins you with snacks and water, pretending like she didn’t js bawl

keeps bringing you things: extra blanket, water bottle, fluffy socks, anything

huffs every time you try to stand

“Nope. Sit. I know I’m the princess here, but you’re hurt so it’s you for now.”

A/N: quite busy for now so here’s js a really quick something

[siilent-wanderer]

Stay A While

Summary: On their anniversary, Minju spends the day quietly returning every small act of love Y/N has ever given her. From brushing her hair to guiding her along the sidewalk, she reminds Y/N that she notices everything.

Genre: soft, soft fluff

Word Count: 1.1k words

Kim Minju x fem!reader

Part 2 of Easy

Minju had always been observant. She noticed the way people smiled when they didn’t mean it, the way silence could speak louder than words, and the way Y/N quietly tucked her own needs behind everyone else’s — especially Minju’s.

So Minju started paying attention, and then she started acting on it.

She woke up first that morning — rare, but not impossible.

Y/N’s face was soft in sleep, hair a little messy, her arm flung over Minju’s waist like instinct. There was a tiny scar near her temple from a childhood bike accident. A faint mole beneath her eye.

Minju leaned in and pressed her lips to both, barely grazing the skin.

“Not fair,” Y/N mumbled sleepily, tightening her hold around Minju’s waist. “You’re stealing my thing.”

Minju smiled into her forehead. “I’m borrowing it.”

At the bathroom sink, Y/N started brushing her hair lazily, and Minju came up behind her, gently taking the brush from her hands.

“Sit,” she said softly.

Y/N blinked but obeyed, dropping onto the edge of the bed as Minju moved behind her, brushing slow, even strokes through her hair like she was soothing something deeper.

“You’re doing it so carefully,” Y/N murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

“You always take care of me,” Minju whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Later that day, they headed out to an art gallery downtown — one of Y/N’s favorite ways to spend an afternoon. As they walked along the street, Minju tugged her gently to the inside of the sidewalk, hands still laced.

Y/N paused. “That’s my move.”

“Too bad,” Minju said, smiling up at her. “You made it look good.”

At the gallery, Y/N offered to carry both their bags, but Minju shook her head and slipped hers higher on her shoulder before Y/N could even reach.

“Today’s your turn to walk empty-handed,” she said.

Y/N pouted dramatically. “I’m losing all my titles.”

“You’re gaining rest,” Minju replied. “And that’s better.”

Back home, Minju took over everything.

She brewed Y/N’s favorite tea without asking. Picked a movie before Y/N could overthink. Tucked her under a blanket and pulled her into her side, resting her chin on top of Y/N’s head as she absentmindedly rubbed circles into her shoulder.

“You’re acting like I just ran a marathon,” Y/N teased.

“You love hard,” Minju said simply. “That’s its own kind of tired.”

Y/N didn’t respond — just tightened her arms around Minju and pressed a long kiss to her collarbone. And Minju kissed her back, over and over, every kiss quieter than words but somehow saying everything.

That night, as they lay tangled in sheets and the steady hum of the city buzzed outside their window, Y/N whispered, “You really didn’t let me do anything today.”

Minju traced a heart on the back of her hand.

“You’ve done enough for both of us, every day since we met.”

Then, quieter: “Let me show you I notice.”

Y/N looked at her — eyes soft, tired in the way that came only after feeling deeply. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. She just kissed her.

Like she was saying thank you. Like she was saying mine. Like she was saying I notice too.

And Minju kissed her back.

Because now they both knew:

Love wasn’t measured in volume. It was measured in effort. In attention. In quiet reciprocity.

And Minju was ready to spend forever returning every small thing Y/N had ever given her — one soft gesture at a time.

Their first anniversary was quiet by design. It was felt more like them.

No fancy dinners, no hotel rooms, no curated Instagram posts. Just them, a shared home, and the gentle comfort of waking up next to someone who knows you.

Y/N stirred awake to the smell of coffee and the warm press of lips to the spot just beneath her jaw, where her favorite mole lived. She smiled before her eyes even opened.

Minju's voice was soft. “Happy anniversary.”

Y/N groaned into the pillow, pulling Minju back down beside her. “I was gonna be the one to wake you up first.”

Minju laughed, letting herself be wrapped in warm sheets and warmer arms. “Too late.”

When they finally got out of bed, Minju pulled Y/N in front of the vanity mirror and sat her down.

“Your turn,” she said, brushing Y/N’s hair with practiced ease, her fingers moving gently, reverently. “Let me spoil you today.” Y/N didn’t protest. She just leaned back against Minju’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, as soft music played in the background.

The living room had already been transformed — low lights, scattered photos from the past year strung along the wall, the scent of vanilla and something floral wafting in the air. A small picnic blanket was laid out on the floor, full of their favorites: strawberry mochi, tteokbokki, sea salt caramel cookies, and takeout from the first restaurant they ever shared a meal in.

“You remembered the dumplings,” Y/N said, touched.

“You said they were perfect,” Minju smiled. “I believe you.”

They ate slow. They talked slower.

Talk of favorite moments. Things that changed them. That time Y/N almost cried because Minju handed her a fresh towel from the dryer on a rainy day. That time Minju cried because Y/N held her hand through her first big audition nerves and never once let go.

“It’s been a year,” Y/N whispered, their heads resting together as dusk rolled in.

Minju looked at her, eyes impossibly full. “What do you think about having a hundred more?”

“Hmm, I’d like that,” Y/N pressed a kiss to her temple. “But you’ll have to let me carry your bag again sometime. You’ve gotten too good at this whole soft-girlfriend act.”

Minju laughed. “I learned from the best.”

Later, when the candles burned lower and the moonlight pooled at their feet, Y/N pulled out a tiny velvet box with a delicate charm bracelet inside.

Each charm was something small. A tiny hairbrush. A heart. A tiny golden cup of coffee. A sunflower.

Minju stared at it, breathless. “This is… every little thing we do.”

