A Backstage Love I Han Jisung x Reader

A Heart's Flutter

As the weeks passed, my life slowly began to return to some semblance of normalcy. Rehabilitation sessions became less of a regular part of my routine, indications that I have improved significantly. I could navigate my apartment without the aid of a wheelchair. Han continued to be a pillar of strength, always encouraging me and providing emotional support with some mild bullying in his own way. Our conversations often drifted to dreams and aspirations, and it felt like we were building a future together, one step at a time.

One sunny afternoon, Han and I sat on the balcony, the city stretching endlessly before us. The sun bathed everything in a warm, golden glow, a stark contrast to the sterile whites and blues of the hospital walls I'd come to know too well. The quiet hum of the city below was the perfect background, alive yet not intrusive.

I glanced over at Han, a soft smile tugging at my lips. "You know," I started, my voice quiet but steady, "I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me. You've been my rock through all of this."

Han turned to me, one eyebrow quirking up as a playful grin spread across his face. "Grateful, huh? Is that the word we're going with?"

I rolled my eyes, nudging his shoulder lightly. "Don't ruin the moment, Han."

He chuckled, leaning back against his chair. "I'm just saying, you've been looking at me like I'm some kind of superhero. Maybe I should start wearing a cape."

"Oh, please," I teased, biting back a laugh. "If you were a superhero, you'd trip over your own cape within five minutes."

"Rude!" he exclaimed, feigning offense as he clutched his chest dramatically. "I've been nothing but supportive, and this is how you repay me? By questioning my imaginary superhero skills?"

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within me—a feeling that had been absent for far too long. "Fine, fine. You'd be a great superhero. Happy now?"

"Very," he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest. "But in all seriousness, Y/N, it's been incredible to see you getting stronger every day. You don't give yourself enough credit."

The sincerity in his voice softened me, and I looked away, suddenly feeling shy. "I couldn't have done it without you. You've been here through it all."

"And I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

That evening, he surprised me with plans to revisit a little restaurant we'd once raved about. When he arrived to pick me up, he stood at the door holding a bouquet of vibrant flowers, the colors mirroring the warm hues of the setting sun.

"Flowers?" I teased as I took them, my fingers brushing his. "What's the occasion?"

Han smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "What, I can't spoil you for no reason?"

"Is this your way of buttering me up for something?" I quipped, stepping aside to let him in.

He gasped, mock scandalized. "You wound me. Can't a guy just show up and be a gentleman without being interrogated?"

"Okay, okay," I said, laughing as I grabbed a vase. "I'll let you off the hook this time."

Dinner was a blend of easy laughter and deep conversation, the kind that flowed naturally, making the hours slip by unnoticed. Han had a way of pulling me out of my shell, teasing me enough to keep me on my toes but grounding me with his steady presence.

When he walked me to my apartment door that night, the air between us was warm and alive with unspoken things.

"I had a really great time tonight," he said, his voice softer now, his usual playful tone laced with sincerity. "It was good to see you like this, happy."

"I've missed it," I admitted. "Being out, just... being with you."

His hand reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was so gentle, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me. His fingers lingered, and I felt the urge to lean into him, to close the space between us.

"You know," he said with a teasing lilt, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were starting to enjoy my company."

I laughed, rolling my eyes as I folded my arms. "Oh, don't get ahead of yourself. I'm just tolerating you, really."

"Right," he drawled, his grin widening. "So when you asked me to stay a little longer last time, that was just you... tolerating me?"

I opened my mouth to retort, but he leaned in just enough to make me lose my train of thought. "Admit it, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping low. "You like having me around."

I narrowed my eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "You know what, Han? Maybe I do. But don't let it go to your head."

"Oh, it's too late for that," he said, his laughter bubbling up as he stepped back. "You've just made my entire week."

As he said goodnight, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, I couldn't help but smile. His playful teasing and genuine care blended so seamlessly, making every moment with him feel effortless yet profound.

And as I closed the door behind him, my heart felt lighter than it had in months. Han had this way of making even the simplest evenings feel extraordinary, and for that, I knew I was in trouble—in the best possible way.

After Han left the apartment that night, a heavy emptiness settled over me. I should have asked him to stay—should have let the evening linger a little longer. But I didn't. Instead, I gave in to my own hesitation, my cowardice swallowing the words I wanted to say.

I tried to shake off the feeling as I moved through my bedtime routine. A face mask and a matcha latte—little indulgences to soothe my restless mind. The warm glow of the apartment felt like a fragile barrier against the shadows creeping into my thoughts.

Then my phone buzzed, shattering the quiet.

The message was from an unknown number. As I read the text, my blood ran cold:

If you don't stay away from Han, I will tell the agency what you two have been doing together. Consider this a threat. The first time I got you failed, but you won't be so lucky next time. Dare to tell anyone, and I will hurt not just you, but Han as well.

The words felt like a dagger, each sentence more chilling than the last. My hands trembled as I clutched the phone, rereading the message as if doing so would make it disappear. But the threat was there, stark and undeniable, dragging my fears into sharp focus.

Whoever this was, they didn't just know about me—they knew about Han. And they weren't bluffing. I could feel the malice radiating from every word, a calculated promise of harm if I dared to push back.

When they said "the first time I got you failed, but you won't be so lucky next time" does that mean the hit-and-run was purposeful?