Shared Spaces & Hidden Desires ? Seungcheol

YN

It was already the second night of our parents staying with us.

Earlier, I had asked my mom quietly, "How long are you staying for?"

She smiled gently and said, "Just until tomorrow."

Just one more night. I should've felt relieved. But all I felt was tightness in my chest. One more night of anxiety. One more night of pretending everything's okay—when none of us really said how we felt. Approval never came. Disapproval didn't either. Just... silence. And that silence was louder than anything else.

I was quiet the entire day. Polite. Reserved. Distant. I didn't want to say anything wrong. I didn't want to be a reason for anyone to feel disappointed—not my parents, not his. Not him.

But Seungcheol?

He was steady.

So unbelievably steady.

Even after everything—even when he must've been just as scared as I was—he never let it show. Not to them. Not to me.

At lunch, he placed a spoonful of the side dish he knew I liked onto my plate and asked gently, "Do you want anything else?" like we were alone, like we weren't sitting with four of the most important people in our lives.

When I got up to get water during dinner, he stood too, brushing his hand subtly over the small of my back as he walked beside me, only to grab the bottle first and pour a glass for me without saying a word.

He'd noticed how I wasn't eating much, and leaned in once to whisper, "Here, eat more of this. It's your favourite." Then gave me more of the dishes I preferred.

It was the little things. Always the little things with him. A napkin placed next to me. Peeling the shrimp he knew I wouldn't. Sitting just a little closer. Brushing his pinky against mine under the table.

He took care of me without making a show of it—like he just needed to. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for him.

And God, I couldn't have been more grateful.

But even with all that... when night came and I laid in the guest room again, the fear returned full force.

The room was dark, but my mind was loud. My heart hurt. That dull ache of uncertainty. The not knowing.

Not knowing how they truly felt. Not knowing if we were doing something right or if we were disappointing the very people who raised us.

I stared at the door, almost ashamed at how desperately I wanted him to come in. Hoping. Waiting. Counting the seconds in my head, not even blinking.

And then—soft, like before—the door opened.

He stepped inside quietly, closing it just as gently, and climbed onto the bed like he belonged there. Because he did. He always did.

I didn't even wait this time.

I moved toward him before he could pull me in.

Wrapped myself around him, burying my face in his chest as my hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt like I'd drown if I let go.

His arms wrapped around me instantly, holding me like he knew. Like he always knew.

I whispered into the silence of his chest, "They didn't say anything again. It's like... they don't want to approve. But they don't want to hurt me either."

He kissed the top of my head. "I know, love. I know."

"What if they never really do? What if we're always just... tolerated?"