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luvsicktyun · 1 month ago

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YOU CAN NEVER FIX A HEART p.js

synopsis ⤑ ( ♪ ) ━ And I just ran out of band-aids I don't even know where to start 'Cause you can't bandage the damage You never really can fix a heart. ━ You loved him. You’ve always loved him. And now, you have to watch him promise himself to another. To marry someone that isn't you. You couldn’t do it. You wouldn’t. You had to tell him before it was too late.

pairing ⤑ park jisung x fem!reader word count ⤑ 10k

warnings ⤑ smut, childhood friends, cheating trope, love triangle?, ft. chenle & yuna (itzy), weddings, angst, reader and jisung are not good people, emotional manipulation, nct dream masterlist & more ⤑ here.

You never thought you’d see the day your life ended. That’s what it felt like anyway as you watched the man you’ve loved for more than half your life, whisper into the ear of his soon to be wife. Smiling ear to ear with a full glass of wine and in a suit and tie you knew was uncomfortable. He never liked to be dressed up. He preferred the more casual laid back look but you guess for a wedding a simple hoodie and a pair of sweatpants would be indecorous.

You were here for him. Everyone knew that. But really, you shouldn’t be here. You know that, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. So you sit, spine stiff and hands clasped tight in your lap, watching the man you’ve loved for more than half your life smile at someone else like she’s the sun and he’s helpless to do anything but orbit. She was the world and you, you were just the people who inhabited her space. It’s the way he looks at her that twists the knife deeper, a soft fondness in his eyes that you used to think was yours alone. Your chest aches, breath catching painfully when he reaches over to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, thumb lingering at her cheek with a gentleness that’s almost reverent. She laughs, bright and carefree, and he smiles wider—like she hung the stars just for him.

It was tortuous really. You look away, but the image is burned into your eyelids, raw and unforgiving. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, a sharp sting at the backs of your eyes, but you swallow it down because you’re supposed to be happy for him. He’s your best friend. Has been since scraped knees and summer afternoons, since secrets shared in whispers and pinky promises under blanket forts. You should want this for him. You should. You’ve told yourself that a million times over. That this is a good thing, this was supposed to happen. That Yuna was the one for him. She was the one he lived and breathed for. For the life they’ll have will be beautiful and magical and that you could never take that away from them.

But the hollow ache in your chest tells a different story, one woven from all the words you never said, from smiles that lingered too long and touches that meant too much. It’s agony, sitting here, hands trembling slightly with the force it takes to keep them steady, to keep from walking out and betraying everything you’ve worked so hard to hide. So you stay. You watch. You force yourself to smile when his eyes meet yours across the room, warm and trusting, like he doesn’t even see the cracks spiderwebbing beneath the surface. You wave back, fingers numb and heart splintering, and pray that this will all be over soon. But it's not. It stretches on longer than you think your heart can bear.

The rehearsal drags on, every smile he gives her another twist of the knife, every laugh that spills from his lips a fresh bruise on your heart. You try to focus on anything else—the white roses twined around the archway, the soft chords of the piano, the faint murmur of voices from the wedding planner’s direction—but your eyes betray you, snapping back to him over and over like they can’t help but seek out the hurt. Like the pain was the only thing keeping you tethered here in this chair. You think you’d float otherwise. Right outside of your body and away from what you can’t hide from, what you wish didn’t make you hollow.

How can you handle this much longer? You used to think he looked at you like that. Foolishly. He Used to rest his head on your shoulder during late-night drives and chuckle at your terrible jokes, eyes warm and soft in a way that made you hope. Made you vacuous enough to think that maybe, one day, he might see you as more than just his best friend. But that day never came. You see that now in the way his thumb absentmindedly strokes over her knuckles, in the way his gaze never wavers from her face, like she’s the only thing that exists in the room. The realization settles heavy in your chest, leaden and suffocating, and it’s all you can do to keep your breathing even, to keep from crumbling under the weight of it all.

Even as your heart thumped against the cages of your chest, yearning to burst from you and fall to the floor in a heap only so he’ll look for even a second to see what you would offer him. Your heart, your soul, your being. Entirely his. If he wanted it. Your hands are cold where they clutch the fabric of your dress, fingers numb and trembling. You dig your nails in harder, desperate for the bite of pain to drown out the hollow ache swelling inside you, but it’s useless. You’re useless—stuck in place, choking on words you can never say and feelings you can never confess, all while the world moves on around you.

When they stand to rehearse their vows, you almost break. His voice is soft, tender in a way that makes your eyes sting, and every word feels like a glass shard dragged slowly and deliberate across your ribs. You force yourself to watch, though, even as your vision blurs, even as your lungs seize tight and air becomes a battle you’re losing. You owe him that much, at least. So you sit there, heart in pieces at your feet, and pray that no one sees the cracks in your smile. At the defeat of your posture. So no one sees the storm brewing inside of you.

But of course, you can get nothing past Chenle. Chenle, who next to Jisung, knew you like the back of his hand. Hiding what you’ve felt about Jisung was never achievable when it came to Chenle. You’re too lost in the scene before you—Jisung standing at the altar with that lovesick smile, fingers laced with hers—as if they’ve always been meant to fit that way. It’s pathetic, really, how you can’t seem to look away, how your chest constricts painfully with every soft laugh he gives her. You’re so focused on pretending it doesn’t hurt that you don’t hear the footsteps approaching until someone drops into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, this is tragic,” Chenle drawls, voice low enough that only you can hear. Your heart stutters in your chest, shock flaring hot and embarrassed, but you school your expression into something neutral before turning to him with a glare. “Excuse me?” He catches you off guard. You hadn’t thought of a single person besides Jisung the whole time you’ve been here torturously watching him and Yuna love it up.

He quirks a brow, unimpressed, eyes flicking meaningfully between you and the altar. “You, sitting here making heart eyes at Jisung like you’re auditioning for a sad romance drama. I’d ask if you were okay, but I think we both know the answer to that.” Like you said, nothing can get past Chenle. Heat flares beneath your skin, mortification mixing bitter with the ache in your chest. You elbow him sharply in the ribs, cheeks burning. “Shut up,” you hiss, but there’s no real heat behind it. Only embarrassment that you’ve been caught.

Chenle only snickers, entirely unbothered as he rubs at his side. “Wow, you’re really going through it, huh?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something gentler in his eyes when he looks at you, something that makes your throat tighten. “Honestly, I’d say go for it, but considering they’re rehearsing wedding vows right now…” He trails off, lips curling into a smirk. “Timing might be a little off.”

You snort despite yourself, a bitter, choked sound that barely passes for a laugh. “Hilarious,” you mutter, gaze fixed firmly on your lap because if you look back at the altar, you might break. “And it’s not like anything can come from it anyway.” Your voice cracks, raw and aching at the edges, and you hate it—hate how exposed you feel even now, even to Chenle who’s known you for years. Chenle who had guessed one random afternoon at the ramyeon place the three of you frequented.

Chenle’s smirk softens, eyes turning uncharacteristically serious. He nudges your shoulder, just gentle enough not to unravel you entirely. “Doesn’t mean you have to torture yourself,” he murmurs, quiet but pointed. “You could’ve skipped, you know.” You could have. You should have. But you’re here anyway, clinging to the pieces of a friendship that feels dangerously close to slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know how to let go.

So you shrug, forcing a smile that you hope doesn’t look as brittle as it feels. “I’ll live,” you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a lie. Chenle sighs, dramatic and exasperated, but he stays. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed and expression schooled into something almost bored, but his shoulder stays pressed warm and steady against yours, grounding you when your vision blurs at the edges. And once again you let your mind drift. Trying to block out what was happening and how it was making you feel.

