#jenosonlywife23

[jenosonlywife23]

Cake!!

Pairing; Jaehyun x reader

The night had been picture-perfect, or so you thought. You were humming softly to yourself, finishing up the cake you’d spent hours baking. It was meant to be a sweet surprise for Jaehyun—a rare moment to celebrate his hard work and your time together. Dressed in his oversized shirt and your panties, you felt a mix of comfort and excitement as you lit the candles to add a little glow to the room.

But then the door creaked open.

“Jaehyun, you’re—” The words froze in your throat as your eyes fell on him.

Bruised, bloodied, and unsteady, he stood in the doorway like a shadow of himself. His bottom lip was split, a purpling bruise marred his cheek, and his knuckles were raw. His shirt was rumpled, a faint smear of blood on the collar. Yet, even through the disarray, there was something in his eyes—a mixture of guilt and relief when they landed on you.

You rushed toward him, your bare feet skidding slightly on the floor. “What the hell happened to you?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he muttered, trying to wave you off as he staggered inside.

“Nothing? Jaehyun, you look like you were attacked by wolves.” You grabbed his arm, your fingers brushing against a forming bruise. He hissed softly but let you guide him to the couch.

As you helped him sit down, his lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Not wolves. Loan sharks.”

“Loan sharks?” you echoed in disbelief, your voice rising. “What did you do?”

He groaned, leaning back against the couch. “It’s not a big deal. Just some business I needed to take care of.”

“Not a big deal? Jaehyun, you’re—ugh!” You stormed off to grab the first aid kit, your heart pounding. How could he brush this off so casually?

When you returned, he was staring intently at the table, his gaze fixed on the cake you’d prepared. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.

“You made that for me?” he asked, his voice rough but tinged with warmth.

“Yes, I made it for you,” you snapped, kneeling between his legs and opening the first aid kit. “But it’s not for you to eat until you stop looking like you’ve just stepped out of a fight club.”

He let out a low chuckle, but his laughter died as you began cleaning the cut on his cheek. His sharp intake of breath made you pause, your hand faltering.

“Hurts?” you asked softly, your tone losing its earlier edge.

“A little,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours.

“Good. Maybe it’ll remind you not to do stupid things,” you muttered, leaning in to dab antiseptic onto his knuckles.

His eyes flickered downward, catching the way your shirt had shifted to reveal more of your thighs. He let out a low hum, his bruised lip quirking upward in a smirk. “You know, you’re making it really hard to sit still right now.”

“Jaehyun.” You gave him a sharp look, though the blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Focus.”

“I am focusing,” he murmured, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’re wearing my shirt, and…” His voice dropped, husky and low, “not much else.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to move. Before you could escape, Jaehyun’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you into his lap.

“Hey—”

“Stay,” he said simply, his voice soft but firm.

“Jaehyun, I can’t tend to your injuries like this.”

“You can, and you will,” he replied, his lips brushing against your temple. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

Your heart stuttered as you settled on his lap, your legs straddling him. The proximity made your breath hitch, especially when his hands slid down to rest on your bare thighs.

“Jaehyun,” you whispered, trying to keep your composure.

“Yes, nurse?” he teased, his grin widening despite the pain it probably caused him.

You huffed, leaning in closer to clean the cut on his lip. The faint smell of blood mixed with his cologne, a strangely intoxicating combination. His eyes never left yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his gaze flicking down briefly to your lips.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, finally finishing and pressing a bandage to his cheek.

“And you’re perfect,” he shot back, his hands squeezing your thighs gently. “But seriously, can I have the cake now? It smells too good to ignore.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, climbing off his lap to grab the cake. As you set a slice in front of him, he pulled you back onto the couch, this time wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“You’re not leaving again,” he murmured against your ear. “Cake, you, and this couch. That’s all I need tonight.”

And just like that, the night stretched on, the cake slowly disappearing between teasing bites, stolen kisses, and Jaehyun’s firm grip that kept you exactly where he wanted you—right in his arms.

[anniebeckcalla]

𒀭࣪⋆ 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝘀!

@viasdreams

@injvns

@cigsaftersuh

@mejaemin

@jenosonlywife23

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[jenosonlywife23]

Night routine complete.

The steam from the shower still hung heavy in the bathroom as you and Jeno stepped out, the faint hum of the exhaust fan filling the space. You both moved in sync—comfy, familiar—Jeno with his towel slung low around his waist, and you with yours wrapped snugly around your chest.

“Pass me the toner,” you said casually, twisting your hair into a towel while he reached for the bottle on the counter.

Jeno handed it to you, his own hair still damp and falling messily over his forehead. “You look like a little dumpling,” he teased, flicking the end of your towel as you applied the product.

“And you look like you forgot how to dress,” you shot back, glancing pointedly at the towel barely holding on at his hips.

“Give me a break, I’m air-drying,” he said with a smug grin, leaning against the counter to watch you. His abs flexed slightly with the movement, and you rolled your eyes, pretending not to notice.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning back to the mirror.

Jeno smirked, “Why? Distracted?”

You shot him a look through the mirror. “No. Just cold.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, stepping closer until he was right behind you, his chin resting on your damp shoulder. “Then let me warm you up.”

You gasped as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “Jeno! Your hair is dripping on me!”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder before letting you go—though his hands lingered at your sides for a second too long. “Fine. But only because I don’t want you yelling at me for messing up your precious skincare routine.”

“Exactly,” you said with a satisfied grin, passing him his cleanser as you started applying yours.

Jeno groaned dramatically as he turned to the sink beside you, squeezing the product into his hands. “I don’t even know why I do this with you. I didn’t sign up for this life.”

“Yes, you did,” you quipped, watching him from the corner of your eye as he lathered his face, his brows furrowing in concentration. Somehow, he managed to make even cleansing his face look stupidly attractive.

