A Backstage Love I Han Jisung x Reader

One Night At A Time

My heart melted instantly when he held me close to his chest, his warmth grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I needed. Han's hand rested lightly on my shoulder, his thumb brushing slow circles against the fabric of my shirt. The tension I'd been carrying all night ebbed slightly, like the tide retreating from the shore.

"You're still wound up," he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender.

I didn't answer—couldn't, really. He was right. The remnants of my nightmare clung to me like cobwebs, fragile but suffocating.

Without hesitation, Han shifted slightly, his breath brushing the top of my head. And then, he began to hum.

The tune was unfamiliar but soothing, each note reverberating in his chest, creating a vibration I could feel against my cheek. His voice was low and unpolished, yet there was something achingly gentle about the way he carried the melody.

"You're humming?" I mumbled, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Don't act so shocked," he replied, the corners of his lips curving into a smirk I couldn't see but somehow felt. "I've got layers. Like an onion. Or a very expensive croissant."

Despite myself, a quiet laugh escaped. "A croissant?"

"Yeah, you know. Flaky, buttery, irresistible... It checks out."

I pulled back slightly to look up at him, his expression a perfect mix of playfulness and sincerity. "You're so weird."

"Maybe," he said, his grin softening, continuing his gentle hum.

The tune was unfamiliar but soothing, each note reverberating in his chest, creating a vibration I could feel against my cheek. His voice wasn't trained, but there was a natural warmth to it, like he was singing just for me.

"What are you humming?" I mumbled, my voice muffled against his shirt.

He paused, considering. "It's a song I've written recently. I guess you're the first to hear it."

I lifted my eyes, looking up to where his chin once rested on the top of my head. "It sounds like something out of a lullaby."

"Good," he said simply. "Because you need to sleep."

"I can't." The words escaped before I could stop them, my throat tightening as I admitted it aloud. "Every time I close my eyes..."

"I know," he interrupted gently, cutting through the rising edge of my voice. His hand moved up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair with surprising tenderness.

"Han," I whispered, my voice shaky.

"Hmm?" His tone was light, but I could hear the concern lurking beneath it.

"Thank you," I managed, though it felt like an understatement.

His lips brushed the top of my head, so soft I almost thought I imagined it. "You don't have to thank me for that."

A beat of silence passed, broken only by the sound of his steady breathing.

His steady breathing seemed to echo in the quiet room, wrapping around me like a safety net. The weight of his hand stayed at the back of my head, as if he were afraid to let go, and it sent a fresh wave of comfort through me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice hesitant, like he didn't want to push too far but couldn't leave me alone in my silence.

I shook my head against his chest. "Not yet."

"That's okay," he murmured, and I felt the words more than heard them.

He shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher around us, and I could feel his chin rest atop my head again. "You know," he started, his voice softer now, "if holding you like this gets you even a little bit of peace... I'll stay here as long as you need."

My throat tightened at his words, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. Instead, I swatted weakly at his chest. "You're such a sap," I muttered, though my voice wavered.

He laughed quietly, a sound that rumbled low in his chest. "You love it," he teased, his hand resuming its soothing path across my back.

"Maybe," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"That's what I thought," he said, a grin audible in his voice.

I rolled my eyes, resting more heavily against him. "I'll deny it later, just so you know."

"Oh, I'd expect nothing less," he replied, his tone light.

The warmth of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet hum of his voice began to lull me into something I hadn't felt in days: a sense of safety.

"Just try to rest," he murmured, his lips brushing against my hair. "No one's going to touch you while I'm here."

And this time, I let myself believe him.