Y/N kissed her hand as she clasped it on. “It’s not the grand things, but it’s definitely how we stay.”

Minju leaned forward, brushing her thumb over Y/N’s knuckles.

“I have another gift for you,” she said.

Y/N blinked. “There’s more?”

Minju smiled, shy but sure, as she stood and crossed the room. She picked up her guitar from the corner, placing it on her lap with familiar ease.

Y/N’s eyes widened, already softening.

Minju strummed a few quiet chords, then looked up, gaze locked on hers. “So you know how much I love you.”

The first note slipped into the room like a whisper — gentle, raw, laced with everything she couldn’t always say aloud.

But for now I'm betting on us cause I I'm hoping that you'll stay a while

Her voice trembled slightly, but it held steady. And Y/N sat there in silence, tears brimming but never falling, her heart echoing with every word. To them, It wasn’t just a song. It was a promise. A promise to stay until the end.

A/N: idk if y'all can tell but i'm at a yearning phase in my life rn

[siilent-wanderer]

Easy

Summary: In the quiet moments and the smallest gestures, Minju learns that love isn’t loud — it’s easy, instinctive, and constant when it’s with someone who sees you fully, and loves you anyway.

Genre: soft, soft fluff

Word Count: 0.9k words

Kim Minju x fem!reader

A/N: no one asked for this, but it's missing-minju-hours so it's mainly for me

Minju had never been the type to need much. Not when it came to words. Not when it came to attention. She liked quiet things. Steady things. The comfort of routine, the elegance of effort that didn’t ask to be noticed.

And then came Y/N.

Who never asked for anything, but gave everything. Always in the most unassuming ways.

It was in the way Y/N kissed the tiny constellation of moles scattered across Minju’s skin like secrets only she was allowed to know. One on her cheek, one just above her collarbone, another on her ring finger — places Minju never thought twice about until Y/N made them feel beautiful.

She kissed them gently every time, like they were holy, like she was grateful they existed at all. Minju would roll her eyes and try not to smile, but the pink dusting her cheeks always gave her away.

“Why there?” Minju asked once, half-laughing as Y/N leaned in for another kiss just above her collarbone.

Y/N only smiled. “Because they’re yours.”

Minju didn’t answer. She just let her. Let her make every ordinary spot feel like a universe.

It was in the way Y/N sat at the edge of the sink every morning, eyes fixed on Minju like she was art in motion. She didn’t speak much, just watched. Chin resting in her hand, mouth curled into a sleepy smile as Minju applied her mascara or curled her lashes just so.

Sometimes it made her self-conscious. Most times, it made her feel adored in the kind of way she never knew she needed.

And sometimes Y/N offered to help. Sometimes she didn’t. But always, she watched — because there was something quietly mesmerizing about Minju when she was in her routine. Something so beautiful it felt like a privilege just to witness.

“Staring again,” Minju murmured one morning, keeping her eyes on the mirror.

Y/N didn’t even blink. “Can you blame me?”

Minju rolls her eyes, but the curve of her lips betrays her.

It was in how Y/N always reached for her bag without being asked. Not because it was heavy — but because Minju’s shoulder deserved a rest. Because she had a right hand to hold, and it was harder to do when her arm was weighed down.

Minju would watch the small gesture, heart full to the brim, and think, I didn’t know someone could love me like this.

“Y/N,” Minju murmurs with faux exasperation.

“I got it,” she replies, tugging her to the safer side of the sidewalk as they cross the street. “Always.”

Minju gives in, fingers lacing through Y/N’s with practiced ease.

At the café, they get iced Americanos — Minju’s with two pumps of vanilla, no sweetener, oat milk —and sit on the café patio. Y/N lets Minju talk about her script reading, nodding along, sipping slowly just so she can keep watching the way Minju’s eyes light up when she speaks.

Y/N would carry her through the world if she could. The bag is just the start.

It was also in how Y/N always walked on the outer edge of the sidewalk, guiding Minju gently with a tug on her hand or touch at her lower back, even in a crowd. Especially in a crowd. Her hand would slip into Minju’s without hesitation, thumb brushing over the back of it like muscle memory.

Y/N didn’t make a big show of it. She just did it — because love wasn’t a performance. It was an instinct.

Minju had once stopped, mid-step. “Do you even realize you do that?”

Y/N had blinked. “Do what?”

Minju shook her head, heart already folding in on itself. “Never mind.”

The city buzzed around them, but the world narrowed down to just two. Then Minju kissed her. Full of softness, certainty, gratitude.

“You do all these little things,” she whispered against her lips, “and they never feel little at all.”

Y/N kissed her back, forehead resting against hers. “That’s because they never are. Not when it’s for you.”

Minju noticed. She always noticed.

All the little things.

The way Y/N never reached for her hand unless Minju’s was free first. The way she knew which coffee order was Minju’s down to the syrup. The way she tied Minju’s shoelaces once, without saying a word, just because Minju was too sleepy to bend down and do it herself.

It was quiet. Never loud. But the consistency of it… that was where the love lived.

And Minju — once so content with solitude — now found herself curling closer into the space Y/N made for her.

She reached for her hand more now. Held on tighter when the sidewalks were crowded. Kissed her with a little more urgency, a little more gratitude, as if to say I see you, too.

Because for the first time, Minju realized love didn’t need to be shouted to be true.

Sometimes it was just handed to you, in the form of a carried bag. A loving gaze. A kiss on a mole you used to hide.

When Y/N kissed her goodnight that evening, fingers brushing softly along her jaw, Minju whispered into the silence:

“You’re too good to me. Like you really do everything for me.”

Y/N squeezes her fingers with her other hand. “Not everything. Just everything I can.”

Minju smiles sleepily. “It’s more than enough, but I hope you know I’d do all of it for you too.”

She felt Y/N smile against her skin. “I already do.”

It was never about the gestures.

It was about her.

Always her.

