Want so Bad Han Jisung x Reader x Lee Minho

"Let's get it started, getting anxious, can't think straight

I'll give you an armful of  cosmos flowers"

Minho

The door to the rooftop creaked open with a long sigh, the kind that sounded like even the building was tired. The wind was cooler up here, brushing across my neck as I stepped out into the night. I should've turned around. I should've gone back to my dorm, pulled the covers over my head, and ignored the way my chest had been tightening for days. But something told me not to. Something pulled me forward.

And then I saw her.

Y/N was sitting with her back against the railing, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves bunched up in her fists. Her face was half-hidden, but I could see the tremble in her shoulders. She hadn't heard me come in.

I froze.

For a second, I considered walking away—giving her the space I always told myself she deserved. But that was a lie, wasn't it? The space was never for her. It was for me. Because I didn't know how to stay. Didn't know how to be someone who could hold another person's hurt without cracking under it.

Still, I stepped forward.

"It's late," I said, voice quiet.

She stiffened, wiped her face hastily, and turned away from me. "Didn't realize I booked the rooftop. Should I leave?"

I shook my head, even though she wasn't looking. "No. I... I just needed air."

I sat down beside her, not too close, but close enough that I could feel her heat through the chill in the air. The silence stretched between us like a tightrope.

"Bad day?" I asked after a while.

She gave a short laugh. It wasn't a happy sound. "Which one?"

I looked at her then. Really looked. Her eyes were rimmed red, lashes wet, mouth pressed into a line she probably practiced in the mirror to make people believe she was fine.

"Y/N..."

"Don't," she said, shaking her head. "Please, don't be nice to me right now. I'll break."

I clenched my hands into fists on my knees. "Okay. I won't."

We sat there a while longer. The sounds of the campus below drifted up to us: laughter from somewhere distant, the buzz of a scooter engine, wind skimming over the trees.

She sniffled, wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Sorry. You probably came up here to be alone."

"I came up here because I didn't know where else to go."

Her eyes flicked toward me.

"You ever feel like you're always two steps away from falling apart, and you just keep moving anyway? Because what else are you supposed to do?"

She nodded slowly, eyes glassy. "Every day."

I blew out a breath. "When my mom died, I was nine. It was quick. A stroke. One moment she was tucking me in, and the next day, she was gone."

She went still.

"My dad lasted another month. Packed a bag while I was at school. Left a note that said he couldn't do it."

I didn't realize how hard it would be to say it out loud. My chest felt hollow, like the words were scraping something raw on the way out.

"My grandparents took me in," I continued. "They weren't cruel. Not really. But they blamed me in a hundred ways that didn't need words. They raised me on silence. On closed doors and quiet meals. No birthdays. No hugs. Just... expectations."