“You make me weak, you know that?” he muttered, rinsing the foam off his face, the water dripping down his jawline in a way that made you pause mid-application.

“Don’t blame me for being irresistible,” you replied, turning back to the mirror as quickly as possible.

Jeno smirked, grabbing the toner bottle from your side of the counter. “This one’s next, right?”

“Yeah—wait, not that much!” you squeaked as he nearly poured half the bottle into his palm.

He looked down at his hands, eyes wide like a guilty puppy. “Oops?”

You sighed, taking his hands in yours and dabbing some of the excess toner onto your face. “You’re hopeless.”

Jeno grinned, letting you guide his hands to his own face next. “See? I knew you’d help me.”

It was impossible to stay annoyed when he looked at you like that—his dimpled smile softening the teasing edge in his voice. Once you finished applying moisturizer, Jeno scooped a little onto his finger and dabbed it on the tip of your nose, making you gasp.

“Lee Jeno!”

When you finished, you grabbed your clothes and padded into the bedroom, slipping into a pair of soft, loose shorts and a tank top—one that might’ve been yours but probably came from Jeno’s side of the closet.

When you emerged, Jeno had ditched the towel and thrown on his gray sweats, hanging low enough to remind you why you never let him walk around shirtless in public. He looked up from his phone, his gaze softening when he saw you.

“Cute,” he said, lips curling into a small smile as he sat back on the bed, ruffling his still-damp hair.

You climbed onto the mattress beside him, nudging him playfully. “You think everything I wear is cute.”

“That’s because it is,” he replied easily, leaning back on his elbows as he looked at you. “Especially when it’s mine.”

You snorted, tugging at the hem of the tank top. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, babe. It’s mine now.”

Jeno grinned, shaking his head as he grabbed your waist, pulling you down beside him. The bed dipped as he tucked you into his side, his warm skin pressed against yours.

You shifted slightly, your gaze catching on the tiny mole under his eye—a feature you’d always found so endearing. Leaning in without a word, you pressed the gentlest kiss to it.

Jeno blinked, surprised, his cheeks tinting pink as he looked down at you. “What was that for?”

“Your mole,” you replied, brushing your thumb under his eye softly. “It’s cute. I had to.”

Jeno let out a soft laugh, his dimple appearing as his smile stretched wide. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

“And you love it,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I really do.”

The two of you fell into a peaceful, comfortable silence—Jeno’s arm draped lazily around you, his steady breaths against your skin, and his soft smile lingering long after you’d both settled into the quiet of the night.

(requests??)

[jenosonlywife23]

For now and always

The soft glow of the city lights streamed through the curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the living room floor. You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around you, staring blankly at the muted TV. Your mind was far from whatever late-night sitcom was playing.

Jeno, freshly showered, emerged from the bedroom, his damp hair sticking up in soft tufts. He looked cozy, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, but his easy smile faltered when he noticed the faraway look in your eyes.

“Hey,” he called softly, walking over and plopping down beside you. His arm immediately found its place around your shoulders, tugging you closer. You didn’t resist, leaning into the familiar warmth of his chest, but you still didn’t say a word.

He tilted his head, resting his chin on the top of yours. “Alright, spill. You’ve been quiet for days, and it’s starting to freak me out. Did I do something? Forget something? Or did Jaemin roast me too hard in the group chat again?”

You let out a weak chuckle, but it faded quickly. Jeno shifted, leaning back to get a better look at your face. “Come on, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “It’s nothing serious,” you mumbled, but the lump in your throat made the words sound unconvincing.

“Baby,” he said, his tone dropping lower, more coaxing. He reached up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering. “Talk to me. Please.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through your defenses, and you sighed, your shoulders slumping. “It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about how the hyungs are enlisting soon,” you admitted quietly. “Like, it’s really happening.”

Jeno’s brows furrowed slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you finish.

“And then I started thinking about you,” you continued, your voice wavering. “It’s only a few years until it’s your turn, Jeno. And the thought of you being gone, even for a little while—it’s been eating at me.”

His expression softened instantly, and he pulled you closer, tucking your head under his chin. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, his voice laced with both affection and regret. “You’ve been carrying all that by yourself?”

“I know I shouldn’t be worrying about something that’s still years away,” you said, frustration creeping into your tone. “But I can’t help it. The thought of you being gone, doing something so hard without me there—it scares me.”

Jeno was quiet for a moment, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. Then, he leaned back, gently guiding your face up so you were looking at him. His dark eyes were steady, filled with a kind of tenderness that made your chest ache.

“I get it,” he said softly. “I’d probably feel the same if it were the other way around.” His thumb brushed your cheek, lingering at the corner of your mouth. “But you don’t have to go through this alone, okay? You can talk to me. Always.”

You nodded, tears pricking at your eyes, and he smiled, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “We’ve got time,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm. “And when the time comes, we’ll handle it together. One step at a time. Just like we always do.”

His words were a balm to your frayed nerves, and you let out a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry for being so weird about it,” you said.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his lips quirking up into a playful smirk. “But if you wanted to act weird to get me to pamper you, you didn’t have to try this hard. I’ll spoil you for free.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, he shifted, pulling you fully into his lap. His arms locked around your waist as he gazed up at you with that boyish grin that always made your heart stutter.

“Better now?” he asked, his hands slipping under the blanket to rest against your sides, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin.

“A little,” you admitted, your cheeks warming as his fingers inched higher.

“Only a little?” he teased, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

You laughed, swatting at him half-heartedly, but he only tightened his grip, burying his face in your neck. “You’re stuck with me for the next few years,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “So let me make the most of it, yeah?”

His words were light, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity in them that made your heart ache and swell at the same time. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his hair.

“Deal,” you whispered.