Part 2 here

[siilent-wanderer]

coming soon

working on a huh yunjin story !! the genre's pretty obvious from this excerpt, no? ◡̈

[siilent-wanderer]

Good Morning, Love

Summary: Minjeong wakes before the sun to chase the light and make her love a cup of coffee — just the way she likes it.

Word Count: 0.5k words

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x fem!reader

Minjeong was up before the sun.

The apartment was still hushed, curtains drawn, air a little cold from the early hour. But she moved through it quietly, barefoot and gentle, like she didn’t want to wake the stillness just yet.

Oh, I’ll chase the sun before you wake your eyes I’ll make you coffee just the way you like

She stood in the kitchen, head tilted as she watched the water boil. A sleepy smile tugged at her lips when she grabbed the mug — Y/N’s mug, the chipped one she’d offered to replace a dozen times before giving up. A spoon clinked against the side, stirring the sugar in carefully, three times, like always.

I’ll be sure that your cup is as warm as my love, ’Cause I love you just the way you like

When she pushed open the door to the bedroom, the morning sun had just started to spill through the curtains. And there was Y/N — face buried in her pillow, cheek pressed to her arm, hair messy and wild in a way only Minjeong found perfect.

Y/N stirred, eyes fluttering open at the quiet creak of the door.

“You’re up early,” she murmured, voice still laced with sleep.

“Morning,” Minjeong whispers, soft as the steam curling from the cup. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Y/N smiles, sleep-heavy and lopsided. “You didn’t.”

Minjeong set the mug down on the bedside table and leaned in, brushing Y/N’s hair back from her face with fingers so tender it made her chest ache.

“I made you coffee just the way you like,” she added, soft and fond. “No cream, extra sweet. I even stirred it exactly three times.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a drowsy smile before laughing. “That’s excessive.”

Minjeong grinned. “I love you excessively.””

And then — when Y/N turned into her touch, lips brushing softly against her cheek — she laughed quietly and dipped down to press a kiss to the tip of her nose.

When you turn in and face my side to kiss me, It makes me giddy, I’m gonna kiss your nose

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of her sweatshirt, fingers curling and tugging gently.

“Come back to bed.”

“I should let you rest.”

“I wasn’t resting,” Y/N murmurs. “I was missing you.”

Minjeong hesitated, only for a second. Then her knees hit the mattress and she folded herself into Y/N’s arms, burying her face in the crook of her neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“If I didn’t have to do anything today,” she whispers into your hair, “I’d make love to you all morning, then sleep, and do it again. Just like this.”

If only I could lie here and make love to you all day, I’ll hold you and never let you go

Their legs tangled under the covers. The sun spilled slowly across the sheets. The coffee sat forgotten on the nightstand, still steaming.

And in that perfect silence — warm skin against skin, breath mingling, hearts beating steadily at the same time — Minjeong thought:

This. This is everything.

[siilent-wanderer]

Heyy can u write a Kim dayeon(pyramid game) x reader fanfiction pleaaseeee i need moreeeee and the fandom is dead and it almost doesnt exist😭

Btw can i be 🖤 anon?

Half of Her

Summary: She was supposed to fall for the golden boy. Instead, she saw the other half of him — his sister. The half no one was ever meant to love.

Notes: angst, lowkey cheating, there's a boyfriend involved 🤮 (ik, im sorry, for the plot only)

Word Count: 3.2k words

Kim Dayeon x fem!reader

A/N: I do not condone cheating at all. this is solely just for the story :>

The Kim family estate was as cold and perfect as ever — a polished museum of wealth and legacy. Y/N had visited a few times before, always as Dohyun’s girlfriend. The staff knew her. The doors opened for her. Everything smelled faintly like polished marble and old books, the kind you display but never read.

Dohyun had texted her that morning.

Come by. Appa wants to meet you again before the Sokcho trip. Just for a bit.

So she came. Expected to sit through another polite lunch, talk about business she didn’t understand, and smile when the Chairman asked if she was "serious" about his son.

What she didn’t expect was the silence.

No staff in the halls. No distant clatter from the kitchen. And no Dohyun waiting for her at the front.

Instead—

A soft thud. Like someone stumbling.

Y/N turned toward the west hallway.

Another sound. A choked breath.

Cautiously, she stepped closer.

That’s when she saw her.

Kim Dayeon.

Curled up on the floor just outside the study, one hand gripping her ribs, the other braced against the wall. Her lip was split. Blood trickled down the side of her face. The cuff of her school blazer was torn, and her breathing sounded shallow — pained.

For a second, she didn’t notice Y/N standing there.

Then her eyes flicked up. And froze.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

“Dayeon—”

“Don’t.”

The word was sharp. Acid-laced.

“Don’t say my name like we’re friends. You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Y/N took a step forward, instinctively. “Are you—”

“Don’t.”

There was a fury in her voice, but her hand trembled where it pressed into the wall.

Y/N hesitated, then crouched down slowly, voice gentler now.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dayeon snapped, turning her face away. “Just go find your perfect boyfriend and leave me alone.”

But Y/N didn’t move.

She opened her bag and pulled out a small packet of tissues, then gently — carefully — offered it out to her.

Dayeon didn’t take it.

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?” she hissed, eyes flashing.

Silence.

Y/N swallowed, but didn’t flinch. “I don’t know. Maybe I just… don’t like seeing you like this.”

That hit harder than she meant it to.

Dayeon’s throat worked. Her fingers twitched.

“Why?” she asked, quieter now. Almost bitter. “Because it makes you uncomfortable? Because you’d rather pretend I’m some villain who doesn’t bleed?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Dayeon finally grabbed the tissues — roughly. But instead of using them, she just held them, knuckles white.

She looked away again, voice almost a whisper.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Y/N frowned. “Like what?”

“Like I’m someone worth saving.”

The hallway held its breath.

Dayeon hadn’t moved from the floor. Her back was pressed to the wall, the blood on her lip drying now, cracked along the edge. The hallway light above them flickered once — as if even the house itself wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Y/N was still crouched beside her, slowly setting her bag down like she planned on staying.