You’re not prepared when someone calls your name, breaking through the haze of misery clouding your mind. Your head jerks up, eyes wide and startled, and you find Jisung grinning at you from the front of the room, eyes warm and fond in that way that makes your chest ache. “Come on,” he laughs, waving you forward. “Don’t tell me you forgot you’re supposed to give a speech.” Your stomach drops. Right. The speech. The one you promised you’d write weeks ago and promptly avoided like a coward because the mere thought of standing up and pretending to be happy for him made your throat close up.

You were a liar. Chenle glances sideways at you, brow raised and unimpressed. “Wow,” he mutters, low enough that only you can hear. “This really is tragic.” You send him a glare that lacks any real bite, fingers curling tight around the napkin in your lap to keep them from shaking. But there’s no way out now, not with Jisung looking at you with so much trust and excitement that it makes you sick. So you force your legs to move, force yourself to stand and walk toward the front of the room on unsteady feet, heart slamming painfully against your ribs.

The microphone feels cold and unfamiliar in your hands. You clear your throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden hush, and try not to let your voice waver as you begin. “I, um—right.” You laugh, breathless and shaky, and it sounds wrong to your own ears. “So, I’ve known Jisung since we were eleven. Which means I’ve had to put up with him for way longer than any sane person would, honestly.” There’s a ripple of laughter, light and genuine, and Jisung rolls his eyes but grins, cheeks dimpling in a way that used to be yours alone. The sight knocks the breath from your lungs, but you push through, knuckles white around the microphone.

“I still remember the first time we met,” you continue, voice softening despite yourself. “I’d just moved into the neighborhood and I was pissed because I didn’t know anyone and I’d already tripped and scraped my knees on the sidewalk twice. I was sitting on the curb, sulking like the dramatic child I was, and suddenly there was this kid standing in front of me, holding out a Band-Aid with ducks on it and looking like he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.”

The memory floods in unbidden, vivid and aching. You can still see it so clearly—the way Jisung had stood there awkwardly, scuffed sneakers and cheeks pink with sunburn, stuttering out something about germs and infections like he hadn’t spent ten minutes working up the nerve to approach you. The way his smile had been bright enough to drown out the sting in your knees and the loneliness in your chest. It was so…him. Looking back at it now. Jisung had changed much at all, but somehow everything around him did.

Your breath hitches, fingers trembling around the microphone. “He told me it was okay to cry,” you murmur, voice cracking at the edges. “Said he’d stay until I stopped. And he did. He’s—he’s always been like that. Always making sure everyone else is okay, even if he isn’t.” Your gaze drifts, helpless, to where he sits beside her, eyes soft and glistening as he watches you, lips curved into that small, lopsided smile you’ve seen a thousand times.

You swallow hard, heart fracturing in your chest. “So, yeah,” you force out, smile brittle and aching. “I’m—I’m really happy for you. Both of you. I couldn’t ask for a better person to make him smile like that, even if Yuna could do way better than someone who cheats at board games.” Another ripple of laughter, but it’s distant, muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears. Your eyes burn, vision blurring at the edges, but you blink rapidly, forcing yourself to hold it together because breaking down now would be unforgivable.

“I really am thrilled to see you two get married tomorrow,” you lie, the words ash on your tongue. “You deserve it. Both of you.” Your smile strains, sharp and splintering. You don’t look at Chenle because you know he’ll see right through you. You don’t look at Jisung because if you do, you won’t be able to finish.

But the memories keep coming, relentless and cruel—the day you realized you loved him hitting like a tidal wave, fierce and unrelenting. You’d been sixteen, sprawled across his bedroom floor in the middle of a study session that had long since devolved into teasing and laughter. He’d been grumbling about how you always stole his fries when you’d reached over without thinking, plucking a stray one from his plate and popping it into your mouth with a grin. He’d laughed, bright and startled, eyes crinkling at the corners, and the world had tilted.

It had been terrifying—how one laugh could unravel everything you thought you knew. How the warmth in his eyes could make your pulse stutter, how his hand brushing yours could set your skin alight. You’d laughed it off then, smothered it beneath jokes and deflections and the desperate hope that it would pass. It never did. You clear your throat, blinking rapidly to clear the sting in your eyes, and force a final smile. “So, yeah,” you finish softly, voice breaking despite your best efforts. “Congrats, you two. Don’t screw it up.”

You barely hear the applause, barely feel the way your legs tremble as you force yourself to walk back to your seat. All you know is the ache in your chest, raw and gaping, and the way Jisung’s eyes follow you, warm and unknowing, like he has any right to look at you like that when he’s about to promise forever to someone else.

It’s late by the time you find the courage to move, the kind of late where the hallways are quiet and shadows stretch long and dark beneath the dim sconces on the walls. The rehearsal dinner ended hours ago, but you haven’t been able to close your eyes for more than a few seconds without seeing him—Jisung, smiling so bright it hurt, eyes soft and warm as he looked at her. Your hands tremble where they’re curled in your sleeves, knuckles white with how hard you’re clutching the fabric. It’s reckless, you know that. Selfish. You should swallow it down like you always have, paste on a smile tomorrow and watch him marry someone else with grace, pretend it doesn’t shatter you from the inside out.

But you can’t. Not anymore. The words claw at your throat, raw and desperate, suffocating beneath the weight of all the things you never said. If you don’t do this now, you know you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. No matter how bad it is. No matter how wrong, you can’t do it anymore. So you go. Feet moving on instinct, heart slamming painfully against your ribs with every step down the hallway, each one bringing you closer to the room where Jisung is staying for the night. The bride and groom are separated—tradition and all that—so at least you don’t have to face her, too. Small mercies.

You don’t have to face the woman who is bound to hate you. Yuna, should hate you. If you were her you’d hate you too. Your pulse roars in your ears when you stop outside his door. You don’t knock. Your hand hesitates for barely a heartbeat before twisting the handle, letting yourself in without a second thought, because if you stop to think about what you’re doing, you’ll lose your nerve entirely. The door clicks softly behind you, but Jisung doesn’t even look up, too busy pacing frantically across the hotel room floor, one hand buried in his hair and the other tugging anxiously at the hem of his hoodie.

He’s mumbling to himself, words too low and rushed to catch, and there’s something raw and unsteady in the way his shoulders curl inward, chest heaving with each sharp inhale. Your heart stutters painfully, confusion flaring hot beneath the bone-deep ache you’ve been trying to bury all day. Then, a part of you hates yourself. You hate yourself because you feel hopeful that he doesn’t want this. That he’s in here right now planning a way to escape and not get married tomorrow. What kind of person hopes for something like that?

“Jisung?” you ask, hesitant and soft. He jumps violently, spinning around with wide eyes, the color draining from his face. “Jesus—” He exhales sharply, hand pressed to his chest like he’s trying to keep his heart from clawing its way out. “God, you scared me. When did you—how did you get in here?”

You hold up the spare keycard he’d given you with a weak, almost apologetic shrug. “You never asked for it back,” you mumble, guilt twisting uneasily in your gut. He stares for a moment, eyes darting from the keycard to your face like he’s still processing your presence, and then he just sighs, shoulders slumping. The hand in his hair drags down his face, exhausted and trembling, and it’s only then you notice how bloodless his knuckles look, how ragged his breaths are.

“Are you—” You hesitate, words catching awkwardly on the worry constricting your throat. “Are you okay?”

Jisung laughs, a raw, choked sound that scrapes painfully at the silence, and your stomach twists. “Do I look okay?” he asks, and there’s no bite to it, only exhaustion and something that sounds too much like defeat. You flinch, guilt flaring hot. “What happened?” That hope knocked at your ribcage again. And just like before, you felt disgusted.