For the rest of the night, Jeno didn’t let you go, keeping you close with whispered reassurances and soft kisses. And for the first time in days, the knot in your chest began to loosen, replaced by the steady warmth of his presence.

You didn’t know what the future held, but for now, you had Jeno. And that was enough.

[P.S I'm taking requests if anyone has any.]

[jenosonlywife23]

No Nut November Regrets

summary; nnn with jaehyun but he actually regrets it cause his about to enlist and his devasted cause he should have used those days to bang you up teehee!!!

a/n; Lets pretend he still hasnt enlisted lol.

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Jaehyun’s pacing your bedroom like a man possessed, muttering to himself with his hands in his hair.

"Are you okay?" you ask, half-laughing at his dramatic behavior. He’s been acting weird ever since he got home.

"No, I’m not okay," he blurts out, turning to face you with a look of absolute despair. "I’ve made a grave mistake."

You tilt your head, trying to stifle a smile. "What, did you lose a bet? Forgot your phone at the gym again?"

He stares at you like you’ve missed the point of life itself. "Worse. I wasted an entire month."

You blink, thoroughly confused. "A month on what? Your skincare routine? 'Cause, babe, you look amazing—"

He groans, cutting you off. "No Nut November."

There’s a beat of silence before you burst out laughing. "Oh my God, that’s what this is about? Are you serious?"

"I’m dead serious!" he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "Do you know how much time we could’ve spent—" He stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to find the words.

"Spent...?" you prompt, clearly enjoying his struggle.

He sighs deeply, his ears turning red. "Banging," he finally mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You choke on your laughter, clutching your stomach. "Are you actually upset you didn’t? What happened to self-control, proving something to yourself, all that motivational crap you were preaching?"

"That was before I knew I was enlisting!" he practically yells, throwing himself onto the bed like a soap opera heroine. "I thought I had time. But now? Now I’ve got weeks—weeks, baby! And I just... I feel like I’ve betrayed us both."

You sit beside him, trying to hold back your laughter. "So, let me get this straight. You’re mad because you spent thirty days not having sex with me, and now you think you’ve wasted your youth?"

"Exactly!" He sits up, his expression so sincere it makes you want to both laugh and kiss him. "I thought I was doing something noble. But now all I can think about is how many times we could’ve—"

"Jaehyun!" you cut him off, cheeks burning.

"No, listen!" he insists, gripping your hands like he’s about to deliver the speech of a lifetime. "We could’ve been doing it every night, every morning, maybe even on lunch breaks. Do you know how much catching up we have to do now?"

You’re crying with laughter at this point, collapsing onto the bed. "You’re ridiculous."

He flops beside you, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. "Ridiculous and horny," he declares. "And I’ve got no time to fix it."

"Well," you say, leaning over him with a sly smile, "we’ve got tonight. Think you can make up for thirty days in one go?"

He peeks at you from under his arm, his eyes narrowing like he’s accepting a challenge. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea."

[jenosonlywife23]

We listen and we dont judge

(i dont know how to feel abt this one)

You’re lying flat on Jeno’s bed, staring at the ceiling, bored out of your mind. He’s been gaming for hours, muttering things like “Push mid” and “Bro, are you serious?” into his mic. You swear you’re two minutes away from turning into a fossil.

Then inspiration strikes. A devilish grin spreads across your face as you grab your phone and sneak into his gaming room.

He doesn’t even notice when you prop your phone up on his desk, positioning it to perfectly catch his side profile.

You hop onto the armrest of his chair, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Jeno.”

“Hmm?” he hums, still glued to his screen.

“Take a break and do this trend with me.”

He spares you a glance, eyebrows raised. “What trend?”

You clear your throat dramatically, lowering your voice. “We listen,” you say, full of gravitas, “and we don’t judge.”

He snorts. “Sounds fake, but okay. ”

You think for a second, then smirk. “I once stole my neighbor’s cat because I thought it liked me better than them.”

His head snaps toward you so fast you hear his neck crack. “What?!”

“WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE!” you yell, clapping your hands for emphasis.

He shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. “Fine, fine. My turn.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “I used to practice kissing on my own reflection.”

Your jaw drops. “JENO!”

“What? I was like eight!” he protests, his ears turning pink.

“We listen,” you wheeze, barely able to get the words out through your laughter, “and we don’t judge!”

He narrows his eyes at you, clearly plotting. “Your turn.”

You grin. “I once pretended to faint in school just so I could get out of a math test.”

He stares at you, blinking. “And it worked?”

You nod smugly. “The nurse even called my mom. It was Oscar-worthy.”

Jeno bursts out laughing, slapping his knee. “You’re insane.”

“Your turn,” you prompt, leaning closer.

He pauses for dramatic effect, his lips twitching. “I accidentally called my teacher ‘Mom’ once, panicked, and doubled down by asking her what’s for dinner.”

You scream-laugh, almost falling off the armrest. “NO WAY!”

“She still brings it up every time she sees me,” he mutters, burying his face in his hands.

“We listen,” you gasp, wiping tears from your eyes, “and we don’t judge!”

Just as you’re catching your breath, Jeno frowns, his gaze shifting to your phone. “Wait. Are you recording this?”

You freeze, your hand instinctively flying to cover the screen. “Uh… no?”

The little red recording light gives you away.

“YAH!!” he yells, lunging for the phone.

You snatch it up and bolt out of the room, laughing like a maniac. “WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE!”

Jeno’s laugh echoes behind you as he chases you through the apartment. “You’re deleting that video!”

“Over my dead body!”

It’s chaos, it’s messy, and it’s the funniest afternoon you’ve had in a while.

[jenosonlywife23]

"Dafuq"

Author's note: Got inspired by pple writing the dafuq "prank".

You sat on the floor beside Jeno, who was leaning back against the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. Perfect timing.

“Jeno,” you said casually, “did you eat the last piece of cake, da fuq?”

