Mischief Managed (Stray Kids Oneshots)

Late-Night Confessions | Seo Changbin

The city was quiet, the distant hum of cars barely audible through the open window of your small apartment. Moonlight streamed in, casting long shadows across the room. You sat on the couch, the weight of the day still clinging to your shoulders, but a warm sense of anticipation hummed underneath it all.

Tonight, Changbin was coming over. Your best friend, your confidant—and recently, the person you couldn't stop thinking about. It wasn't planned for him to stop by, but when he texted earlier, saying he needed to clear his head, you couldn't say no. Not to him.

There was a knock at the door, soft but insistent, and your heart skipped. You opened it to find Changbin standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his face partially hidden by the shadow of his cap. Despite the late hour, his eyes were alert, but there was a heaviness to his expression you couldn't miss.

"Hey," he said quietly, stepping inside without hesitation. His presence filled the room instantly, his energy always a little too much for the small space. But it was comforting, grounding. He was grounding.

"Hey," you replied, closing the door behind him. "Rough night?"

He nodded, pulling off his cap and running a hand through his dark hair. "Practice was intense. I just... I needed to get away for a bit."

You gestured toward the couch. "You're always welcome here."

Changbin smiled at that—just a small, tired curve of his lips—but it was enough to send warmth blooming in your chest. He sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him and resting his head against the back of the couch. He let out a long breath, his eyes closing for a moment.

You sat beside him, unsure of what to say. With Changbin, you usually didn't need words to fill the silence. But tonight felt different. There was something unspoken in the air, something heavy that weighed down the comfortable quiet between you.

"You ever feel like..." Changbin started, his voice barely above a whisper, "like no matter how hard you push yourself, it's never enough?"

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. His eyes were still closed, but his jaw was clenched, as if he was trying to hold something back.

"Changbin..." you began softly, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift. "You're one of the hardest workers I know. If anyone's doing enough, it's you."

He let out a bitter chuckle, opening his eyes but staring at the ceiling. "Doesn't feel like it sometimes. The pressure—it's just constant. To be better, to always be 'Changbin of Stray Kids,' the tough one, the rapper, the guy who's always on top of things. But lately..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at you for the first time since sitting down. His eyes were dark, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in them. "I feel like I'm losing myself in all of it."

The confession hit you hard. Changbin was always the one with the bravado, the one who carried the weight without showing it. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and open, made your heart ache.

"Bin..." You reached out, gently placing your hand on his arm. "You don't have to be perfect all the time. It's okay to take a break, to let yourself just... be."

He stared at your hand for a long moment before covering it with his own. His fingers were warm, rough from years of intense practice, but the touch was gentle. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Sometimes, I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Chasing all this. The fame, the success... I don't even know if it's what I really want anymore."

Your heart tightened at his words. Changbin had always been so driven, so passionate about his music. The idea that he might be questioning everything was hard to process. But you understood the weight of it—the pressure to constantly live up to expectations, to never fall short.

"You're allowed to want more than just success," you said quietly, searching his face. "You're allowed to want things that make you happy, too."

He met your eyes, and for a moment, there was something in his gaze that made your breath catch. Something softer, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen from him before.

"Maybe that's the problem," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. "I don't know what makes me happy anymore."

The room felt impossibly small, the space between you shrinking as the weight of his words hung in the air. You wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone in this—that you were there, that you had always been there for him. But before you could say anything, Changbin leaned in, closing the distance between you.

It wasn't a planned move, but it felt natural. His lips brushed yours gently at first, as if testing the waters, but when you didn't pull away, the kiss deepened. It was soft, slow—completely unlike the confident, bold Changbin you were used to. But in that moment, it felt like he was letting go of everything. The pressure, the doubt, the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," he whispered, his voice so low it was almost drowned out by the quiet hum of the city outside. "But I was afraid it would ruin things."

You smiled softly, your heart racing. "It won't ruin anything."

Changbin pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if holding on to something real, something solid amidst the chaos of his world. In that moment, it was just the two of you—no fame, no expectations. Just you and him, finding peace in the quiet of the night.