“I don’t—” His voice cracks, eyes squeezing shut as he rakes both hands through his hair, pacing tighter circles like he can’t stand still. “I don’t know. I just—my mind’s everywhere, and I can’t—God, I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Your heart lurches painfully, fingers curling tight into the sleeves of your hoodie. “What do you mean?” you ask, breathless. Knock, knock. He was having doubts.

He laughs again, harsher this time, and the sound makes your chest ache. “I mean I don’t know if I—” He stops abruptly, swallowing hard, throat bobbing. “I don’t know if I can do this. The wedding, the vows, the forever and ever—” His voice splinters, shoulders trembling. “What if I screw it up? What if I’m making a mistake?” Little did he know you thought of him, perfect. You appreciate him for who he was. Did Yuna?

The words spill out of him, raw and desperate, and you can only stand there, heart pounding painfully as you watch him unravel. There’s nothing you can say, not when every word sticks bitter and useless in your throat, so you sink down onto the edge of the bed instead, knees unsteady. You watch him pace, watch the way his hands tremble and his eyes shine too bright beneath the warm hotel lights.

You watch him fall apart with your heart breaking right alongside him. Torn between being good, or being selfish. You couldn't be both. Not in this scenario, not with him. “I just—I can’t stop thinking,” he breathes, voice strained and fraying at the edges. “What if it’s not right? What if I’m not ready? What if—”

He stops mid-step, head snapping around to look at you, eyes wild and glistening. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” he demands, voice cracking. “Why aren’t you telling me I’m being stupid, or that I’m overthinking it, or—” His breath catches, something dangerously close to a sob, and he takes a shaky step forward. “You always talk me down. You always tell me it’s okay. Why—why aren’t you saying anything now? Why aren't you being my best friend?”

You stare, throat tight and raw, heart slamming painfully against your ribs because you can’t—you can’t tell him it’s okay when it isn’t, when the thought of watching him marry someone else is enough to split you clean down the middle. “Jisung,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I—” But the words won’t come, helpless and splintering behind your teeth, and Jisung’s face crumples, desperation bleeding into confusion and hurt.

“Why won’t you say something?” he chokes, taking another step closer, eyes bright and pleading. “Please—just tell me I’m being stupid, that I’m freaking out for nothing. Please.” His voice breaks, raw and aching, and your hands tremble uselessly in your lap, nails digging into your palms hard enough to sting. Your vision blurs, tears burning hot and relentless, and you want to tell him—it’s on the tip of your tongue, clawing at your throat, tearing you apart from the inside out. The silence is suffocating, each second stretching longer than the last. Jisung’s breathing is uneven, eyes fixed on the floor, and your heart slams painfully against your ribs, words clawing at your throat so violently you can barely breathe.

You can’t do it. You can’t lie to him, can’t force the words past the ache in your chest, can’t pretend it doesn’t tear you apart to see him this way—to see him pacing and panicked and unsure of everything he’s supposed to want. So instead of swallowing it down like you always have, instead of forcing a brittle smile and pushing the words back into the box you’ve kept them locked in for years, you let them spill. “You’re right,” you whisper, voice trembling. You were doing this. You were actually doing this, oh god.

Jisung’s head snaps up, eyes wide and confused. “What?”

Your breath shudders out, hands shaking where they clutch the edge of the bed, and you force yourself to meet his gaze despite the way it feels like your chest is cracking open. “You’re right,” you repeat, a little louder this time, words raw and unsteady. “She’s not the one.”

He stares, blinking rapidly, and for a moment it’s like he can’t quite process what you’re saying. His brows draw together, confusion flickering across his face. “What—what do you mean?”

You swallow hard, throat tight and aching, and the words pour out before you can stop them, a confession years in the making. “I mean she’s not the one for you,” you rasp, voice breaking on the last word. “She never was.” Jisung takes a shaky step back, eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to find some sort of explanation written there. “What—why would you—”

“Because I love you,” you choke, and the way his breath catches, eyes going wide and stunned, makes your vision blur with tears. “Because I’ve been in love with you for years, and I tried—I tried so hard to be happy for you, to pretend it didn’t kill me every time you looked at her like she hung the stars, but I can’t—I can’t do it anymore.” His mouth parts, eyes blown wide and uncomprehending, and he stands there, frozen and speechless, as you unravel right in front of him. Bleeding out the contents of your heart and your entire being.

“I love you,” you say again, voice cracking, hands twisting painfully in your sleeves. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, since before I even knew what love was, and it’s awful and selfish and my timing is terrible, but I had to tell you. I couldn’t just watch you marry her without you knowing.” His lips move, but no sound comes out, eyes shining and glassy as he stares at you like you’ve just ripped the ground out from under his feet. And you did.

“I love the way you laugh,” you continue, voice splintering with every word. “I love the way you get excited about the smallest things, the way you never know what to do with your hands when you’re nervous, the way you talk about the future like it’s something you’re actually looking forward to. I love you, Jisung. I always have, and I always will.” He sways slightly, hands falling limp at his sides, and the silence that follows is deafening, raw and suffocating and endless.

Your breath hitches, vision blurring hot and relentless, and you dig your nails into your palms hard enough to sting, forcing yourself to keep going, to spill everything before the terror catches up and chokes you silent. “I don’t—” Your voice cracks, thick and desperate. “I don’t expect you to say anything back. I don’t even—I know it’s too late. I know you love her, and I know you’re getting married tomorrow, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t just keep pretending, not when I’ve loved you for so long it feels like I can’t breathe.”

You take a sharp breath in. “I don’t remember a time I didn't love you, Park Jisung. Growing up and falling in love with you has been the single most scariest thing I've ever done. Maybe even the stupidest but I don't care because it was worth it.” The words die in the silence, hanging heavy and aching between you, and Jisung just stands there, eyes wide and stricken, mouth open but silent, like he can’t force anything out past the shock. You’ve never seen him like this—frozen and dumbfounded, eyes glassy and lips parted uselessly, and the realization that he truly didn’t know, that he never even considered it, twists the knife deeper into your chest. Your vision blurs, breath catching painfully, and your hands tremble violently where they’re clenched in your sleeves, nails biting into flesh.

“I just—I thought you should know,” you whisper, voice small and raw. “Before it’s too late.” But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just stares, eyes wide and glistening, and the silence is a gaping wound, bleeding out into the space between you with every breathless second that passes. It feels like the world’s caving in, like the walls are pressing closer with every beat of your heart, and when Jisung’s lips part, a choked breath slipping out, you flinch instinctively, bracing for the rejection you know is coming. But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even seem capable of it, mouth moving soundlessly, hands trembling uselessly at his sides.

Jisung just stands there, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted but silent, and every second that ticks by feels like another knife twisting deep into your chest. Your breath shudders painfully, hands trembling where they’re clenched in your sleeves, and you can’t—you can’t take the silence, can’t take the way he just stares at you, shock and confusion and something else you can’t name bleeding into his eyes. Like he’s trying to make a decision. It was ripping you apart, limb for limb. Vessel for vessel.

Your voice cracks when you speak, small and brittle and splintering under the weight of the silence. “What—” You swallow hard, throat tight and aching. “What are you looking at?” You say as the silence becomes too much, too suffocating. “What are you thinking Jisung please i-”

The words barely make it past your lips before he moves. One second, he’s standing there, eyes wide and stunned and fixed on yours, and the next he’s crossing the space between you in three long strides, hands cupping your face with a desperation that knocks the air from your lungs. You barely have time to gasp before his mouth crashes into yours.