His brows furrowed as he glanced at you. “Uh, no? What’s with the da fuq?”

You shrugged, keeping your face blank. “Just asking, da fuq. I was saving that piece, da fuq.”

His confusion deepened. “Okay, but why are you saying da fuq after everything, da fuq?”

You bit your cheek to hold back a laugh. “What do you mean, da fuq?”

Now he sat up straighter, fully invested. “I mean, why are you talking like this? Are you okay, da fuq?”

“I’m fine, da fuq,” you replied, as if he were the one acting strange.

His lips parted as if to argue, but then he stopped, blinking hard. “Wait, am I saying it now too? What’s happening, da fuq?”

That was it—you burst into uncontrollable laughter, rolling onto the carpet while Jeno stared at you, completely flustered.

“I hate you so much right now, da fuq,” he muttered, but his lips twitched, threatening to betray him as he tossed a couch pillow at your head.

[jenosonlywife23]

Title; Almost Pairing; Situationship!Jeno x reader

You weren’t sure what Jeno expected when he texted you at 1:23 a.m. asking if you were awake. Maybe it was a late-night rant, or maybe it was just another blurry conversation where words didn’t matter, only the fact that you still answered did.

You opened the door, and there he was, hoodie pulled low over his head, but you knew it was him by the way he lingered in the doorway like he always did—like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome here or if he’d overstepped.

He hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he muttered, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He kicked off his sneakers by muscle memory and stood there, staring at the floor, avoiding the questions in your eyes.

“Jeno…” Your voice cracked from disuse, and he looked up. The way his gaze softened and then flickered with something like regret made your chest ache. “Why are you really here?”

His silence was loud. You hated how well you could read it, how every unsaid word sat heavy between you. It had always been this way—him reaching out when the world felt too much, you pretending it was enough to just be there for him, no matter the cost.

He finally shrugged, the motion too casual for the tension in the air. “I don’t know. I just... wanted to see you.”

Your heart betrayed you, skipping like it always did when he said things like that. But it also hurt, because you both knew what he really meant: I needed someone, and you’re the only one who still answers my texts.

You wanted to ask why. Why he only came to you when it was convenient. Why you let him. Why neither of you ever talked about the nights you spent tangled in each other’s arms, the mornings you pretended hadn’t happened.

Instead, you just sighed and gestured toward the couch. “Stay as long as you need.”

He nodded, offering you a small, grateful smile that you hated for how much it made you forgive him.

And just like that, you were back to being almost. Almost enough. Almost something. Almost his.

And for now, that was all you could be.

>>

[jenosonlywife23]

Stage Heat

The stage lights burned overhead, casting an almost ethereal glow on Mark as he stood center stage, mic gripped tight in his hand. His sweat-dampened hair clung to his forehead, and the intensity in his eyes locked every gaze in the crowd.

He smirked—half confidence, half challenge—before launching into his verse, each word flowing like molten gold, smooth yet searing. His sharp movements matched the beat perfectly, his body language commanding attention, as if daring anyone to look away.

Somewhere in the middle of the performance, he glanced toward the wings, where you stood, your pulse racing. The intensity of his stare made you feel like you were the only person in the world. He winked, subtle but deliberate, and then turned back to the audience like nothing happened.

The room erupted into cheers, but you were stuck, the air knocked from your lungs. Mark was fire—untouchable, uncontrollable, and dangerously captivating.

And the worst part? He knew it.

As the song shifted into its bridge, Mark dropped to his knees, his voice rough and raw with emotion. His body moved with a reckless energy, every motion deliberate yet completely uninhibited, like he was pouring every ounce of himself into the performance. His veins popped along his arms as he gripped the mic tighter, and his gaze swept across the room like he was claiming it—every inch of space, every person in the crowd.

You could see the glisten of sweat trailing down his neck, the fabric of his shirt clinging to him, hinting at the toned frame beneath. His breathing was heavy, visible even from a distance, but he never faltered. If anything, the exhaustion only seemed to add a raw edge to his performance, making him seem even more untouchable.

When the song ended, Mark stood there for a moment, chest heaving, taking in the screams that filled the room. He pulled the mic away, brushing a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back in one fluid motion. The smirk was back—lazy but sharp, like he had the world exactly where he wanted it.

He glanced to the side again, catching your eye for just a heartbeat. It was brief, fleeting, but the way his lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, made your stomach flip. He turned and walked off stage like a king leaving his throne, the cheers of the crowd chasing after him.

In the quiet of the backstage corridor, he paused, just out of sight from everyone else. Without looking back, he called out, his voice low and teasing. “You’re staring pretty hard, you know.”

Your breath hitched. Caught red-handed. But as he finally turned to face you, his smirk softened into something almost boyish, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “What? Didn’t like the show?”

Mark wasn’t just hot—he was impossible. And he knew exactly how to leave you speechless every single time.

[jenosonlywife23]

Fragments of Us

Request; Hey! I have one but idk if it's good- Can you try writing a story where jeno left for the militiary and was presumed dead but then a few years later she sees him again only to find out he lost his memory?

a/n; @hameesstuff, this ones for you ;)

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The crisp spring air felt heavy as you sat on the park bench, scrolling through your phone aimlessly. The news had arrived weeks ago, delivered with a knock on the door that would forever echo in your mind.

“We regret to inform you that Corporal Lee Jeno is presumed dead in action.”

Your knees had buckled at the doorway, and you gripped the frame to steady yourself. The officers standing there looked uncomfortable, their expressions rigidly neutral—trained to deliver this kind of news. But the words pierced through you like shards of glass.

Dead.

The word was too final, too cruel. The last time you had seen him, he was adjusting his uniform, brushing away your tears with a soft smile. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he’d said, voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “You just need to wait for me.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” you had whispered, and he had kissed you like it was both a promise and a goodbye.

