kpop Girl Groups X Reader

Country Stars • LSK

Male Reader X Lee Sungkyung

Genre: Fluff, angst

Words: 1373
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In the rolling countryside of South Korea, nestled among emerald rice paddies and hills that turned golden with the setting sun, there was a small village where everyone knew each other's name. In this village, two children, Lee Sungkyung and Y/n, grew as intertwined as the ivy that clung to the old stone walls of their homes.

Sungkyung was the daughter of the town's baker, her laughter as sweet as the red bean pastries she'd slip to Y/n when his parents weren't looking. Y/n was the son of a fisherman, his hands rough from helping his father but always gentle when he held Sungkyung's. They were inseparable – two halves of a whole, people would say.

Their days were spent chasing dragonflies by the creek and their evenings watching stars from atop the highest hill, making wishes on the brightest ones. But it wasn't just the stars that listened to their dreams; they confided in each other. Sungkyung wanted to be a dancer, twirling on stages far beyond the village's reach, while Y/n yearned to be an architect, building homes that could withstand life's many storms.

As they teetered on the edge of adolescence, their fondness for each other blossomed into something deeper, something neither of them fully understood but cherished all the same. They shared their first, awkward kiss beneath the blooming cherry blossoms, a secret they kept locked in their hearts.

But as with all stories of young love, change was inevitable. Y/n's parents announced they were moving to Seoul for his father's new job opportunity. The news fell upon the pair like a harsh winter, cold and unyielding. Their final days together were a mixture of desperate clinging and silent denial.

The day of Y/n's departure arrived too soon. At the break of dawn, with mist still clinging to the grass, they met at their hill for one last goodbye.

"Promise me you'll write," Sungkyung said, her voice barely a whisper against the sobbing wind.

"I promise," Y/n replied, his eyes reflecting the heartbreak of a farewell neither of them was ready for.

But promises made by young hearts are often at the mercy of life's unpredictable currents. Letters sent by Y/n were lost in the chaos of the city's vast postal system, and Sungkyung's replies never found their way to him. As the days turned to months and months to years, the memory of their love was buried beneath the rubble of life's relentless march.

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Years passed, and Sungkyung grew into a woman of ethereal beauty, her dreams of dancing traded for the reality of managing the bakery after her parents retired. Y/n, now a young man, had indeed become an architect, his designs dotting the skyline of Seoul like stars he once wished upon.

Destiny, it seemed, was not finished with them yet.

A new project required Y/n to return to his childhood village to oversee the construction of a cultural center that aimed to preserve the traditional arts, including dance. It was there, in the very room meant to house rehearsals, that he encountered a woman with a familiar laugh, though he couldn't place why it tugged at his heart.

Sungkyung, now the village's traditional dance instructor, was demonstrating a sequence when she noticed a man watching from the doorway. His features were vaguely familiar, like a song she couldn't quite remember the lyrics to.

"Can I help you?" she asked, pausing the music.

Y/n shook his head, trying to shake off the strange sense of déjà vu. "I'm just here to oversee the construction. You're a wonderful dancer."

"Thank you," she replied with a polite nod. "I... Do I know you from somewhere?"

"It's possible," Y/n said, the same nagging feeling gnawing at him. "I grew up here."

They stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken recognition, but it was like looking through a fogged mirror – the image was there, but the details were obscured.

Weeks went by, and Y/n found himself drawn to the dance studio, making excuses to speak to Sungkyung. Each conversation felt like a step closer to unlocking a door they both had forgotten.

One evening, as they shared tea in the bakery, Sungkyung mentioned how she used to sneak pastries to a boy she cared for deeply.

Y/n laughed. "You know, I had a friend who did the same for me. Her red bean pastries were the best."

The air between them shifted, and like the turning of the tide, memories came rushing back.

"Sungkyung," Y/n whispered, his voice laden with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "You know that's not what I meant when I said her pastries were the best."

Sungkyung's eyes widened, her heart pounding against her ribs. "Y/n?"

The silence that followed was profound, filled with the weight of years lost and emotions unspoken. They stared at each other, the realization dawning like the first rays of morning light. A torrent of memories cascaded through their minds: the hill, the creek, the cherry blossoms... and the promises.

"How did we not see it?" Sungkyung murmured, her voice a blend of joy and sorrow.

"We were just kids," Y/n said, his voice thick with emotion. "We changed, grew up..."

"But we didn't forget," she countered softly. "Not really."

"No," he agreed, reaching across the table to take her hand, "not really."

They stayed like that for a while, talking and not talking, filling in the gaps the years had left in their shared history. Y/n learned of Sungkyung's mother's illness, which had kept her from following her dreams of dancing beyond their village. Sungkyung heard about Y/n's struggles in the vastness of Seoul, and how his heart had always yearned for the simplicity of his childhood.

As the bakery's clock chimed, signaling the late hour, they decided to visit their hill, the place where it all began.

The stars shone with the same brilliance as they did all those years ago, the constellations unchanged by time's relentless passage. They sat side by side, their shoulders touching, a comfortable silence enveloping them.

"Do you remember the first wish we made here?" Sungkyung asked, tilting her head to gaze at the sky.

Y/n chuckled. "How could I forget? We wished to never be separated."

"A wish that didn't quite come true," she pointed out, a hint of sadness lacing her voice.

"Maybe it did, in a way," Y/n suggested. "We were separated physically, but not in here." He placed his hand over his heart.

Sungkyung smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "You know that's not what I meant when we made that wish. We wanted to stay together, always."

"And yet here we are," Y/n whispered, his voice a mix of wonder and gratitude. "Together, under the same sky, on the same hill. Maybe some wishes take a little longer to come true."

They sat in reflective silence, letting the magnitude of their reunion settle in. It was as though the universe had conspired to bring them back to this moment, to each other.

Sungkyung finally spoke, her voice steady but filled with a new vulnerability. "What do we do now? The years have changed us. We're not those kids anymore."

Y/n turned to look at her, his eyes searching hers in the dim starlight. "No, we're not. But maybe that's okay. Maybe we needed to grow apart to find our way back to each other. We've been given a second chance, Sungkyung. What do you say?"

She met his gaze, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears and hope. "I say we don't let go this time. No more lost letters, no more unspoken words."

"Then let's make a new promise," Y/n said, his voice firm with resolve. "Not as children, but as the people we are now."

"To never lose each other again," Sungkyung added, her hand finding his.

"To never lose each other again," he echoed, sealing their promise with a tender kiss that bridged the gap between past and present, between what was meant and what is meant to be.