It’s clumsy and frantic, nothing like the soft, careful kisses you’d always imagined in the quiet corners of your mind—his lips miss yours at first, noses bumping awkwardly, breath shuddering and uneven—but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, because Jisung is kissing you, hands trembling where they cradle your face, fingers threading into your hair, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but kiss him back. A startled noise catches in your throat, eyes fluttering shut, hands instinctively reaching out to clutch at the front of his hoodie, desperate and clinging. His lips move against yours, raw and shaky and unsteady, and he’s kissing you like he’s drowning, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Your heart pounds so violently it’s dizzying, lungs burning, and the tears you’d been fighting spill over, streaking hot and relentless down your cheeks. His thumbs catch them, shaky and gentle, brushing them away even as he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss, mouth slanting over yours in a way that leaves you breathless and aching. When he finally pulls back, it’s only enough to press his forehead to yours, breaths ragged and uneven, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to hold himself together. His hands stay on your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“Jisung I-” His lips find yours again. It’s hard. Like he’s savoring the moment.

His lips leave yours again. “Don’t say anything.” he breathes. “Please.”

You nod. Your chest heaving up and down, just staring at him. “I need you.” He says with finality. “Can I have you?” He asks. And you've never felt more content than you did right now. In this room, in his arms. You had only dreamed of this moment for years and it was more perfect than you could have imagined.

“Of course.” You breathed “Of course you can.”

It’s raw and frantic and a little messy, teeth clashing and breath hitching, and Jisung kisses you like he’s drowning, like you’re the only thing keeping him afloat. His hands slide from your face to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you closer, pressing you against him like he can’t stand even an inch of distance between you. You’re trembling, hands fisting desperately in the front of his hoodie, and the tears are still spilling, hot and relentless, streaking down your cheeks even as his thumbs swipe them away, even as his lips move desperately against yours.

Your knees give out, weak and unsteady, and he catches you without hesitation, hands gripping your waist, guiding you back until the bed catches behind your knees and you sink onto it, breathless and gasping, hands still fisted in his hoodie. His eyes are wide and dark and desperate, lips swollen and glistening, chest heaving with every shaky breath, and he hovers over you with a hesitation that makes your heart twist painfully in your chest. “Jisung,” you breathe, voice raw and splintering, fingers tightening in the fabric at his chest. Your eyes shine, wide and pleading. “Please.”

Something cracks behind his eyes, the hesitation breaking, and he surges forward to kiss you again, deeper this time, needier, hands sliding under your shirt to press against bare skin, hot and trembling and aching. It’s dizzying, the heat of his palms against your waist, the press of his body against yours, and your mind goes hazy, overwhelmed by the way his lips trace down your jaw, breath hot and ragged against your throat. Your hands find their way under his hoodie, sliding over warm skin and hard muscle, and his breath catches, a shaky sound that makes something twist deep in your chest, raw and aching and desperate.

He leans into your touch instinctively, breath stuttering, and you can’t think past the way his hands tremble against your sides, the way his mouth parts against your neck with a breathless gasp, like he can’t help himself, like he needs this, needs you, just as badly as you need him. The world narrows to the heat of his body, the weight of him pressed against you, the way his hands skate over your skin, unsure and unsteady but so, so warm, and you can’t stop the breathless sound that catches in your throat, fingers curling tighter into his back. When he pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, hands shaking, eyes dark and half-lidded and fixed on you with something raw and unfiltered, your breath catches, heart slamming violently against your ribs.

“Your tits are fucking amazing.” He sighs, attaching his lips to them like he was desperate to taste you, any part of you. His hands move carefully, hesitant and unsteady but never stopping, sliding over your sides, tracing the shape of you like he’s trying to commit every inch to memory. His lips ghost of your breasts and nipples for long, breathless and desperate, and every touch is warm and searing, pulling shaky gasps and bitten-off sounds from your throat. You lose yourself in him—in the heat of his body and the press of his chest and the way he breathes your name, low and reverent and trembling, like a prayer. In the way his hands move over you, hesitant but wanting, the way his lips trail down your collarbone, shaky and uneven but so, so warm.

His hands tear at your clothing leaving you bare for his eyes to see. He drank in the sight of you like an experienced wine taster. You were the holy grail in his eyes, exquisite. “God, youre so fucking hot” He hissed as you hands traveled the expanse of his newly naked body.

“Are you going to fuck me or not Jisung.” You huffed against his lips. “I do tend to get impatient.”

He laughs, heartedly. Just the way you loved it. His hands found the bottoms of your thighs pulling you forward with a yelp falling from your lips followed by your own giggle. Your head falls against the plush pillows as you look up at Jisung with a smirk on your lips. Nevermind that the two of you were doing something, very very wrong. You didn’t care. You knew the type of person that made you but in this moment right now the kind of person you were was the least of you worries.

“Are you ready?” Jisung asked, slitting the tip of his cock up and down the expanse of your awaiting slit. Knocking the tip against your clit a few times for good measure.

“Please.” You’re near begging. For something, anything. And he gives you exactly what you were asking for in one fell swoop of his hips. Jisung was nestled deep inside of you, a gasp falling from his beautiful lips in tandem with you. His name slips from your mouth, broken and breathless, and he groans low in his throat, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hands flexing against your hips. He held onto you tightly, like if he let go you’d drift away.

“Give me-fuck- a second.” He hissed when your hips started to lift from the bed, seeking any kind of friction. “Tight.” It’s overwhelming—the heat, the closeness, the way he moves with you.

His hips snapped against yours harshly. A gasp falling from your lips in tandem with the rough smacks of skin against your own. It was blissful.

“Oh fuck.” You mewed. You outstretched your hands gripping onto Jisung’s forearms with brute strength. The pleasure coursing through your veins overwhelming your senses. Your hands traveled from his arms to his hair, gripping the black strands in your fists. Your name falls from his lips in a broken gasp, raw and aching, and the sound of it twists something deep in your chest, pulling a breathless sob from your throat, fingers tightening desperately in his hair.

“You’re pussy is so fucking tight.” He grunts. “Making me insane - ah fuck.” His voice was light, airy like he was trying his hardest to keep some semblance of control but was failing miserably.

“You’re fucking me so good.” You nodded at him, encouraging him to continue his assault on your awaiting core. “So so good. Keep going just like that.”

“Yeah?” He asked, leaning back to look you in the eye. His hips slowed as his eyes watched your face for any reactions. “Just like that?”

“Yes!” You gasped. “Just like fucking that.” His fingers found your clit, making quick circles on the nub to further your impending end. It was exhilarating, shooting through your body like a lightning bolt. Your body was energized, it was drunk. Drunk on the feeling of him inside of you, closer than he’s ever been before.

“I’m going to cum” He’s lips found your breasts again, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking.

“Me too.” Your hips lift from the bed meeting Jisung’s harsh thrusts as you furthered your catapult to the end. You’re breathing quick, your legs trembling. “I’m so close-” Before the words fall from your lips you're coming. Convulsing all over Jisung’s cock.

“Oh fuck.” Jisung hissed, pistoning his hips as he reached his high right alongside you. “Fuck. fuck.fuck.” You don’t know how long it lasts—minutes or hours or lifetimes—but when it’s over, when your breath is ragged and your limbs are heavy and your heart is a wild, frantic thing caged behind your ribs, Jisung doesn’t pull away. Not at first. Neither of you speak, words hanging heavy and unsaid in the space between you, and all you can do is cling to him, eyes slipping shut, breath shaking with every rise and fall of his chest.