But forever had arrived too soon.

The days that followed were a blur. You had buried yourself under his hoodies and blankets, surrounded by everything he had left behind. His scent lingered faintly on the fabric, and you would close your eyes, inhaling deeply, pretending he was still there. His absence became a constant, deafening silence. The faintest noise—footsteps in the hallway, the sound of a car passing by—had you glancing at the door, hoping against all logic that he might walk in.

Nights were the worst. You’d lie in bed, clutching his old pillow, staring at the ceiling while the world outside moved on without him. Memories came in waves—his laugh, his warmth, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t looking. And then the tears would come, unbidden and endless, until sleep finally claimed you in exhaustion.

You kept all the letters he had sent during his deployment in a wooden box under the bed. When the pain became unbearable, you’d pull them out, running your fingers over the creased paper as if touching his words could bring him back.

“I’m counting the days until I see you again,” one letter said. “Don’t forget about me, okay?”

As if you ever could.

On the day of what would have been your third anniversary, you visited the beach where he had first told you he loved you. The tide was high, the waves crashing against the rocks as fiercely as your emotions. You sat in the sand with a bouquet of wildflowers, whispering your feelings to the ocean as if it could carry your words to wherever he might be.

“I miss you so much, Jeno. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

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Three years later, on a rainy afternoon, you wandered the small coastal town you had once loved together. Your umbrella was useless against the wind, and you ducked into a café to escape the downpour, more out of habit than need. The bell above the door jingled, and you shook out your wet hair, already reaching for a napkin to dab your face.

And that’s when you saw him.

He was by the counter, asking about pastries in a voice that was achingly familiar. Your heart stuttered, a desperate hope rising in your chest. The man—no, it couldn’t be—turned slightly, and your breath caught.

“Jeno?” The word escaped you before you could stop it, fragile and full of disbelief.

He turned toward you, his brow furrowing in confusion. His eyes, those same dark eyes you’d memorized, locked onto yours, but there was no recognition.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause. “Do I know you?”

Your legs felt like they might give out. The barista’s voice asking for his order was distant static. You stumbled forward, clinging to the edge of a table for balance. “Jeno, it’s me.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to place the name. But there was only polite confusion in his expression. “I’m sorry. I think you have me confused with someone else.”

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

The grief you thought you’d left behind resurfaced like a fresh wound, raw and unrelenting. That night, you opened the wooden box with trembling hands, reading through the letters again. But this time, his words felt like echoes from another lifetime, written by a man who didn’t exist anymore.

You learned the truth through painstaking effort. Jeno’s parents confirmed your worst fears: he had been the lone survivor of an explosion that claimed his unit. Rescued by a family in a remote village, he’d been hospitalized for months, suffering from severe injuries and memory loss.

“He doesn’t even remember us,” his mother said, her voice tight with unshed tears. “We’ve tried, but he’s… different now. He’s living in Seoul, trying to build a life, but he’s not the Jeno we knew.”

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

The next time you saw him, it wasn’t by accident. You waited outside the bookstore where you’d discovered he worked part-time, clutching a photo album in your hands. When he emerged, you called out to him.

“Lee Jeno.”

He turned, frowning slightly. “Yes?”

You held up the album, your fingers trembling. “You don’t remember me, but I… I loved you. We were going to get married before you left for the military.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“This is us,” you continued, opening the album to a photo of you at the beach. He stared at it, his expression unreadable.

“I…” He trailed off, his hand brushing against the image as if it might trigger something. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll try,” you whispered. “Try to remember. Or if you can’t, let me help you make new memories.”

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

It wasn’t an easy road. There were moments of hope, like when he smiled at a story you told about your first date. And moments of despair, like when he pushed you away, frustrated by the weight of expectations he couldn’t fulfill. His friends and family tried to help, but even they admitted that the Jeno they had known might never come back fully.

But you didn’t give up. You took him to the places you had once loved, surrounded him with the people who had shaped his life. Slowly, he began to relax around you, and the gaps in his memory became less of a wall and more of a bridge.

One night, as you sat on the beach where he had first kissed you, he reached for your hand.

“I’m sorry for not remembering,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I want you to know… I think I’m falling for you all over again.”

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned into him, your foreheads touching. “Then we’ll start over,” you whispered. “And this time, I’ll hold onto you even tighter.”

The ocean roared behind you, but all you could hear was the sound of his breathing, steady and real. It wasn’t the same love story you had started, but it was yours to write anew.

(Hope you like how I wrote it (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡)

(Requests are welcomed ♡)

[jenosonlywife23]

Title: Breaking Point a/n; sequel to almost

The words hung in the air, jagged and cruel, long after you threw them. You hadn't meant to snap, but Jeno had this way of pushing you to the edge, of standing so close to what you wanted but never giving it to you. And tonight, after weeks of silent yearning and half-truths, you finally broke.

"Why do you keep doing this to me?" Your voice trembled, a sharp edge to your tone. You didn’t bother to hide the way your hands shook.

Jeno froze mid-step, his hoodie halfway unzipped as he turned to look at you, confusion furrowing his brow. "Doing what?" he asked, too casually for the storm brewing between you.

"This!" you exploded, gesturing wildly at the space between you. "Coming here, acting like you—like we—mean something, and then leaving like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing."

He flinched, the impact of your words visible in the tightening of his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened. "That’s not fair," he said quietly.

"Isn’t it?" You took a step closer, your chest heaving as the anger poured out of you, the frustration and heartbreak you’d swallowed down for months finally bubbling to the surface. "You keep me here, Jeno. Right here." You pointed to a spot inches from his chest. "Close enough to hope, but not close enough to hold. Do you even care what that does to me?"

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, he stepped forward, the distance between you evaporating in a heartbeat.