“I told you to go,” Dayeon said again, but this time it was softer. Less venom. Just tired.

“You’re not in a state to be alone.”

“Oh, what, you gonna call Dohyun? Get him to fetch his pathetic sister off the floor before she ruins them?”

Y/N looked at her. At the bruises forming under her cheekbone. At the tremor in her hand. At the red blotch blooming through her blazer like rust.

“I’m going to get the first aid kit,” she said quietly, rising to her feet.

“Don’t you dare—”

But Y/N was already walking down the hall. Dayeon let her go. She didn’t have the strength to yell anymore.

By the time Y/N came back, a compact black case in hand, Dayeon had pulled herself into a sitting position, arms crossed tightly, jaw locked like she was preparing for another kind of hit.

Y/N didn’t say anything.

She knelt in front of her again. Opened the kit. Popped the seal on a sterile wipe.

Dayeon didn’t stop her when she reached forward.

Not even when the first cold swipe brushed against her cheek.

She just flinched. Once. Then stilled.

“You should’ve left,” Dayeon muttered. “Girls like you don’t get involved in this kind of shit. It’s not your story to walk into.”

“I didn’t realize pain had a guest list.”

Dayeon’s mouth twisted. “You think you’re clever.”

“I think you’re bleeding.”

Y/N’s fingers worked gently. Methodically. Like she’d done this before.

Dayeon hated how it made her feel. Too seen. Too soft. Like the silence she wore like armor had just cracked down the middle and let light in.

“What will you tell him?” Dayeon asked, eyes flicking up. “Dohyun?”

Y/N paused. “Nothing.”

Dayeon narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t want anyone to know. And because I’m not doing this to make myself look good.”

“You think this is about you?”

“No,” Y/N said. “I think this is about someone who’s been hurt too many times being told she deserves it.”

Dayeon looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. The words landed somewhere deep — a place she hadn’t let anyone reach since she was a child.

After a moment, she scoffed. “You don’t get to care about me.”

“I already do.”

Dayeon laughed — bitter and broken. “Why? Because I’m your boyfriend’s sad twin? The one with the black sheep complex and the bruises to prove it?”

“I care because no one else does,” Y/N replied, without hesitation. “And because I’ve seen the way you carry all of it alone. You’re angry and cruel and terrifying sometimes… but not heartless.”

That silence again. Not the cold kind. The kind that feels like something’s about to crack open.

Dayeon didn’t reply.

So Y/N finished cleaning her wounds, then quietly started bandaging the cut near her ribs, fingers brushing too softly for Dayeon’s liking.

“You’re gentle,” Dayeon said suddenly. “Too gentle.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It is when you’re trying to fix someone like me.”

Y/N tied the bandage in place.

“I’m not here to fix you,” she said. “I just didn’t want to pretend I didn’t see you.”

Dayeon froze.

That — more than anything — almost undid her.

Footsteps echoed down the polished marble hall.

Y/N and Dayeon both turned — Y/N still crouched by the first aid kit, Dayeon leaning heavily against the wall, bandages peeking out beneath her sleeve.

“Y/N?”

Dohyun appeared at the end of the hallway, his tie half undone, blazer thrown over his shoulder. His smile flickered when he saw them.

And then it faltered completely.

“What… happened?”

Y/N stood quickly, smoothing her skirt, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as if that would hide the tightness in her posture.

“I found Dayeon like this,” she said. “Outside the study.”

Dohyun’s jaw tightened. He crossed the distance between them with long, purposeful strides.

“Did he—?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Dayeon shifted uncomfortably, face turned toward the wall. She didn’t look at him.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, voice dropping. “You should’ve told me you were here.”

“I was going to,” Y/N said, calm but careful. “But she needed help.”

His gaze moved between them. Something in his expression turned uneasy.

“I’ll have the driver take you home,” he said after a beat. “This isn’t— You shouldn’t have had to see this.”

Dayeon scoffed under her breath. “You always talk like I’m an inconvenience to everyone’s day.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dohyun said quickly.

“No?” she muttered. “Then what did you mean? That my bruises are bad for your girlfriend’s mood?”

“Dayeon—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, pushing herself up. It was shaky, but she managed. She stood tall, arms crossed. “And she was already leaving.”

Y/N flinched slightly at that. But said nothing.

Dohyun looked between them again. “I’ll walk you out.”

Y/N nodded slowly. She glanced at Dayeon one last time — as if searching for something in her eyes, but Dayeon refused to meet her gaze.

And then Y/N walked away, leaving a part of herself in that hallway.

Dohyun followed, falling into step beside her. “Thank you,” he said, glancing sideways. “For helping her. You didn’t have to.”

“She would’ve bled out if I didn’t,” Y/N said quietly.

Dohyun winced.

“She hates me,” Y/N added, as they neared the main entrance. “But… I don’t think that matters.”

“You’re a good person,” Dohyun said, smiling faintly. “She’s just… complicated.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

She wasn’t thinking about the brother beside her.

She was still thinking about the girl bleeding in the hallway — and the way she said:

“Don’t look at me like I’m someone worth saving.”

Dayeon waited until the sound of the front door clicked shut.

Only then did she allow herself to sink back down against the wall, her breath escaping in a shaky exhale.

The tissues Y/N had used were still on the floor beside her — stained red. Her bag was gone. So were her footsteps. So was she. But her presence lingered like the ghost of something Dayeon didn’t know how to mourn.

Y/N had touched her — not with pity, but gentleness. She had stayed. She had seen her at her ugliest, her most broken… and still reached out.

Dayeon hated that it made her feel anything.

She tilted her head back against the wall and shut her eyes. Her ribs ached with every breath. The bandages Y/N had wrapped were too neat, too careful, like she was trying to hold her together with gentleness alone.

Pathetic, Dayeon told herself. You let her see too much.

And then—

Footsteps again.

Faster. Angrier.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Dohyun storming back into the hallway.

“You let her see you like that?”

The question cracked across the air like a whip.

