The next few days felt different. There was a subtle shift between Changbin and me, a quiet understanding that we were on the same page, but also a lingering tension—one that hadn't been there before. I couldn't quite place it, but it hovered in the background of every conversation, every text.
Maybe it was the fact that I had met his friends. It made everything feel more real, like we were moving from something casual to something with actual weight. And while that should have been comforting, there was a part of me that was still afraid. Afraid of getting too close. Afraid of messing this up.
It wasn't that I didn't like Changbin. In fact, that was the problem—I liked him too much. It scared me how easily he had slipped into my life, how comfortable I was around him, how quickly he had become someone I wanted to see, to talk to, to be around. And that kind of vulnerability wasn't something I was used to.
Work became my refuge. I threw myself into projects, trying to distract myself from the growing anxiety that kept creeping into my thoughts. Even when Changbin texted me, I found myself taking longer to reply, not because I didn't want to talk to him, but because I needed space.
Or at least, that's what I told myself.
One evening, as I sat on my couch, phone in hand, I stared at Changbin's latest message, my thumb hovering over the screen. He had asked if I wanted to come over, something casual, like we had done so many times before. But this time, I hesitated.
I wasn't ready to dive into whatever this was turning into. I needed to slow down, to make sense of the whirlwind of feelings that had built up inside me. So, instead of saying yes, I typed out a different response.
Me: I think I need some space.
I stared at the message, my heart racing. It felt wrong, typing those words, but at the same time, it felt necessary. I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, but it was the only way I knew how to protect myself from falling too hard, too fast.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
The three dots indicating Changbin was typing appeared almost immediately, but then they disappeared just as quickly. My chest tightened as I waited, every second feeling like an eternity. When his reply finally came, it was short, simple.
Changbin: I get it. Take all the time you need.
The rational part of me knew that was the best response I could have hoped for. He wasn't angry, wasn't pressuring me to explain. But the irrational part of me—the part that had grown to care for him more than I wanted to admit—felt a sharp pang of regret.
I had asked for space, but now that I had it, I wasn't sure if that was really what I needed.
The next few days passed slowly. Without Changbin in the picture, my life felt quieter, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of quiet that comes with something missing, like a song playing in the background with the volume turned too low.
I missed him. More than I wanted to admit.
But I didn't reach out. I couldn't. I was the one who had pulled back, and I didn't know how to undo that without feeling like I was playing with his emotions. I told myself I needed this time to figure out what I really wanted, but the longer I spent without him, the more I realized that I already knew.
I wanted him. I wanted what we had. I just didn't know if I was ready for all the messy feelings that came with it.
One evening, after yet another long day at work, I collapsed onto my couch, exhausted but restless. My phone was next to me, the screen dark and silent. Changbin hadn't messaged me since I had asked for space, and I hated how much that bothered me. He was giving me exactly what I had asked for, and yet, I felt the weight of his absence more with each passing day.
I grabbed my phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media, trying to distract myself from the empty feeling that had settled in my chest. But then, out of nowhere, a notification popped up.
Changbin: How's the space treating you?
I stared at the message, my heart racing again. It had been days since we had last spoken, and now, seeing his name on my screen sent a flood of emotions rushing back—relief, excitement, and an undeniable sense of longing.
I didn't know what to say. I had no idea how to explain the confusion I had been feeling, the fear that had pushed me to pull away when all I really wanted was to be close to him.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally replied.
Me: It's... complicated.
A few moments later, his response came.
Changbin: I figured it might be. Do you want to talk about it?
I hesitated. Did I? Was I ready to have that conversation, to confront the feelings I had been trying so hard to avoid? Part of me wanted to keep running, to keep hiding behind the excuse of needing space. But the bigger part of me—the part that had missed him more than I thought possible—wanted to be honest.
Maybe it was time to stop running.
Me: Yeah, I do. Can we meet up?
Changbin's reply was immediate.
Changbin: Of course. My place? Whenever you're ready.
I stared at the screen, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it—the moment I had been avoiding. The moment where I would have to be honest, not just with Changbin, but with myself.
The drive to Changbin's apartment felt longer than usual, every red light giving me more time to overthink. By the time I pulled up outside, my nerves were shot, but I knew I couldn't turn back now. I had to face whatever was waiting for me inside.
Changbin opened the door almost as soon as I knocked, and the sight of him standing there, looking as calm and collected as ever, made my heart ache. He didn't say anything, just stepped aside to let me in, and I was grateful for the silence.
We settled onto the couch, a familiar scene, but this time, there was a heaviness in the air that hadn't been there before.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Changbin raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused. "For what?"
"For pulling back," I said, my voice quieter now. "For asking for space when... I don't know. I guess I didn't really know what I wanted."
Changbin was silent for a moment, his gaze steady as he looked at me. "And now? Do you know what you want?"
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the question. I had spent days trying to figure out what I wanted, but now, sitting here with him, it felt simple.
"I want you," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just... scared."
His expression softened, and for the first time since I had asked for space, I felt like I could breathe again.
"You don't have to be scared," he said gently. "We can take this at whatever pace you need. I'm not going anywhere."
His words settled over me like a warm blanket, soothing the fear that had been gnawing at me for days. I didn't know what the future held, but for now, this was enough. We were enough.
I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself feel safe.
