A Backstage Love I Han Jisung x Reader

And Then We Broke

Finally, Han smiled faintly, the playful glint in his eyes returning. "Besides," he added with a smirk, "you still owe me access to your snack stash."

The tension hung between us, sharp and electric, as if the wrong word might snap the fragile thread keeping us connected. My lips still tingled from the kiss, my mind racing to process what had just unfolded. Han's smirk, though teasing, carried an undertone of something far more serious.

I hesitated, my gaze lingering on him as he raked a hand through his disheveled hair. His usual confidence remained, but beneath it was something raw and unguarded—a vulnerability that made my chest tighten.

"Goodnight, Han," I said finally, retreating toward my bedroom. My steps were quick, deliberate, and I resisted the urge to look back.

When the door clicked shut behind me, I let out a shaky breath, leaning against it as my fingers brushed over my lips. They still felt warm, the memory of his kiss branded there like an echo I couldn't escape.

What was I doing?

I'd let my guard down, let myself slip—and now, there was no way to rebuild the neat walls we'd once kept between us. The worst part? I didn't regret it.

Han stayed on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a faint smile tugging at his lips. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, but his mind was anything but quiet.

He hadn't planned for this—lowering his defenses, letting her in. Yet here he was, caught in a moment that felt both exhilarating and dangerous. He touched his lips absently, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

The next morning, I woke later than usual, the sunlight streaming through the blinds doing little to chase away my restless thoughts. Everything was still a tangled mess, knotted up in the memory of Han and that kiss.

When I finally stepped into the kitchen, the smell of coffee hit me first, followed by the sight of Han leaning against the counter, a mug in hand. His hair was still messy, his T-shirt rumpled from sleeping on the couch, but somehow, he made it look effortless.

"Morning," he said with a lazy grin, his voice warm and teasing.

I hesitated, awkwardness creeping in. "Morning," I mumbled, grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

"Sleep well?" he asked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I shot him a pointed look over my shoulder. "You know I didn't."

Han chuckled, setting his mug down. "If it helps, I didn't either."

His tone softened, the teasing giving way to something quieter, and my stomach flipped. He stepped closer, the space between us feeling smaller than before.

"Look, Y/N," he began, his voice dropping to that serious tone he used when he wasn't joking around. "About last night—"

The buzz of my phone on the counter cut him off. Grateful for the distraction, I snatched it up, but the relief was short-lived as I read the message.

An unknown number.

"I'm watching you."

The words sent a chill down my spine. My grip tightened on the phone, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

Han noticed immediately, his teasing demeanor replaced by sharp concern. "What is it?" he asked, stepping closer.

I handed him the phone silently, my thoughts racing. The kiss, the tension—it all faded as the stalker's threat crashed over me.

Han's jaw clenched as he read the message, his carefree façade vanishing. He looked at me, his eyes steady and full of resolve.

"We're not taking chances anymore," he said firmly. "From now on, we do this my way."

I wanted to argue, but fear stole my voice. I nodded, swallowing hard as the gravity of the situation settled over us.

Han's hand brushed against mine, his touch grounding me.

"We'll figure this out," he said, his voice steady, almost a promise. "I won't let anything happen to you."

His words lingered in the air, weighty and unyielding. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't find the right response.

"Han..." I started, but his unwavering gaze silenced me.

"I mean it," he said. "You're not in this alone."

I swallowed, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, the space between us shrinking to nothing.

"Thank you," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

He nodded, his expression softening. For a fleeting second, I thought he might lean closer, and the thought sent a shiver up my spine—not from fear, but from something I couldn't name.

The rest of the day blurred by. I busied myself with small tasks, but no matter what I did, I felt Han's presence like a gravitational pull. He stayed on the couch, his phone in hand, always glancing up when I moved.

By nightfall, my nerves were frayed. Lying in bed, I replayed the day over and over, but my thoughts always returned to him—his steady voice, the brush of his hand against mine.

A noise broke through my thoughts, and I bolted upright. It was just Han shifting on the couch, but my heart still raced.

"Get a grip," I muttered, throwing off the covers. I needed water—or maybe just an excuse to see if he was still awake.

The living room was dim, lit only by the glow of his phone screen. Han was stretched out, one arm draped over his face, his legs hanging off the couch.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and rough with sleep.

"Couldn't sleep," I admitted, leaning against the doorframe.

"Same here."

The silence that followed was charged, almost too much.

"I'm fine," I said, crossing my arms. "You don't have to play bodyguard."

"I'm not playing," he replied, sitting up slightly. "But you're not fine. And I'm not leaving until you're safe."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he stood, closing the space between us in a few quick steps.

"Han—"

"You can try to push me away all you want," he said softly, a quiet challenge in his tone. "But we both know I'm not going anywhere."