Dayeon sat up straighter, expression hardening. “It’s not like I scheduled it.”

“You should’ve said something. Told her you fell or lied—anything.”

“So she could keep pretending everything’s perfect?” Dayeon snapped. “Sorry if I’m ruining your golden boy fantasy, Kim Dohyun.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“No?” she spat, pushing herself up to her feet despite the ache in her bones. “Everything in this house is about you. What you want, what you inherit, who you date—”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” she cut in, voice rising, “is that you get to float above all this while I’m the one bleeding on the floor. And now your girlfriend has seen it too.”

“She’s not supposed to be involved in this.”

“She was involved. She saw it, and she didn’t look away. That’s more than I can say for you most of the time.”

Silence.

Dohyun’s mouth opened, then closed.

“Don’t project your problems onto her,” he said finally, quieter now. “She’s kind. Don’t use that against her.”

Dayeon’s expression twisted.

“Maybe I will,” she whispered. “Maybe I already am.”

A pause.

And then, softer: “…You like her, don’t you?”

Dayeon didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Dohyun stared at her for a long moment — not angry now, but something else.

Disappointed.

“She’s not yours to want, Dayeon.”

“I know,” she said. And it was the most honest thing she’d said all day.

Flashback

It started with laughter.

Not hers, of course.

Dayeon hated the sound of it. Too bright. Too free. It echoed off the stone walls of the academy courtyard like something that didn’t belong in their world — in her world.

She was coming back from fencing class, knuckles bruised from another too-tight grip on the saber, her mouth still sour from the way their coach had looked at her brother and said, “A natural leader.”

And then she heard it. That laugh. Y/N’s.

She was seated beside Dohyun on the steps near the greenhouse, half turned toward him, her cheeks flushed from laughing too hard at something stupid he must’ve said. A small coffee cup rested between them — his, clearly, but she was holding it.

Of course she was.

She always touched his things. Wore his varsity jacket when it got cold. Held his phone when he was busy. Spoke like she’d known him for years.

Because she had.

They had grown up in the same social circles. Dohyun and Y/N were inevitable. The golden boy and the bright girl. The couple everyone assumed would end up together because of their parents, their polished smiles, their matched potential.

And Dayeon?

She was the shadow trailing behind them. The ghost in the hallway.

She hadn’t meant to watch. She was just passing by.

But something in her froze.

Y/N’s eyes crinkled when she laughed. Her fingers danced when she talked. And when she leaned in, whispering something to Dohyun that made him smirk… Dayeon’s hands curled into fists.

It wasn’t jealousy.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

She didn’t want what Dohyun had.

She didn’t want his seat at the table.

She didn’t want the approval of their father, or the company, or the praise.

She just wanted—

“Do you want to sit with us?” a voice had asked once, weeks ago.

Y/N’s voice.

It had startled her.

Dayeon had been walking past their lunch table when Y/N looked up with a polite smile and gestured to the empty chair.

“No,” she had said coolly, not even pausing. “I’d rather eat alone.”

Y/N hadn’t taken offense.

Of course not.

She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t glare. She didn’t whisper.

She just nodded and said, “Okay. If you change your mind.”

And that was worse.

Because it made her feel like Y/N saw her. Like Y/N believed she was capable of being someone better — when Dayeon knew she wasn’t.

So she stayed cold. Distant. Resentful.

And Y/N kept existing just out of reach — smiling at Dohyun, visiting their house, laughing in the hallways like she didn’t know what she was doing to her.

But she knew now.

She had to.

She saw her on the floor. Bleeding. Bandaged.

She stayed.

And Dayeon hated her for it.

And needed her all the same.

The thing about Baekyeon High was that no hallway ever really felt empty.

Even during break hours, with students scattered in classrooms or hanging around the courtyard, the corridors still echoed with footsteps and murmured gossip.

Y/N didn’t realize she was walking straight into a storm until it was too late.

She’d gone to the north wing for a quick library drop-off — an errand most students avoided because it was furthest from the main building. But she liked the quiet. The long windows. The brief moments alone.

Except now, turning the corner near the stairwell, she nearly collided with someone heading in the opposite direction.

Her heart stuttered.

Dayeon.

She froze. So did Dayeon.

For a full second, neither of them spoke.

Dayeon’s gaze flicked over her — a flicker of recognition, a flash of something unreadable, and then she looked away like she hadn’t just flinched.

Y/N was the first to speak.

“Didn’t think anyone else came this way.”

Dayeon didn’t reply immediately. Just shoved her hands into the pockets of her blazer and leaned against the wall like she hadn’t nearly knocked the wind out of both of them.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” she muttered. “At school.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought maybe you’d transfer,” Dayeon said with a shrug. “Get bored of pretending everything here isn’t awful.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly. “I’m not pretending.”

Dayeon scoffed. “Right. You just float through all this on blind optimism.”

“No,” Y/N said, a little sharper now. “I just don’t use cruelty to survive.”

That struck something.

Dayeon turned her head, eyes narrowing. “You think I chose this?”

“I think you live in it.”

Another silence.

This one heavier.

And then Dayeon’s voice came, lower.

“You keep looking at me like I’m someone you remember differently.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Back then,” Dayeon said, still not facing her. “Before everything. You looked at me like I was someone who could be… I don’t know. Better. Now you just look sad.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. And I don’t know what’s worse.”

Y/N stepped forward. “I never stopped hoping you could be better.”

Dayeon finally looked at her.

And for a moment — just a breath — she looked like she believed her.

Y/N’s voice softened. “How’s your side?”

“…Healing.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

Then, quietly: “You’re still with him?”

The question came out strangled. Barely audible. Like Dayeon hated herself for asking.

Y/N hesitated.

And for once, she didn’t answer.

She just said, “You should get back to class.” And walked past her. Dayeon didn’t move for a long time.

The silence in the Kim residence was always a loaded thing.

It wasn’t peace. It was pressure. Like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for someone to break.