Finally Jisung slips out of you with a hiss. His breathing comes back to normal as he plops himself beside you without a word. Your mind is a haze, tangled and soft at the edges, the world muted and far away. The exhaustion is heavy and bone-deep, limbs leaden and sore, but you don’t mind. For once, you don’t mind at all. Because Jisung is here, his body warm and solid and safe beside you, his fingers gentle and absent where they trace over your skin, and you’re—happy.

It’s a terrifying realization. One that catches you off guard, breath snagging for just a moment, eyes fluttering open to stare at the ceiling, heart tripping unevenly. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be this happy, this light and weightless, like something raw and aching has finally been stitched back together. You’ve loved him for so long. So painfully, desperately long. Years of stolen glances and aching smiles and love swallowed down with every half-laugh and teasing shove, years of pretending, of forcing yourself to be happy with whatever pieces of him you could get. And now here you were laying beside him after having just professed your love for him. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream, one of those cruel, vivid ones that leaves you gasping awake in the middle of the night, heart racing and aching with the bitter edge of longing.

But it’s real. He’s real, warm and solid and so heartbreakingly close, and it leaves you breathless, blinking up at the dark ceiling with eyes that sting, tears still clinging to your lashes. Suddenly, Jisung moves. The warmth at your side vanishes, and the mattress shifts as he sits up abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers trembling.

You blink, disoriented, the haze in your mind splintering as you watch him, confusion knotting tight and cold in your gut. His back is to you, shoulders tense and hunched, breaths coming fast and uneven. “Jisung?” you murmur, voice soft and cracked. You push yourself up on shaky elbows, The sheet slipping down your chest, but he’s already on his feet, snatching his clothes from the floor in frantic, jerky movements.

Your heart stutters, breath catching painfully in your throat. “Jisung, wait—”

“I—I shouldn’t have—” His voice is a ragged rasp, words tumbling out too fast, too uneven, like they’re tearing their way out of him. “I shouldn’t—this is—God.” The shirt he’s tugging on is inside out, fingers trembling so badly he fumbles the hem twice before yanking it down with a shaky breath. His eyes are wide, almost wild, refusing to meet yours, fixed somewhere over your shoulder, and it feels like the ground is crumbling beneath you, like the air’s been punched from your lungs. He thrusts your clothes at you with hands that won’t stop shaking, gaze still locked somewhere over your head, anywhere but your eyes, and the lump in your throat swells, raw and suffocating.

“Get dressed,” he breathes, voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. “We—we shouldn’t have—”

“Jisung, stop—” You reach for him instinctively, fingers curling around his wrist, but he flinches, barely noticeable but enough to sting, enough to make your hand falter and drop uselessly back to your side. Your heart twists, raw and aching, and you swallow down the bitter taste in your mouth, forcing your voice to stay steady, to not crack around the edges. To not show that you were scared. You’d reassure him. He was scared, what the two of you had just doone was..bad. But it was also right, because you loved him and from what it seemed he loved you too. That was worth fighting for, right?

“It’s okay,” you say, soft but firm, fighting to keep the tremor out of your tone. “It’s okay. We’ll—we’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll tell them together.” That finally gets him to look at you, eyes wide and dark and glassy with something that makes your stomach twist painfully. For a moment, he just stares, chest heaving, mouth parted like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, aching to reach out, to brush back the strands of hair falling into his eyes, to smooth the lines of panic and guilt creasing his brow. But you don’t, too afraid he might flinch again, too afraid to see that fractured look in his eyes if you do. “Tell them?” he repeats, voice faint and disbelieving, almost like he doesn’t recognize the words. A shaky laugh slips out, cracked and humorless, and he drags a hand down his face, shoulders trembling. “Tell them what? That I—God, that I slept with my best friend the night before my wedding?”

“Please,” you whisper, voice small and desperate, hands twisting in the sheets. “Please, Jisung, just—look at me. Just—please.” You grab at his arm, trying to stop him in his tracks. The words die on your tongue when Jisung pulls back, just enough to look at you—really look at you—and the expression on his face makes your heart stutter painfully, a cold wave crashing over the warmth still lingering in your chest. His eyes are wide and glassy, still dark with the remnants of something you’d dared to believe was love, but now there’s something else there—something fractured and raw and guilty. You were desperate to make him understand, for him to see that you were right for him. He was your best friend. And you loved him.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching instinctively where they’re still curled around the sheets, and you force a shaky smile, trying to smooth out the cracks splintering in your chest. “It’s okay,” you murmur, voice soft but steady. “We’ll—we’ll figure it out, okay? What to tell everyone, how to—”

“What do you mean?” Jisung cuts in, and the way his voice trembles, unsteady and splintering at the edges, makes your heart twist, tight and suffocating. “Figure out what?” You blink, the words faltering, uncertainty bleeding in at the edges. “Jisung, I just—I meant that we’ll—”

“This was a mistake.”

The words are soft. Barely more than a breath. But they carve through you like ice, sharp and merciless and freezing everything in their path. Your breath catches, eyes widening, fingers going numb where they’re tangled in the sheets. For a moment, all you can do is stare, heart pounding too loud, too uneven, deafening in your ears. “What?” you whisper, voice splintering, cracking at the edges.

Jisung’s eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenching tight, and he drags a shaky hand through his hair, fingers still trembling. “I—I shouldn’t have,” he chokes out, voice raw and broken. “This—God, I shouldn’t have—” His voice breaks, and so does something inside you, splintering sharp and jagged, breath shuddering out in a cracked, uneven gasp.

“Jisung, wait—” Your hand reaches out on instinct, fingers curling around his wrist, desperate and aching and terrified. “Wait, please, I—I don’t—” “I’m sorry,” he breathes, voice hoarse and shattered, eyes still squeezed shut, face twisted in something that looks a lot like pain. “God, I’m so sorry, I—I didn’t—”

Your hand falls away, numb and useless, breath hitching painfully. “I don’t—” Your voice falters, small and cracked and barely more than a whisper. “I don’t understand.”

His eyes open then, glassy and guilt-ridden, and the look in them knocks the breath from your lungs, raw and splintering and so painfully apologetic it makes your chest cave in. “I don’t—” He chokes on the words, dragging a hand down his face, breath shuddering. “I don’t feel that way. About you. I—I never—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I was just—God, I’m so sorry.” The words are a death blow, every syllable driving the knife in deeper, twisting until your lungs won’t expand right, until your fingers are shaking with the force of keeping them steady.

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. The air is gone, the ground is gone, everything’s gone but the bitter, metallic taste in your mouth and the agonizing twist in your chest, raw and suffocating and relentless. He doesn’t feel that way. He doesn’t—he never— Your mouth opens, but the words won’t come, every breath shivering in and out too fast, too ragged, splintering with the tears stinging hot and blinding in your eyes.

“What?” You rasp voice breaking, shattering on the edges. “You-you..i-we- what?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and his voice cracks right down the middle, raw and unsteady. “God, I’m so sorry, I just—I don’t—” Your breath leaves in a ragged rush, chest tight and splintering, the silence settling thick and suffocating in the wake of his words. The words echo, brutal and unrelenting, carving deep, merciless lines through your chest, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, eyes wide and burning, lungs refusing to expand.

He doesn’t feel the same. He never did. You had just been shot. Pain sears through your body like poison in your veins. Keep going like this and it just might stop your heart completely.

“You—” Your voice cracks, splintering down the middle, hands trembling where they clutch the sheets. “You’re lying.” Jisung flinches, barely noticeable but enough to sting, to twist the knife deeper, and your breath shudders out in a bitter, cracked laugh, raw and humorless. “You’re lying,” you say again, louder this time, voice shaking, raw with something desperate and splintering and furious. “You don’t get to do that, Jisung. You don’t—you don’t get to look at me like that, kiss me like that, fuck me like that, and then say it didn’t mean anything.”

