seungmin centric one shots

last choice

"The bitter taste of being the last choice lingers long after the selection is made."

Kim Seungmin sat on the edge of the school courtyard, alone on the stone steps. His friends were gathered a short distance away, laughter spilling from their circle as they leaned in close, planning their next weekend outing. Seungmin watched them, his heart heavy with the familiar ache of exclusion. He didn’t need to be any closer to know what they were talking about. It was always the same: they’d discuss going to the movies, maybe trying out a new café, or heading to someone’s house. And eventually, someone would ask, “Who should we invite?”

Seungmin already knew how that part of the conversation would go. His name would either be mentioned last, tacked on like an afterthought, or worse, not mentioned at all. It wasn’t that they didn’t like him—he was technically part of the group—but that didn’t mean they valued him the way they valued each other. He was just there, a convenient fixture, always tagging along but never the first thought. No one sought him out. No one asked for his opinion or wanted him there in the way friends are supposed to want each other’s company. He wasn’t part of their core. He wasn’t one of them.

He stared down at his phone, scrolling mindlessly through messages. Nothing from them. His heart sank a little more.

“Hey, Seungmin!” Felix called out, waving him over with a bright grin.

Seungmin’s head snapped up, and for a moment, hope flickered in his chest. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe they’d include him from the start.

“We’re thinking of going to the movies tomorrow. You wanna come?”

His stomach twisted. Of course. It was already decided. They’d already made plans without him, and now they were offering him a spot, like they always did when the arrangements were complete. He was a footnote. The spare addition to their perfect circle.

Seungmin smiled politely, hiding the hurt he’d grown so accustomed to. “Sure,” he replied, his voice steady though his chest felt tight. “Sounds good.”

Felix beamed, seemingly satisfied with his response, and turned back to the others. Seungmin watched them laugh and joke about what movie to see, his presence already fading from their awareness. He wasn’t part of the conversation when it mattered. He never was.

The next day, Seungmin arrived at the theater early, just like always. He hated being late, so he’d made it a habit to be the first one there, even if it meant waiting. The air was crisp with the onset of autumn, and he stood near the entrance, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as he watched people pass by. A mother with her two kids, an elderly couple walking hand in hand, a group of friends heading inside, all of them together, sharing warmth and connection.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, expecting to see messages from Felix or Minho. Instead, it was a single text from Hyunjin:

Hey, we’re running late. You can go ahead without us.

Seungmin stared at the screen, the familiar sinking feeling washing over him. Of course they were late. They always were. Or sometimes, they didn’t show up at all, leaving him sitting there, waiting like a fool while they were off doing something else, together, without him.

He sighed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. There was no point in arguing, no point in asking why they couldn’t be on time. It wasn’t like they would change. They never did. So, without another word, he walked into the theater alone, bought his ticket, and found his seat among the strangers. The lights dimmed, the movie began, and yet Seungmin felt more isolated than ever. Even surrounded by people, he felt like a ghost, invisible and insignificant.

By the time the credits rolled, there was still no update from his friends. No messages, no explanation, nothing. Seungmin stepped out of the theater into the cold night air, pulling out his phone in one last, desperate hope that maybe—just maybe—they’d left him a message saying they were on their way, or that they were sorry for being late.

But instead, what he saw was a group photo posted on social media.

all of his friends smiling brightly, drinks in hand, sitting at a cozy café. The caption read: Best night out with the best people!

There was no mention of the movie. No mention of Seungmin.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the photo, feeling a hollow ache settle deep in his chest. It was like a punch to the gut, but he couldn’t even bring himself to be angry anymore. This was his reality. He was always the last choice, if he was a choice at all. He was there when it was convenient, when they needed an extra person, but never when it really mattered. He loved them, cared about them more than he cared to admit, but the truth was painfully clear now: they didn’t love him in the same way.

His phone buzzed again, and for a split second, he thought maybe it was one of them. Maybe they’d noticed his absence. Maybe they felt guilty. But when he looked at the screen, it was just a reminder from a classmate about a project due next week.

Seungmin tucked his phone back into his pocket and started walking home. The night was quiet, the streets mostly empty as he trudged along, his thoughts a jumbled mess of hurt and confusion. He didn’t text them. He didn’t ask where they were or why they’d forgotten him. He already knew the answer, and maybe that was the worst part of all.

It wasn’t just one night. It was every night. Every plan they made, every time they went somewhere without him, every time they left him out of the conversation. He was always there, but never really there. And it hurt. It hurt more than he could put into words, but what was the point in saying anything? They wouldn’t understand.

The realization hit him like a wave as he walked through the empty streets, the lights of the city glowing softly in the distance. He was the last choice, not because they hated him, but because he wasn’t essential to them. He was a filler, someone they could take or leave, and the sad truth was, they didn’t really need him.

When Seungmin finally made it home, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the ceiling. For so long, he’d told himself it didn’t matter. He convinced himself that as long as he was included in some way, it was enough. But tonight, something broke inside him. He couldn’t keep pretending that being an afterthought was okay.

Maybe it was time to let go.

They didn’t need him. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need them either.