A Backstage Love I Han Jisung x Reader

The Knife With A Lasting Wound

I didn't know how deeply that night had cut him, not just through his guilt but through his heart. I had been so consumed by my own fear and pain that I hadn't stopped to think about how much he was carrying, how close he thought he was to losing me.

I stepped back just enough to look at him, my hand still tightly clasping his. His eyes were dark, but they weren't weighed down with the same burden anymore. For the first time, I saw the raw vulnerability in them, and it hit me like a tidal wave.

He wasn't just scared of that night. He was terrified of living in a world without me.

"You've been holding this in," I said softly, my voice trembling as I pieced it together. "All this time, you've been holding it in."

He hesitated, his lips parting as though he wanted to deny it, but the words never came. Instead, he nodded, his gaze dropping to where our hands were intertwined.

I felt my throat tighten, a lump forming as I tried to find the right words. "Han... I didn't know," I whispered. "I didn't realize how much it hurt you, too."

He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Of course it hurt. You mean everything to me, Y/N."

Those words struck a chord deep within me, unraveling the knot of emotions I hadn't even realized I'd been holding onto. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but for once, they weren't from fear or sadness—they were from relief.

Because he wasn't bottling it up anymore. He was letting it out, piece by piece, just as I had needed him to.

"I'm so glad you're telling me this," I said, my voice cracking as I blinked back the tears. "I've been so scared—scared of what happened, scared of what could've happened—but I didn't know you were feeling it too. I thought... I thought you were trying to act like it didn't matter."

"It mattered," he said, his voice firm, but there was no anger in it. Just a quiet, steady truth. "It still matters. But I didn't want to make it harder for you by saying it out loud."

I shook my head, a tear slipping free despite my best efforts.

His eyes softened, and he reached up to wipe the tear away with his thumb. "I just... I don't ever want to lose you," he said again, as if saying it would make it real, make it a vow.

"You won't," I said, my voice steady now. "Not because of me, and not because of you holding it all in."

For the first time since that night, I felt lighter. Like we'd finally peeled back the layers of fear and guilt and found something solid underneath—something we could stand on together.

I squeezed his hand, and he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. And maybe, for him, I was.

"I'm here, Han," I said again, not because he needed the reassurance, but because I needed him to hear it. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

He pulled me into his arms again, holding me close like he was afraid to let go. But this time, it wasn't fear that kept us clinging to each other—it was love.

And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

As the heaviness in the air began to lift, I felt Han's arms loosen around me. He pulled back slightly, his eyes darting around the room as if noticing where he was for the first time.

"So," he said, his voice lighter now, though the raw edge from before still lingered faintly. "This is the part where I stay and we raid your fridge, right? You didn't let me in just to cry all over your shirt."

I let out a laugh, swiping at my eyes. "Oh, don't worry. The fridge is basically empty. I was planning to go shopping tomorrow."

He gasped in mock horror, his hand flying to his chest. "Empty? What kind of host are you? How am I supposed to recover from my emotional trauma without snacks?"

Rolling my eyes, I walked toward the kitchen. "I think I have leftover takeout. You're welcome to that."

He followed me, hands shoved into his pockets, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. "Leftover takeout? Is that what you're feeding me now? I'm not some stray cat you found in an alley, you know."

"Really? Because you definitely eat like one," I shot back, opening the fridge and peeking inside.

Han leaned casually against the counter, his expression full of exaggerated judgment. "I'll have you know, I have refined tastes."

"Uh-huh." I grabbed a takeout container and waved it at him. "How do your refined tastes feel about cold dumplings?"

His grin widened. "They feel fantastic, actually. Hand them over."