Your heart is pounding too fast, too uneven, each beat a brutal, aching twist, but the words keep coming, breathless and fractured and spilling out before you can stop them. “You don’t get to do that!” you snap, voice rising, cracking at the edges, hands fisting hard in the sheets to keep them steady. “God, do you even hear yourself right now? After everything—after this—you’re just—what? You’re just sorry?”

Jisung’s eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenched tight, shoulders trembling with each unsteady breath. “I—”

“Don’t,” you choke, voice splintering. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” Anger replacing every other emotion in your body, a haze of red falling over you like a veil. Fuck the resemblance. “You don’t get to do that.” He flinches again, eyes flickering open, dark and glassy with something raw and fractured, but you can’t stop now, the words ripping out of you, bitter and aching and merciless.

“You used me,” you snarl, the accusation sharp and venomous, each word lashing out like a whip. “God, you—do you have any idea how much I—how long I’ve—” Your voice cracks, splintering into a choked, ragged breath, and you press a trembling hand to your mouth, eyes burning, throat tight, breath shuddering out unevenly. Jisung’s face crumples, hands dragging through his hair, and the sight of him—the guilt, the regret, the pity—makes your chest twist violently, nails digging into your palms.

“I never meant—” His voice is raw, barely more than a rasp. “God, I never meant to hurt you. I just—”

“Then what did you mean to do?” you snap, bitter and broken, each word a vicious slash through the air. “What was this supposed to be, huh? What was tonight? Pity? Some—some last-minute regret before you get to live happily ever after with her?”

Your breath hitches, eyes burning, throat raw and tight, and you laugh—harsh and cracked and humorless—swiping furiously at the tears slipping hot and stinging down your cheeks. “I loved you,” you whisper, voice shattered and splintering, barely more than a breath. “God, I—I’ve always loved you, and you just—you—” Your voice breaks completely, tears choking the words, and the sob that slips out is raw and desperate and agonizing.

“I’m not angry that you don’t love me back, Jisung. That’s not your fault. I’m angry that you used me as your moment of weakness, as your lapse in judgement. I thought our friendship meant more to you than …that.” You continue struggling to breathe, to catch your breath. “I love you-I…”

“I did,” he chokes, voice hoarse. “A long time ago. When we were kids. I—I loved you, too. I just—” The air leaves your lungs in a shaky, fractured rush, heart stuttering painfully, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, hands trembling, tears hot and blurring your vision.

“But—” Your voice falters, small and cracked, barely more than a whisper. “Then why—why didn’t you—”

“Chenle.”

The name falls heavy between you, brutal and final, and your breath catches, eyes wide and burning. “Chenle,” you echo, voice faint and disbelieving. “What—what does—”

“He loved you,” Jisung whispers, voice cracking, eyes fixed on the floor. “He’s—God, he’s always loved you, and I just—I couldn’t—” Your heart lurches, breath shuddering out, mind spinning, reeling with each splintered word.

“You—what?” Your voice is a rasp, raw and cracking at the edges, eyes searching his face desperately, each breath coming too fast, too uneven. “You—are you—are you kidding me right now? Are you serious?” He flinches, guilt twisting his expression, and you laugh, high and brittle and hysterical, swiping at the tears slipping hot and bitter down your cheeks. “Oh my God,” you choke, voice splintering into something wild and broken. “You—you gave up—because—because of Chenle?”

“I didn’t—” Jisung’s voice is a rasp, eyes glassy and desperate. “I just—God, you don’t understand, I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to him, I couldn’t—”

“You coward,” you spit, voice trembling with the force of it, hands fisting hard in the sheets. “You—you absolute coward.” His breath catches, eyes wide and raw and glistening, and you can’t stop, the words ripping out, savage and furious and aching. “I’ve loved you for years,” you snarl, each word laced with venom, eyes burning with hot, blinding tears. “And you—you threw it all away because you were—because—God, I can’t—”

Your voice cracks, splintering into a choked, raw breath, and your hands tremble violently, nails digging hard into your palms to keep them steady. “You don’t get to do this,” you rasp, voice breaking. “You don’t get to say you loved me, not after—God, not now. Not after you’ve just ripped my heart and stomped all over it. I won’t give you that piece of me.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, brutal and heavy and raw, and all Jisung can do is stare, eyes glassy and helpless, hands trembling at his sides. Your breath shudders, splintering in your chest, each inhale raw and agonizing, and the sob that slips out is broken and desperate and furious. “I hate you,” you whisper, voice fractured and hollow, eyes burning. “God, I—Jisung, I hate you, I—”

Your voice breaks completely, splintering into a choked sob, and you press a trembling hand to your mouth, eyes squeezing shut, chest aching with every fractured breath. And Jisung’s face crumples, shattered and guilt-ridden, eyes glistening with tears he won’t let fall, mouth opening like he wants to say something—like he wants to take it all back. But he doesn’t. He can’t. And the silence is deafening.

You lift yourself from the bed without much more thought pulling on yours with a vigor you had never seen yourself poses before. You needed out of here, now. Or it would kill you. That's how it felt anyway. Your legs move on instinct, the hallway a blur of carpet and dim lighting and tears hot and blinding in your eyes. Your chest aches, splintering with every breath, heart pounding too fast, too uneven, but you don’t stop, can’t stop, the walls tilting and spinning and closing in with every shaky step.

His voice echoes behind you, cracked and desperate and splintered—your name falling from his lips like a plea, like a knife twisted in your ribs—but you don’t look back. You can't. The elevator doors slide open and you stumble inside, slamming the button for the lobby with trembling hands, breath ragged and catching, eyes fixed on the numbers that blur and flicker past. It’s too quiet. Too loud. Your pulse thunders in your ears, raw and deafening, and your hands won’t stop shaking, breath splintering out in broken, choked sobs that echo off the mirrored walls, each one more desperate than the last.

When the doors finally slide open, you’re running again—through the lobby, past the receptionist’s startled gaze, out into the night air sharp and cold and biting against tear-streaked cheeks. Your vision swims, blurs with each step, but you keep moving, breaths ragged and uneven, throat raw and aching. You don’t even remember how you make it home, keys slipping twice from trembling fingers before you manage to get the door open, stumbling over the threshold with a choked, shuddering breath. And then you freeze.

Chenle stands in the middle of the living room, brows furrowed in confusion, eyes widening when he catches sight of you—hair a mess, eyes red and swollen, lips trembling with the force of each splintered breath. “Hey,” he says softly, voice careful, hesitant. “Hey, what—what happened?”

But you can’t get the words out—can’t even breathe past the splintered ache in your chest, the raw, searing pain that leaves your lungs burning and empty and useless. Your knees buckle before you can stop them, legs giving out beneath you, and then Chenle’s there—arms wrapping around you, pulling you close and steady and safe, and the warmth of him, the familiarity, is enough to shatter the last thread of composure holding you together. The sob that rips out is raw and desperate, choking and splintering, and you clutch at his shirt with trembling hands, burying your face in his chest as the tears come hot and unrelenting.

“Hey,” Chenle whispers, voice cracking, hands rubbing soothing circles along your back, steady and comforting and so painfully familiar it only makes the ache worse. “Hey, what happened? Talk to me, please.” But you can’t—can’t form words, can’t breathe past the agony twisting through your chest, the sobs breaking free, raw and helpless and so, so broken.