Dayeon had gotten used to the weight of it. The way it clung to her skin after school. The way footsteps behind the study door meant he was waiting.

This time, she knew what was coming.

She had heard her father on the phone. Heard him mention "Baekyeon High," "conduct unbecoming," and "how dare she embarrass the family like this."

She didn’t flinch. Not when his voice got louder. Not when he slammed something on the desk.

But her hands shook when she pulled out her phone.

She stared at the screen for a long time. Then scrolled.

Not to her brother.

Not to any of the A-rankers.

Just her. Y/N.

Her contact had been saved long ago under nothing more than a period. A dot. Like she didn’t want to admit it was her, but couldn’t bring herself to delete it.

Her thumbs hovered. Then typed.

Can you come?

She almost deleted it.

Then hit send.

And waited.

One minute. Three. Five.

She was still in her uniform, blazer wrinkled from hours of sitting on the floor. She hadn't even tried to hide the bruise forming under her collarbone. She didn’t care anymore.

Not if this was the night she shattered completely.

Buzz.

Where are you?

Dayeon exhaled.

She didn’t say home. Instead, she grabbed her bag, slipped through the back gate she and Dohyun used to sneak out of as kids, and walked. Fast. Heart pounding. Not sure where she was going — only that she couldn’t stay.

Y/N found her near the edge of the neighborhood — standing under a flickering streetlight like a ghost who hadn’t decided if she was staying or going.

She wasn’t crying.

But she looked more lost than Y/N had ever seen her.

Dayeon didn’t speak when she arrived.

Y/N didn’t either.

She just pulled her jacket off and draped it over Dayeon’s shoulders. The girl barely reacted, but she didn’t shake it off.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked.

Dayeon didn’t meet her eyes.

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

Y/N nodded once.

Then took her hand.

They didn’t say another word until they were two subway stops away — sharing silence on a nearly empty train car, side by side.

Dayeon spoke first. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Y/N looked at her — truly looked. At the blood on her lip. The tear in her sleeve. The way she curled inward, trying to take up less space than usual.

“Because you asked.”

Dayeon stared at her. Like she wanted to argue. To lash out. To say something cruel and push her away again.

But her mouth opened — and nothing came.

So she turned back toward the window.

And didn’t let go of Y/N’s hand.

[siilent-wanderer]

[siilent-wanderer]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Summary: It starts with a fansign and one overly flirty fan. Y/N says she’s “fine,” but the silent treatment, dramatic stares, and a not-so-subtle hotel room confrontation say otherwise — and Jimin’s not about to let her girlfriend stay jealous for long.

Genre: fluff, tension and jealousy

Word Count: 1.2k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader

A/N: haven't written for karina in so long, so here's one very mediocre oneshot

During the fansign event, Jimin was all charm — radiant smiles, twinkling eyes, and her full attention locked onto each fan that sat across from her. She held their hands, laughed at their jokes, and even leaned in a little when they spoke softly. It was part of the job. Y/N had seen it a dozen times, and she knew better than to take it personally.

But today, one fan stood out. Bold, flirty, and just a little too confident.

She held Jimin’s hand longer than anyone else had. She leaned in, whispering something that made Jimin let out that soft, amused laugh she usually reserved for Y/N. And then, with a giggle and a hopeful look, the girl asked Jimin for a couple pose.

Y/N felt it before she saw it. Her stomach tightened.

Jimin chuckled politely, slipping into the role effortlessly as she draped her arm around the girl’s shoulder. The camera flashed. The girl smiled a little too wide. Jimin didn’t look uncomfortable. She never did. She was too professional for that.

Y/N, sitting just two seats away, gripped her marker a little tighter.

It wasn’t the first time she had to swallow down the ache of watching Jimin shine for someone else. But today, it stung differently.

By the time their break rolled around, Jimin immediately sensed something was off.

They were sitting backstage, the others joking and chatting as they took sips of water and fanned themselves. Y/N sat apart, scrolling through her phone with a little too much focus, her jaw clenched just enough to give her away.

Jimin leaned over, nudging her foot under the table. “Something wrong, baby?”

Y/N didn’t look up. “Nope.”

Jimin tilted her head, lips twitching with amusement. “Oh? You’ve barely looked at me for the last hour.”

Y/N exhaled, the edge of frustration leaking through as she muttered, “Maybe because someone else was too busy looking at you.”

Jimin blinked, surprised. “Ah,” she said quietly, biting the inside of her cheek. “So that’s what this is about?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Jimin shifted closer, trying to coax her into softening. “Did you have to do that pose?” Y/N finally asked, not looking at her. “You could’ve said no.”

“She asked nicely,” Jimin replied. “It was just for fun.”

“Yeah, fun,” Y/N mumbled. “For her.”

Jimin leaned in, dropping her voice as her hand brushed Y/N’s knee. “Baby… you know the only person I’d actually want to do a real couple pose with is you.”

Y/N’s lips twitched, but she still didn’t look at her. So Jimin reached up, gently tilting her chin with her fingers, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Should I prove it?” she whispered near her ear.

But Y/N only pulled back slightly, not cold — just not ready to let it go. Not yet.

The silence returned later, heavier this time.

Backstage, Y/N barely spoke. She smiled when she had to, nodded when prompted, but her laughter was hollow and her presence felt miles away. Jimin watched her from across the dressing room, her eyes narrowing as Y/N leaned into a conversation with Minjeong and Yizhuo, completely ignoring the space between them. Enough was enough.

After the event ended, they walked in silence down the hallway of the hotel. The tension was a string pulled tight between them, stretched thin and dangerous. Just as Y/N reached for her room key, Jimin grabbed her wrist and pulled her into her own room, shutting the door behind them.

Y/N stumbled slightly, caught off guard. “Unnie—”

Jimin crossed her arms, voice cool and even. “You’re really going to ignore me all night because of a fan?”

Y/N scoffed, trying to sidestep her. “I don’t know. Maybe I should let one of your fans talk to you instead.”