"You think this doesn’t kill me, too?" he snapped, his voice low and rough. "You think I don’t lie awake at night, wondering if I should just tell you—if I should risk ruining the one good thing in my life because I’m too scared you’ll walk away if I ask for more?"

You blinked, his words hitting like a punch to the chest. "Then why don’t you?"

"Because I don’t want to lose you!" he shouted, his voice breaking at the end. The rawness in his tone made your breath hitch. "Because if I ask for too much, if I mess this up, I don’t know how I’d survive without you."

The air between you felt electric, your emotions sparking off each other in a way that felt both dangerous and inevitable.

"Jeno…" Your voice cracked, softer now, your anger bleeding into something warmer, heavier. "I’m already yours. You just never claimed me."

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with your words. Then, as if something inside him snapped, he reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you close.

"Say that again," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, his voice desperate.

"I’m yours," you repeated, the truth of it unraveling something deep inside you. "I’ve always been yours, Jeno."

He kissed you then—fierce, messy, and full of every unsaid word, every buried feeling that had built between you. It wasn’t gentle or perfect, but it was real, and it was enough to leave you breathless.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice a whisper. "You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that."

"Then don’t make me wait anymore," you said softly, your hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

"I won’t," he promised, his voice steady now. "I’m done running from this. From us."

[jenosonlywife23]

Our First Noel

(Trying to get in the christmas spirit.)

The apartment was filled with the soft glow of fairy lights and the faint scent of pine from the slightly lopsided tree Jeno had insisted on picking himself. It was your first Christmas together, and though everything was imperfect—the tangled lights, the burnt edges of cookies you’d baked, and the way Jeno kept humming Christmas songs —it felt like magic.

You were curled up on the couch, watching as Jeno tried to untangle yet another string of lights. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed in a way that was entirely too attractive for such a mundane task.

“This is impossible,” he groaned, dropping the lights onto the floor. “Who knew decorating was this hard?”

You laughed, leaning forward to pick up the mess of wires. “It’s not hard; you’re just overcomplicating it.”

“Oh, really?” He smirked, sitting back and watching you attempt to sort through the lights. “Go ahead, then. Show me how it’s done.”

It didn’t take long for him to start "helping," which mostly meant teasing you and making the process even more chaotic. By the time you finished, the string of lights was somewhat usable, though you couldn’t tell if the small victory was worth all the bickering.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you muttered, shooting him a playful glare.

“Lucky? I’m the best Christmas gift you’ll ever get,” he shot back, grinning as he reached over to ruffle your hair.

Before you could retaliate, Jeno suddenly stilled, his gaze dropping to the small box sitting on the coffee table. You’d placed it there earlier, unsure of when to bring it up.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking it up with a curious tilt of his head.

“Open it,” you said, trying to sound casual, though your heart was racing.

Inside was a simple ornament—a wooden heart with both your initials carved into it. His fingers brushed over the engraving, his smile softening.

“For the tree,” you said quickly, feeling a bit shy under his gaze.

Jeno didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he stood and walked over to the tree, carefully hanging the ornament front and center. Then he turned back to you, his eyes warm and filled with something deeper than words could express.

“Come here,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

You let him pull you to your feet, his arms wrapping around you as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours.

“This is already the best Christmas,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest of kisses. “But now I’m sure it’s the first of many.”

And as the snow fell quietly outside, the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the little wooden ornament shining on the tree—a symbol of a love that was just beginning, but already felt like home.

[jenosonlywife23]

Heartstrings

Part 1

(Part 2)

The night Jeno announced his relationship felt like the world stopped spinning. His smile was wide, radiant even, as he laced his fingers with hers and said, “We’re dating!” The words echoed in the air, loud and unrelenting. The cheers and congratulations from the group only added to the sting.

Days earlier, in a quiet moment with Chenle, it had all come tumbling out—the feelings, the longing, the hopeless crush. Chenle had encouraged it, saying, “You should tell him. Who knows? He might feel the same.” It turned out he didn’t. Worse, he’d overheard.

But Jeno never said anything. Not a rejection, not an apology, not even a word of acknowledgment. It wasn’t until Chenle quietly explained what happened that everything made sense. Jeno had chosen silence. And now, he was happily in love—with someone else.

Swallowing the heartbreak, pretending it didn’t matter, became a daily ritual. Moving on wasn’t easy, but staying still felt impossible. That’s when someone new came along—a guy who seemed nice enough to distract from the ache. He was attentive, kind, everything you thought you needed to patch the cracks in your heart. At first.

Then his true colors started showing. Small comments that felt like jabs. Smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Every interaction began to feel more like a transaction than a connection. Yet somehow, breaking away felt harder than staying.

Everyone noticed. The quiet concern in their glances, the subtle questions. Even Jeno seemed to watch more closely, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with something unreadable.

“Can I talk to you?” Jeno asked one night, long after the others had left. His tone was softer than usual, almost hesitant.

You turned, wary. “What’s this about?”

“That guy…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not good for you. You don’t seem happy.”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “And you’re the judge of what makes me happy?”

“I’m not trying to judge,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “But I care. I hate seeing you with someone who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve.”

“You don’t get to say that,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “Not after everything. You were happy to stay quiet when it mattered. Now, suddenly, you care?”

His expression shifted, a flicker of something close to guilt flashing in his eyes. “I should have said something then. I know that now.”

“Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” Your voice wavered, betraying the fragile hold you had on your emotions. “You’re happy. You have her. So why are you here?”

Jeno didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you with a kind of intensity that made your heart ache. “Because I can’t stand watching you get hurt. Not like this.”

The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken emotions crackling like static between you. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of your phone vibrating broke the moment. It was a message from him, the guy who was supposed to be your escape. The preview on the screen showed just enough to send your stomach sinking.

Jeno saw it, too. His jaw clenched. “Is that him?”

