Stray Kids | oneshots

A muse | Han

He was a genius, the kind of person whose presence lit up the room with an almost tangible energy. His aura was so bright that it warmed you even in the coldest nights, deep within your soul. His attention was a gift, a blessing you never took for granted, and you cherished his friendship more than he could ever fully comprehend. He wasn't just your childhood friend; he was your soulmate. Watching someone you love become successful, sharing their talent with the world, brings a unique kind of joy. It was heartwarming to see Han's music touch so many lives, knowing that his lyrics were opening doors to people's hearts, just as they had opened yours. His voice, his words, had a way of soothing your spirit, like they were meant just for you. But you weren't possessive — you were genuinely happy that others saw his brilliance, that his songs garnered millions of views, and his talent was being recognized far and wide.

For Han, you were an anchor, the one who encouraged him when his restless mind wandered into uncertainty. Your constant belief in him fueled his creative process, and he never failed to show his appreciation for that. What truly meant the most to him, though, was that you were always there, steadfast and unwavering, no matter where life took him. It was your quiet support, the way his music touched you so deeply, that gave him the confidence to share his work with a broader audience. As his fanbase grew, so did his gratitude toward you, knowing that you were part of the foundation that made his success possible. Being the honest soul that he was, there were countless times when he poured his feelings about friendship, soulmates, and his gratitude to you into his songs. And those songs, the ones where he opened his heart, were always your favorites.

But he never wrote about love. It was a curious absence in his work, considering how deeply he could delve into every other aspect of life. Neither did he ever speak to you about it. Despite the depth of your friendship, love was the one subject that seemed to hover between you like an invisible wall. You had noticed it, of course, and eventually, curiosity got the better of you. You asked him about it once, wondering if there was a reason he avoided the topic in both his songs and your conversations. But, as always, he brushed it off with a playful joke or said, with a nonchalant shrug, that he couldn't write about something he had no experience with.

You accepted his response, though you knew it wasn't the whole truth. After all, you were both aware of each other's occasional dates. He had shared stories of his romantic flings, and you had told him about your own. Yet, despite the openness in every other part of your lives, when it came to love, there was always a boundary. It wasn't a hard, spoken rule, but rather an unspoken line that neither of you seemed willing to cross. Whether it was a mutual understanding or a fear of what lay on the other side of that boundary, you couldn't say. But the gap remained, quietly lingering in the spaces between your conversations, while his music carried on exploring everything else except the one thing you both avoided.

One evening, the two of you sat on the rooftop, where the stars seemed closer, almost within reach. It had become your spot — where words flowed freely, except the ones that truly mattered. The breeze was cool, and Han had brought his guitar, though he hadn't played a single note yet. He was staring off into the night sky, lost in thought.

"Do you ever think about it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You hadn't intended to bring it up, but the quiet between you suddenly felt heavy.

"Think about what?" he replied, turning to face you, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as if he already knew where the conversation was headed but wasn't sure how to respond.

"Love." You tried to sound casual, but the weight of the word lingered between you.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Why? Do you think I'm missing out on something?" he asked, his tone light, but there was something guarded in his eyes.