Jimin’s brows rose, and a slow, amused smile pulled at her lips. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh?” Jimin stepped closer. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Y/N’s back hit the wall, but she didn’t move away. Her pulse quickened. “Because you make it hard to think straight.”

Jimin’s smirk faded into something softer, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face. “You do realize I only have eyes for you, right?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”

Silence stretched between them. Jimin leaned in just a little more. “Then maybe I need to start showing it more.”

Her voice was low, warm, wrapping around the air between them like a secret. She tilted her head, forehead nearly touching Y/N’s.

“I didn’t like that pose,” Jimin admitted. “I did it because I had to. But when I looked at her, I wasn’t thinking about her.”

Y/N swallowed. “Then who were you thinking about?”

Jimin smiled. “You. Sulking two seats away and trying not to glare.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a reluctant smile, her jealousy slowly giving way to affection. “You’re so annoying sometimes.”

Jimin leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her lips, tender and apologetic. “I know,” she whispered, “but you kinda love me for it, no?”

Y/N reached for her again, burying her face into Jimin’s shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah, you’re definitely lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Jimin said with a smile, holding her tighter. “But I’m still gonna keep proving it.”

The morning sunlight poured gently through the hotel curtains, casting a soft glow over the bed where Y/N had somehow ended up tangled in the sheets — and in Jimin’s arms.

She stirred first, blinking against the light and realizing, with a slightly sheepish smile, that her head had nestled perfectly into Jimin’s shoulder sometime in the middle of the night.

Jimin was still asleep, lips slightly parted, one arm draped protectively over Y/N’s waist. Her other hand was loosely curled against the pillow, the edges of her hair softly brushing her cheek.

Y/N just… looked at her for a moment. Really looked.

All the jealousy from the night before had melted into something quieter — a warm, thudding awareness of how deeply she cared. Of how much it scared her sometimes. And how much more it comforted her.

Jimin stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. “Mmm… are you staring at me?”

Y/N tried not to grin. “Maybe.”

Jimin’s voice was raspy with sleep. “Still mad?”

Y/N shook her head, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss on her nose. “Not even a little.”

Jimin exhaled in relief, her fingers tightening slightly around Y/N’s waist. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle the silent treatment again.”

Y/N smirked, playing with the hem of Jimin’s sleeve. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You were talking to everyone but me. That’s crueler than it sounds.”

Y/N laughed quietly, then rested her forehead against Jimin’s. “Sorry for being a brat.”

Jimin’s eyes softened. “You weren’t. You just… care. And I love that about you.”

There was a pause.

“You know,” Jimin added, “if you ever feel that way again, just say something.”

Y/N nodded. “I know.” Then, teasingly: “But maybe I like being a little dramatic sometimes.”

Jimin chuckled, brushing her thumb across Y/N’s cheek. “Then I’ll just have to love you through it.”

And she did — with another sleepy kiss, warm arms pulling Y/N closer, and a promise in her eyes that said I’m yours, and I always will be.

[siilent-wanderer]

THIS LOVE TRIANGLE HURT ME SO MUCH!! It was so good TT I’m glad you gave two endings but OUGH the scenes when either sister has to come to terms that the other’s been chosen??? Made me wish there was an option to have both, or even have it so that Y/N didn’t pick either of them - 🃏

The Space Between

Third alt ending of Halfway to Something

Word Count: 1.6k words

Jang Wonyoung x fem!reader x Jang Daah

The room was dim, caught in that golden hour lull where the sun filtered through dusty windows and painted everything with a quiet kind of glow. It used to be a classroom — now it was just an empty space, quiet and still after the chaos of the university event. Y/N had asked them both to meet her here. One message each. No promises. Just: "Can we talk, just the three of us?"

They both came.

Wonyoung leaned against a desk, fingers curled loosely around her phone. She was wearing that soft cardigan Y/N always liked on her — the one Wonyoung pretended wasn’t hers when Y/N borrowed it once. Her eyes met Y/N’s, hesitant but warm. Always warm.

Daah stood near the window, her posture more closed off, but her gaze direct. She hadn’t sat down. She hadn’t moved since Y/N walked in.

Y/N closed the door behind her and took a breath that didn’t steady her like it should. Her hands were cold.

“I don’t know how to do this the right way,” Y/N began. “But I figured it’d be worse not to do it at all.”

No one interrupted.

“I care about you,” she said, looking from one to the other. “Both of you. I think maybe that’s what made this so hard.”

She walked to the front of the room, setting her bag down. Her voice was softer now. “You’ve both been good to me. More than I ever expected. Wony, you… you made everything feel easier. Lighter. You knew how to find me in every room.”

Wonyoung’s eyes shone, lips pressing together.

“And Daah unnie,” Y/N continued, voice catching, “you made me feel understood even when I didn’t say anything. Like I didn’t have to prove anything to be worth your time.”

Daah didn’t flinch, but Y/N saw the subtle way her fingers tensed by her sides.

She paused. The next words felt like stones in her throat.

“But I can’t be yours. Not right now.”

The silence was a new kind of heavy. It hummed between the three of them, thick and quiet.

“I thought I could figure it out if I gave it time,” Y/N continued, “but the truth is, the more I thought about choosing between you, the more I realized I wasn’t choosing at all. I was trying to force something I wasn’t ready for.”

Wonyoung blinked, once. Her shoulders dropped slightly.

“I’m still figuring out who I am,” Y/N admitted. “And I don’t want to hurt either of you by loving you halfway. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who can look at you and know — without hesitation — that it’s you. And I can’t say that right now. Not without lying.”

There was a long silence.

Then Wonyoung spoke — softly. “You didn’t lie. Not once.”

Y/N looked at her. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were full.

“I hoped you would choose me,” Wonyoung said. “I won’t pretend I didn’t. But I also don’t want to be someone you settle for.”

“Neither do I,” Daah said, finally. Her voice was quiet. “And if it were anyone else, I’d probably hate them right now. But not you.”