You didn’t answer, your fingers trembling as you locked the phone. His gaze stayed fixed on you, a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t let him hurt you anymore,” Jeno said, his voice low. “Please.”

You turned away, gripping the phone tightly, unsure if the ache in your chest was from the message—or the way Jeno’s words lingered, filling the silence with questions you didn’t know how to answer.

[jenosonlywife23]

Heartstrings

Part 2

The streetlight overhead flickered, casting long shadows over the sidewalk as you stood there, still trying to wrap your head around everything that had just happened. The air felt thick with unsaid words, but there was something in Jeno’s eyes—something softer than before—that made you hesitate.

You could feel the tension easing, but there was no escaping the ache that had settled in your chest. He was with someone else. That reality hung between you like a wall that neither of you could tear down, no matter how much you might wish it.

“I should go,” you muttered, pulling your hand away from his, breaking the small connection you’d shared.

But Jeno didn’t move. His gaze followed your every movement, but there was no pressure in it, no attempt to keep you tethered. He let you breathe, let you take a step back.

“I didn’t come here to make things harder for you,” he said, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “I just… I needed you to know the truth. I don’t want you thinking I’m oblivious to how things have been.”

You nodded, unsure of how to respond. The truth—his truth, the weight of it—hung between you. But it wasn’t about promises anymore. It wasn’t about what could be. It was about what was.

“You didn’t make things harder,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I think I’ve been holding onto something that was never really there.”

Jeno’s expression softened, the intensity in his eyes replaced with something gentler, almost sad. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” you replied. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything you hadn’t been able to say before. You had spent so long burying your feelings, pretending like they didn’t matter, but now, here you were, faced with the quiet truth.

You had always cared for him—more than you ever wanted to admit. But you couldn’t keep pretending that the feelings you had for him could somehow rewrite the story of his life. He had made his choice. And you had to make yours.

There was a long silence before you finally looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a strange sense of peace settle inside you.

“I think I’m ready to let go,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but it felt like a declaration. “Not just of you—of all of it. The idea that there’s something more between us. I need to move forward.”

Jeno’s face tightened for a moment, and for a second, you thought he might argue, might say something to stop you. But then he just nodded, his gaze softening. “I get it. You deserve to be happy. Truly.”

There was no awkward silence after that—just an understanding, a shared moment of acceptance. The future didn’t have to be set in stone; it was enough that you knew where you stood now.

You turned to leave, but then, as if on impulse, you glanced back. Jeno was still standing there, watching you, but this time, there was no longing, no guilt. Just a quiet kind of resignation.

And for some reason, that gave you the strength to finally walk away.

Two weeks passed, and you thought about him less and less. The ache you’d carried for so long started to fade, replaced by a new kind of clarity. You had things to focus on. You had to get your life back on track.

But then one evening, your phone buzzed. It was from him. You hadn’t expected to hear from Jeno again—not after everything.

"Can we talk? I need to know you’re okay."

Your heart skipped, but you didn’t rush to respond. You weren’t the same person who had fallen for him in the first place. The you now was someone who had learned to move forward, even if it meant facing the past in a different way.

But then another message came through, this one from the guy you’d tried to move on from.

"I’m sorry. Can we meet? I think I owe you an explanation."

You stared at the messages, unsure which direction to take. The choices ahead felt like another crossroads, and for the first time in months, you realized that this—this moment—was yours to decide.

[jenosonlywife23]

Debut Day Dreams

The crowd roared like a storm, a tidal wave of emerald lightsticks rising and falling with every beat of the music. He stood in the center of it all, a figure that radiated an almost unfair magnetism. The blazer clung to his frame in all the right ways, his tie slightly askew like he’d just sprinted out of a romantic drama and landed directly into your fantasies. His silver hair, disheveled yet immaculate, caught the stage lights as though he was sculpted from moonlight itself. And then there were the glasses—those delicate, wire-rimmed frames that seemed to scream, Yes, I’m unattainable, but feel free to try.

He didn’t just stand on the stage; he owned it, exuding an effortless dominance that made your stomach twist in a way you hadn’t felt in years. He raised a hand to adjust his tie, the motion slow and deliberate, and the crowd erupted, their collective gasp audible over the deafening music.

But for you, it wasn’t just the show. It was personal.

You weren’t even supposed to be here tonight. Tickets had sold out within minutes, leaving you to sulk in your room, scrolling through endless fan edits of him that only fueled the ache of missing out. But then, two days ago, fate intervened.

Your best friend had barged into your apartment, waving a golden ticket with the triumphant glee of a lottery winner. “One ticket. Front section. You owe me your life,” they’d declared. You didn’t ask how they got it, and honestly, you didn’t care.

Now, standing amidst the frenzied sea of fans, you wondered if it was destiny. Because every move he made, every step, every glance—it all felt like it was meant to find its way to you.

Then it happened.

Mid-performance, as the music swelled and his movements became sharper, more feral, his eyes locked onto yours. You froze, the air knocked from your lungs as though he’d reached across the stage and stolen it. It wasn’t a fleeting glance; it was a look that lingered, deliberate and razor-sharp. His lips curled into a smirk, the kind that said, Yeah, I know exactly what I’m doing to you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the noise of the crowd fading into nothingness. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world ceased to exist. Just you and him, bound by an electric current that neither time nor space could sever.

Then he turned away, but the damage was done. Your pulse was racing, and you couldn’t tell if it was from excitement, disbelief, or sheer panic.

When the performance ended, he stepped forward for the closing ment, his voice low and smooth, carrying over the chaos. “Tonight’s been unforgettable,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like he was searching for something—or someone. “And I hope... I’ve made someone out there believe that anything is possible.”

The screams were deafening, but you caught it—the flicker of his eyes darting to your section, so brief you almost thought you imagined it. Almost.