And Chenle just holds you tighter, one hand tangled in your hair, the other wrapped securely around your back, his cheek pressed against the crown of your head, breath warm and unsteady. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” And all you can do is cling to him—eyes squeezed shut, breaths splintering and uneven, heart shattered into jagged, aching pieces that cut deeper with every breath.

You sob until your throat is raw and aching, until your hands ache from clutching at his shirt, until your legs give out completely and the only thing keeping you upright is the steady, solid warmth of him, arms holding you close and safe and steady. And Chenle just stays, doesn’t say anything else—just holds you, soft shushes and whispered reassurances, fingers combing gently through your hair, his breath a steady, warm rhythm against your temple.

And somewhere between one broken sob and the next, your hands loosen in his shirt, breaths coming slower, unsteady but less splintered, and your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion crashing down hard and brutal. The tears don’t stop. The ache doesn’t fade. But Chenle’s arms are warm, and his heartbeat is steady, and for just a moment—just one fractured, splintered moment—it’s enough. It has to be. Because you and Jisung are done. Friendship over. You had no idea how to live in a world where Jisung wasn’t just one call away.

You’d have to adapt to a life without him and I was tearing you up inside. Chenle held you as you sobbed, his voice soft and reassuring. And knowing what you know about Chenle’s feelings for you didnt change the fact that you needed him right now, more than you’ve ever needed anyone before.

And when you could catch your breath enough to speak a word you told Chenle everything. Even if you were embarrassed, even if it felt like your world was over and saying out loud meant it was more real it didn’t matter. You told him anyway, and he listened as you told him how Park Jisung shattered your heart.

taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

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ohnoyuno · 2 months ago

Text

Thread of a Promise

Pairing: jeong jaehyun x female reader Genre: angst, established relationship Warnings: unresolved feelings, emotional tension Word Count: 2917

Summary: Jaehyun cancels on Y/N for the third time, leaving her heartbroken and giving him the silent treatment as she was unable to bear the repeated disappointment. On the day of NCT’s concert, their emotions came to a head, and through Y/N’s quiet yet heartfelt actions, Jaehyun finally understood the depth of her hurt.

26 August 2023

It was d-day of NCT’s first ever concert as a whole group, NCT Nation: To The World.

You got up at the crack of dawn, determined to prepare your signature kimbap for the boys. It was your way of cheering them on, and in your words, the kimbap would give them the extra energy they needed for the big night. You had always believed that food had a magical way of bringing people together, especially when it was made with love.

It took you a while to prepare the food, glancing at the clock every now and then to make sure that you were on schedule. After carefully wrapping each roll and feeling satisfied that everything was in order, you packed the kimbap into its containers before cleaning up the kitchen and putting everything away. With the kitchen now spotless, you then went to get yourself ready for the day.

Once everything was packed and prepared, you set off on the drive to Incheon, eager to deliver the carefully made kimbap to the boys.

After nearly an hour and a half on the road, you arrived at Incheon Munhak Stadium, where the concert would soon take place. As you pulled into the parking lot, one of your manager friends was already waiting to hand you the backstage pass.

With the pass secured, you wasted no time making your way to the waiting room, greeting the staff along the way and handing out the kimbap you had prepared for them. You also made sure to pack portions for the Dreamies, Visions, and Wishes as well, passing them to their respective managers.

As you reached the door to Illichil's waiting room, Haechan was the first to spot you.

“Noona! You’re finally here! We thought you weren’t coming.” he exclaimed, bouncing on his feet.

You let out a small laugh, adjusting the bag in your hands. “Sorry! Got caught in traffic, but there’s no way I’d miss this.”

Haechan grinned, stepping aside to let you in. “Good, because we need all the energy we can get today.” he said, peeking into the bag you were carrying. “Wait—don’t tell me… is this what I think it is?”

“Of course. My kimbap is your secret weapon, right?” you chuckled.

Just as Haechan was about to respond, the rest of Illichil turned their heads toward the door. “Did I just hear someone say kimbap?” In an instant, Jungwoo appeared at the doorway, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “You really did bring it!”

“You act like I wouldn’t.” you teased, handing him the bag of food. “You guys need all the energy you can get today.”

Yuta, who had been lounging on the couch, smirked as he stood up and stretched. “Our lucky charm never disappoints.”

Jaehyun, still in the midst of getting his makeup done in the corner, kept his eyes on you through the mirror, silently waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you finally did, your smile faltered. It was only a brief glance—almost dismissive, as if he wasn’t even there.

His grip on the armrest tightened slightly, but before he could dwell on it, Taeyong walked in, his presence instantly shifting the atmosphere. “Hey, you’re here.” he said, his voice gentle while pulling you into a hug. “We really appreciate this.”

“You always take care of us.” Doyoung added, already opening the containers to set up the table with the neatly rolled kimbap.

“Someone has to.” You forced a small smile, nudging him lightly.

Jaehyun remained quiet, still seated at the dressing table as the room buzzed with energy. The members gathered around the table, chatting excitedly as they got ready to dig into the kimbap you had brought.

Mark, fresh from finishing his makeup, walked over and glanced at Jaehyun on his way. “Hyung, come eat!” he called, motioning for him to join.

Jaehyun hesitated for a brief second before finally getting up, strolling over at an unhurried pace. His eyes flickered to the empty chair beside you, the only available seat left. It was clear the members had left it open for him.

But instead of sitting down, he turned to Haechan. “Haechan-ah, go over.” he said casually. “I want to sit under the fan.”

Haechan blinked up at him. “Huh? But—”

"Just move." Jaehyun muttered, his frustration evident as he gestured for Haechan to switch seats, choosing the spot furthest from you.

You didn’t react, merely continuing to pass out the food with an unreadable expression.

The tension between you and Jaehyun has been building for a while now. It had been a week since you last spoke—ever since he stood you up on your date for the third time.

On the morning of your scheduled date, you were having your weekly breakfast with Taeyong when your phone buzzed. You glanced down to find a message from Jaehyun: “Something came up. I’m sorry.”

Frustration bubbled up inside you, and without thinking, you slammed your phone face down on the table.

Taeyong raised an eyebrow, sensing something was off. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to mask your disappointment with a forced smile, brushing it off. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re free tonight, right? Let’s go catch a movie.”

“Aren’t you going on a date with Jaeh— he canceled again, didn’t he?” Taeyong’s eyes narrowed as he connected the dots.

You nodded, a quiet sigh escaping your lips.

Taeyong shook his head in understanding. “A movie it is, then. I’ll pick you up after practice.”

No attempt to reschedule, no effort to make it up to you. That was when you made up your mind. You weren’t going to keep making excuses for him. You didn’t even bother confronting him when you saw him the next morning. He briefly apologised again and tried to initiate a conversation, but you ignored him, giving him the silent treatment for the rest of the week.

For days, you didn’t answer his calls or messages. Every attempt he made to reach out was brushed aside, deliberately giving him the space to sit with the consequences of his fault. He didn’t try to fix things. Sometimes, Jaehyun was just dense. Not even realizing the depth of what he’d done or why you were pulling away. It was as if the effort to understand never crossed his mind, and that’s what hurt the most. The feeling that maybe, he never really cared enough to notice.

You’d always face issues like this with silence. Jaehyun knew that. The silent treatment was how you usually processed things, how you created distance when words failed, and when you needed him to feel the weight of his actions.

You understood that with the upcoming concerts and the intense preparation for Golden Age, his schedule was packed. But that was exactly why you had requested a date night weeks in advance, knowing things would only get busier. You had planned ahead, making sure to accommodate his schedules, and yet, he still couldn’t make time for you.