Y/N closed her eyes for a second. “I’m sorry. I know sorry doesn’t fix it, but—”

“It’s enough,” Wonyoung said. “For now.”

Daah nodded. “Just don’t disappear.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. “I won’t. I promise.”

For a while, no one moved.

Then Wonyoung walked over and hugged her — soft, arms around her waist, cheek pressed to Y/N’s shoulder like she was memorizing the shape of this goodbye.

“You’ll still be my person,” she whispered. “Even if it’s not in the way I hoped.”

And then she let go.

Daah stepped forward next. No hug. Just her hand, reaching out to briefly squeeze Y/N’s. Firm. Grounding.

“You made the right call,” she said. “Even if it hurts.”

Y/N nodded, eyes blurry.

And when they left — one after the other — she stayed behind in the quiet room, letting the last of the golden light spill over the empty chairs and the weight of everything unsaid.

She did the right thing. It still felt like heartbreak.

A few months later, the campus was louder again — another semester in full swing, different posters on the walls, new faces in the org. Things moved forward whether Y/N was ready or not.

She saw them both sometimes. Wonyoung in the library, surrounded by juniors asking for help with speech writing. She waved when she saw Y/N. Her smile was smaller now. But still there.

Daah passed her once outside the coffee shop. She was laughing with someone — maybe someone new. She nodded at Y/N. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Y/N sat under the same tree during breaks, wrote in her journal more often, learned how to sit with stillness.

Some days, she wondered what it would’ve been like — with either of them. On others, she felt a strange kind of peace that she never chased it just to have it.

She was still figuring it out. But for once, that felt enough.

And maybe one day, she’d be ready. Just… not yet.

After that quiet conversation in the classroom with Wonyoung and Daah, Y/N didn’t retreat, exactly. She still showed up for classes, still laughed when Chaeyeon cracked a joke, still sent Yuri memes at 1 a.m. But she stopped lingering in hallways where she used to find Wonyoung. Stopped gravitating toward the quiet corners where Daah liked to read.

Instead, she said yes to a different kind of distraction — the university’s intercultural arts committee.

It wasn’t exactly her comfort zone, but it offered structure. Purpose. People who knew nothing about the weight she’d been carrying for months.

That’s where she first noticed her.

Kazuha.

She was an exchange student from Japan — quiet but not shy, with the kind of presence that didn’t ask to be noticed but somehow always was. There was a calm to her, something steadying in the way she carried herself. She spoke in soft Korean and even softer English, always careful with her words, and yet nothing about her felt hesitant.

The first time they officially met was during a setup for the committee’s cultural night. Kazuha was on ladder duty. Y/N was holding the banner.

“Higher?” Kazuha asked, glancing down.

“Bit to the left,” Y/N called up.

Kazuha adjusted. “Like this?”

Y/N squinted, then smiled. “Perfect. Don’t move.”

She didn’t — not even when Y/N made a joke about having to carry the whole event on their backs. Kazuha just laughed, a soft, sincere sound that made something in Y/N’s chest shift.

From then on, they kept orbiting into the same tasks. Not by planning — it just happened. Kazuha offered quiet observations. Y/N offered bad puns. And slowly, it became normal to stay behind after meetings just to talk about nothing. Or maybe everything.

No one asked Y/N about Wonyoung or Daah anymore. And if they noticed that she seemed lighter these days — more grounded — no one said it out loud.

Because for the first time in a while, Y/N wasn’t halfway toward someone.

She was simply here. Starting again.

And someone new had begun to meet her there.

It was Yuri who mentioned it first.

"I think Y/N’s seeing someone," she said offhandedly one afternoon as she and Wonyoung shared fries on the steps outside the student center.

Wonyoung didn’t react at first. Just stared out into the quad, chewing slowly, methodically.

Yuri nudged her. "You okay?"

Wonyoung shrugged. "I always knew she wouldn’t stay in limbo forever."

She didn’t say more, but she knew what she meant. Y/N had always been the kind of person people gravitated to — thoughtful, kind, real. Of course someone new would eventually come along. Someone untouched by all the quiet war the sisters had waged in silence.

The first time she saw them was two weeks later — Y/N and Kazuha walking out of the intercultural arts exhibit, laughing over something Wonyoung couldn’t hear. They looked... comfortable. Not new, but like something slowly blooming.

Kazuha was calm, measured. The kind of girl who wouldn’t rush things but would still get there in the end. Wonyoung turned away before Y/N could see her watching. She didn’t cry. She didn’t leave. She just breathed in, and then out, and let it be.

Daah heard about it later, through a passing comment in one of her literature classes.

"Did you see Kazuha and Y/N at the fair? Cute couple. Super lowkey."

She didn’t flinch. Just nodded, the same way she did when professors dropped unexpected essay prompts. Her pen never even paused.

But that night, she sat on her dorm bed for a long time, just staring at the soft light coming through the curtains. There was no regret, not really. Just a small ache she’d already made peace with. Because Daah had always known how to let go quietly — and this time, she had seen it coming.

She still kept the hoodie Y/N had once returned folded at the back of her closet. Not out of longing. Just... respect.

They didn’t talk about it until weeks later, at home.

Wonyoung was drying dishes. Daah was wiping the counter.

“She’s happy,” Wonyoung said suddenly.

Daah glanced at her. “Yeah. I saw.”

A beat.

“Are you okay?” Daah asked.

Wonyoung nodded. “Are you?”

Another pause. Then a small smile from both.

“I think we will be,” Wonyoung said.

Daah replied, “We already are.”

They didn’t need to say Y/N’s name. It lived between them — not as a wound, not anymore, but as something real that had passed through both of them.

And passed on.

Flowers and Firsts | Rain and Realizations

[siilent-wanderer]

"She’s my wife," Yeji said, her voice trembling not with fear, but fury. "Speak to her with respect."

SHE SAID THE THING AGGGGHHHHH holy crap this was so satisfying to read MY GOD

thank you so much again! - 🃏

well it was my favorite line to write so it HAD to be there. glad you liked ittt and thank you !