The night spiraled into something surreal when you stumbled out of the venue, your mind replaying every second, every glance. You tried to shake it off—tried to convince yourself it was nothing more than the fantasy of a fan. But then your phone buzzed.

A notification.

You opened the app, your breath hitching as you saw it: a clip from tonight’s performance, already trending. The caption read, “Who was Jeno staring at?!” The video zoomed in on the exact moment his gaze lingered on yours. The comments were an avalanche of speculation:

“It’s the camera! Definitely the camera!”

“No way, he was looking at someone in the crowd.”

“Imagine being that person—whoever they are, I envy their whole life.”

You stared at the screen, your hands trembling. There was no way. Right? And yet, the way his eyes had pierced through the crowd, as if seeing through the chaos to find you...

The next morning, you woke to more notifications. Your mutuals had tagged you in countless posts about the clip. Someone had even DM’d you: “Is that you in the section he’s staring at? Girl, spill!!!”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. What could you even say? That it felt like he’d stripped your soul bare with a single glance? That his smirk haunted your dreams all night? That you wanted—no, needed—to know if he remembered you, too?

By the end of the week, the clip had gone viral, spawning fan theories, memes, and even amateur ��body language analyses” claiming he’d definitely been looking at someone specific. Fans speculated endlessly. But deep down, you knew the truth.

And just when you thought the storm would settle, another twist.

One evening, as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, a private message popped up. It was from a newly created account, no profile picture, no bio. Just a simple message that read:

"Did you believe me when I said anything is possible?"

Your breath caught. You stared at the message, heart pounding, fingers trembling as you typed back a single word.

"Yes."

The reply came almost instantly.

"Good. Let’s see if you believe it again."

[jenosonlywife23]

Debut Day Dreams (Part 5 – A Love in the Spotlight)

The days following his public confession were a whirlwind. Your life had been thrown into chaos before, but now it felt like you were living in a constant state of adrenaline, walking a tightrope between gratitude and anxiety.

He called you every day, sometimes multiple times, to check on you. Despite the backlash, he seemed lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For him, the secrecy had been the hardest part.

For you, the hardest part was just beginning.

Day 1: The Fallout

The initial wave of fan reactions was overwhelming. While many supported him, others were less forgiving. You avoided social media altogether, knowing the comments would be a minefield of speculation and vitriol.

But even without looking, you felt the effects. Your phone buzzed with messages from friends and acquaintances you hadn’t spoken to in years, some curious, others judgmental. Your name was trending alongside his, and every move you made felt scrutinized.

“Ignore them,” he told you during one of your late-night calls. His voice was steady, reassuring. “They don’t know you like I do.”

“Maybe they’re right,” you said quietly. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“Stop,” he said firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter what they say.”

His confidence in you was comforting, but it didn’t erase the gnawing fear that you were way out of your depth.

Week 2: Adjusting to the Spotlight

By the second week, the initial frenzy had died down, but the attention was still there. Tabloids published speculative articles about your relationship, dissecting every detail of your life. Some fans became detectives, digging up old photos and posts, trying to piece together a timeline of how you’d met.

One particularly popular post claimed to have found “proof” that you’d been following him on social media long before the concert. The implication stung—that you were some sort of stalker or opportunist.

When you told him about it, he laughed. “If only they knew how nervous I was to talk to you that day,” he said. “They’d never believe it.”

But the narrative still hurt, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were constantly being judged.

“Maybe we should take a step back,” you suggested one evening, your voice hesitant. “Give people time to cool off.”

His response was immediate. “No. If we do that, they’ll think we’re ashamed or hiding something. I don’t want to hide you anymore.”

The conviction in his voice was unwavering, and though it didn’t erase your doubts, it gave you strength.

Month 1: The First Public Appearance

The first time you went out together in public, you felt like you were walking into a lion’s den. Cameras flashed the moment you stepped outside, and a crowd of fans had already gathered, their phones raised like shields.

He stayed close to you, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. Though he didn’t hold your hand outright, the gesture was enough to ground you.

“Smile,” he whispered as you entered the restaurant, his lips twitching into a small grin. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I feel like I might,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

But by the end of the night, you realized he’d been right to face the public head-on. While the photographers and fans outside were overwhelming, the moment you were inside, it felt like the world quieted. It was just the two of you again, sharing a meal and laughing about the absurdity of it all.

When you left the restaurant, he did take your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as cameras clicked furiously. “Let them see,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We’re not hiding anymore.”

The photos from that night went viral, sparking a fresh wave of debates online. But this time, you didn’t care as much. Because when you looked at the pictures, all you saw was him, smiling at you like you were the only person in the world.

Month 3: The Scandal’s Aftermath

Three months in, the frenzy had finally begun to fade. The fans who supported him had grown louder, drowning out much of the negativity. You still faced occasional hostility, but it was easier to ignore now.

He was busier than ever, juggling promotions, concerts, and interviews, but he always made time for you. Whether it was a quick text during a break or a call late at night, he made sure you never felt forgotten.

One night, as you lay on the couch together, his head resting in your lap, he looked up at you with a soft smile.

“You know,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, “I used to think love was a distraction. Something that would get in the way of everything I worked for.”

“And now?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

“Now I think it’s the reason I’m able to do it all,” he said. “You give me something to come home to.”

His words made your heart ache in the best way, and for the first time since the scandal broke, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The New Normal

Life with him wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it. You learned to navigate the spotlight together, finding moments of normalcy in the chaos. Sometimes it was as simple as watching a movie on the couch or cooking dinner together. Other times, it was sneaking away to a quiet beach or a hidden hiking trail, where you could just be yourselves.

And through it all, he never wavered.

When a fan commented during a live broadcast, asking if he was happy, his answer was simple and immediate. “Happier than I’ve ever been,” he said, his eyes glinting with a smile that was just for you.

For the first time in months, you believed it. You were happy, too.