The first time, you let it slide. The second time, you reassured yourself that it wasn’t intentional. But the third time? That was when you finally ran out of patience. It hurt more than you'd like to admit, this feeling of being invisible, like you were just another part of his busy routine. But you weren't about to beg for scraps of his attention. Not anymore.

Taeyong, who was sitting directly across from you, observed the interaction in silence.

When your eyes briefly met his, he gave you a knowing look, subtle but unmistakable. Without breaking eye contact, Taeyong offered you a small, reassuring smile.

As Johnny rummaged through the bag of food, he found a container of side dishes at the bottom, marked with a simple ‘J’. Recognizing it was meant for Jaehyun, he slid it towards him with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “Jaehyun, Y/N made this for you. You should eat up.”

“I didn’t ask her to. You guys can have it.” Jaehyun said while not even sparing it a glance.

“It’s not his.” you interjected coldly. “I wasn’t sure if the kimbap would be enough, so I just made some extras.” The sharpness in your voice made the room go quiet for a moment.

Sensing the tension, Jungwoo quickly cut in, clapping his hands together. “Jal meokgetseumnida!” he said cheerfully, prompting the others to follow suit.

Haechan, oblivious to the weight of the situation, piped up, “Jaehyun-ah, you’re seriously the luckiest having Y/N as your girlfriend.”

A swift nudge from Yuta promptly silenced him.

Jaehyun didn’t respond. He merely set down his barely-eaten kimbap, stood up, and walked out onto the balcony. The room fell into an awkward silence as the balcony doors shut behind him. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiled over, and you had reached your limit.

“Excuse me.” you said coldly, pushing your chair back as you got up to follow Jaehyun.

The air outside was cooler, a stark contrast to the heat of your frustration. Jaehyun stood by the railing, one hand gripping the edge and with a cigarette in another. He didn’t turn around when he heard the doors open, but he knew it was you.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?” you said, crossing your arms.

Jaehyun exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask you to do anything for me. And mind you, you were the one giving me the silent treatment all week. Aren’t you still mad at me? Why are you even here?”

“Yes, you’re right. I am still mad at you,” you shot back. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’d break a promise I made, that I will be there for every single one of your shows.” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “But I guess it was all in my head, wasn’t it?”

He finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

“Jaehyun, I’m mad because you keep pushing me away. Every time you cancel, it feels like you don’t even care to fix things, like I’m not worth the effort. Because no matter how much I try, it’s never enough for you.”

His eyes flickered with something, guilt, maybe. But he remained silent.

Without giving him a chance to speak, you let out a sharp breath, frustration bubbling over. “I get it. You’re busy. You have a lot on your plate. But don’t treat it like I’m forcing myself into your life when I’m the one who’s been left hanging over and over again.” you continued, voice shaking slightly.

Jaehyun finally spoke, his voice low. “I never wanted to make you feel that way.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know I’ve been messing up, and I hate that I keep disappointing you. I’m sorry, Y/N. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to feel like you’re not enough.”

You shook your head, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “If you hate it so much, then why does it keep happening, Jaehyun? Why do I still feel like I’m the only one fighting for this?”

“I don’t know.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You met his gaze, your eyes narrowing. “What do you even mean by you don’t know?” you asked, the anger laced in your voice. "Do you even want to fix this?" The words came out more sharply than you intended, but the hurt that had been building up inside you couldn’t be contained any longer.

Jaehyun’s breath hitched at your words. His gaze flickered with hesitation before settling into something firmer. Determination. “Baby, of course I do.” he said, stepping closer. “I want us. I just… how can I make up for all the times I hurt you?”

You sighed, crossing your arms and looking away, not saying anything.

Jaehyun exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the ground. Shame flickered across his face as he hesitated, struggling to find the right words. He knew he had hurt you, had pushed you away when all you ever did was try to be there for him.

As if afraid of wasting another second, he stepped forward. “Can I start making it up to you now?”

Before you could respond, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending a familiar chill through you. He paused, his eyes searching yours as if asking for permission, his breath still carrying the faint trace of tobacco, an oddly comforting scent that immediately brought you back to so many memories. Then, without another word, he leaned in, pulling you into a kiss.

His lips were warm, tender, but there was an undeniable urgency behind it, as though each second counted. The taste of the cigarettes lingered, mixing with the softness of his kiss, a contrast that made your heart ache with longing. His hands were gentle, but his grip on you tightened as if afraid to let go, as if this moment was something he feared losing. You could feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat syncing with your own, both of you craving something that had been missing for too long.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m really sorry.” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours as he pulled back slightly. His hands cupped your face gently, his eyes searching yours. “For making you feel like you weren’t enough when you’re in fact the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your heart softened, the anger and hurt slowly unraveling in his arms. You let out a small sigh, your fingers lightly gripping his sleeves. “You have lots to do, Jaehyun.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, his grip on you tightening just a little. “I know.” pressing his forehead against yours. “And I’m going to do it right this time.”

His sincerity was written all over his face, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he held you like he never wanted to let go.

“You better.” you mumbled, though the fight in your voice had faded.

Jaehyun smiled, tilting his head slightly. “Starting with this.” And before you could question him, he kissed you again, soft and tender, a silent promise in itself.

When he pulled away, he laced his fingers through yours. “After the concert, let me take you home.”

You arched a brow. “And?”

“And…” He squeezed your arms, his voice low as his fingers grazed your skin. “Then, let me repay you with a show.” His hands slipped under your shirt, sending a spark of warmth through your body.

You chuckled shyly, shaking your head. “Funny. You have a bigger show to run later.”

Jaehyun paused, a mischievous grin forming on his lips. “True,” he said, his tone teasing. “But the biggest show will always be for you, Y/N. You’re worth it.”

His touch caressing on the bare skin of your waist, his eyes softening. “I promise.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words, the heaviness of the past weeks melting away in that moment. You smiled, “I’ll hold you to that.”

Jaehyun leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours once more, his lips just inches from yours. “Then I guess I better make this concert count, huh?”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension between you two finally dissolve. “Yeah, I hope you remember that when you’re up on stage later.” you teased, playfully squeezing his cheeks.

“I definitely will.” Jaehyun said, his voice low and steady. “But right now, all I can think about is you.”

The firm, reassuring pressure of his hand on your waist made you feel the weight of all his unspoken words. There was still so much left unsaid, but for now, his actions spoke louder than any apology could. He pulled you into another kiss again, not willing to let go.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the world around you blur, all the worries and the time apart fading into the background.

You noticed the distant sound of the crowd from inside the stadium, signaling that the concert was about to begin. “Go get ready.” you said, pulling his hand out and giving it a gentle squeeze. “The concert’s about to start, and I think the rest of the guys are expecting you.”

Jaehyun hesitated to let go of you, his gaze holding yours for a moment before he snaked in one last kiss, as if to savor every second. “Thank you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

“I love you even more, Jeong Jaehyun. I’ll be waiting for you after the show,” you said, squeezing his hand one last time before stepping back, giving him space to return to the hectic atmosphere inside.

Jaehyun smiled softly, his eyes holding a mix of affection and warmth. "I'll see you soon." he said, giving you a final hug before stepping back. His presence seemed to linger in the air, even as he turned to walk back towards the waiting room. You watched him go, heart still racing from the moment you shared.

You felt a smile tug at your lips, knowing he was out there living his dream, exactly where he belonged, doing what he loved. And in some small way, you were part of that. For the first time in a while, everything felt right again.

Masterlist

#jeong jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun angst #lee taeyong #johnny suh #yuta nakamoto #kim doyoung #kim jungwoo #mark lee #lee haechan #nct 127 #nct x reader #nct fanfic #nct imagines

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