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Jeongin usually blend into the house like she’d always belonged there.
The teen sat cross-legged on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, phone held close to her face, thumb scrolling lazily.
The TV was on, but muted, cartoons flickering for the younger kids sprawled on the floor. Chan and the twins were arguing softly over whose turn it was, Yongbok sat beside them braiding a doll's hair that absolutely did not need braiding.
Changbin hovered.
He pretended to be busy, leaning against the kitchen counter, pretending to read something on his own phone, glancing up every few seconds.
Jeongin’s eyebrows kept doing this tiny thing where they’d lift and then pull together, like she was invested.
Too invested.
“What’re you reading?” Changbin asked, finally.
Jeongin flinched.
She actually, visibly flinched.
She locked her phone almost instantly and looked up at him, eyes wide and suspicious.
“Nothing.”
Changbin squinted. “That... was fast.”
“I just… I got bored.”
“You don’t get bored like that,” Changbin said, tilting his head. “You were smiling. And then you frowned. And then you did that thing with your mouth.”
Jeongin blinked. “What thing?”
“Like you were trying not to scream,” he said helpfully.
Jeongin sighed, shoulders dropping. “Can you not call attention to it?”
Changbin’s curiosity officially activated. He walked over and sat on the arm of the couch, leaning a little closer, but not touching.
“Is it an online novel?”
Jeongin hesitated.
Just for a second.
Changbin noticed.
“Kind of,” she said.
“Kind of?”
She unlocked her phone again, stared at the screen like it might betray her.
“It’s… it's a fanfic.”
Changbin froze. “A what?”
“A fanfiction,” she repeated, slower. “Like… a story written by fans. About characters they like.”
Changbin frowned. “Like… cartoons?”
“No,” Jeongin said quickly. “Well... sometimes. But also real people. Or fictional characters. Or- just… stuff.”
“That’s weird,” Changbin said honestly.
Jeongin rolled her eyes. “You play video games where you fight aliens. Don’t start.”
“That’s different,” he argued. “Mine are cool.”
“So are emotionally complex slow-burn dark romances,” she shot back.
Changbin stared. “Emotionally... what?”
Jeongin laughed despite herself, then covered her mouth. “Okay, see, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“No, wait,” Changbin said, suddenly defensive. “I’m not judging. I just... didn’t know people did that.”
“They do,” Jeongin said. “A lot.”
“Is it… good?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Some are cringe. Some are actually really well written. Some makes us think even Shakespeare could never.”
Changbin leaned back slightly, processing. “So… you’re reading someone else’s story. About characters you already know.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re invested,” he added.
“Yes.”
“And you hid it from me,” he finished, mock-offended.
Jeongin glanced at him sideways. “You’d make it weird.”
Changbin opened his mouth to protest, then paused. “Uh… I would, wouldn’t I?”
“Absolutely.”
They shared a quiet laugh.
Changbin looked at her phone again, softer this time. “What’s it about?”
Jeongin hesitated, then tilted the screen just enough for him to see lines of text. “It’s… about two idiots who like each other but don’t know how to say it.”
Changbin swallowed. “Oh,” he said.
Jeongin locked her phone again, cheeks warm. “Don’t read into that.”
“I wasn’t,” Changbin lied immediately.
The younger kids resumed their chaos, noise rising again. Changbin stayed where he was, heart doing something unfamiliar, because suddenly, Jeongin wasn’t just his crush.
She was someone with secret worlds on her phone.
And he really, really wanted to know them.
Changbin didn’t move from the couch. At least not right away.
He pulled out his phone instead, thumb hovering uncertainly over the screen like he was about to touch something dangerous. Jeongin watched him from the corner of her eye, pretending she wasn’t watching at all.
“What are you doing?” she asked casually.
“Research,” Changbin said, very seriously.
She snorted. “You’re going to hate it.”
“I won’t,” he said, already frowning as he typed something into the search bar. “I just need to see what the big deal is.”
He clicked the first result.
His face immediately twisted.
“Why are there so many words,” he complained. “And why are they talking about feelings already?”
Jeongin shrugged. “That’s kind of the point.”
He scrolled.
Scrolled more.
Clicked another one.
“Nope. This one starts with crying. I don’t trust it.”
Jeongin laughed quietly, chin resting on her hand. “You didn’t even read a paragraph.”
“I read enough,” Changbin said, about to give up.
Then he paused.
His thumb froze.
“Wait...”
“What?” Jeongin looked up properly now.
Changbin leaned closer to his screen, eyes narrowing. Then widening. “No way,” he whispered.
He clicked it.
His mouth fell open.
“Innie,” he breathed, shoving the phone toward her. “This- this is about them.”
She glanced at the screen.
A fanfic about the anime characters he’d talked about for weeks. The ones he insisted had way more chemistry with each other than the canon couple.
Changbin looked at her like he’d just discovered fire.
“I knew it,” he said, half-laughing. “I knew they’d be a better couple. When I watched it, I was like- why are they looking at each other like that? But I didn’t know-”
“That stories exist?” Jeongin finished, smirking.
“Yes!” Changbin said, almost bouncing.
Jeongin leaned back, arms crossed, satisfaction clear on her face.
“Welcome to the magic world.”
Changbin scrolled faster now, eyes darting across the screen. “There’s so many. Oh my god. This one’s long. And this one’s rated expli- wait, what does that mean?”
Jeongin laughed. “Slow down. You’ll get there.”
Changbin looked up at her, grin wide and unguarded. “This is actually... kind of cool.”
Jeongin watched him quietly then.
The way his excitement built in small bursts. The way he leaned closer without realizing it. The way his eyes lit up when something matched what he’d always felt but never said out loud.
She smiled to herself.
Yeah.
He belonged here.
The garden was loud in a comfortable way.
Grass stained knees, laughter echoing off the walls, Chan chasing the twins in wide, uneven circles while Yongbok yelled rules no one was actually following. The sun dipped low enough to turn everything warm and golden.
Jeongin sat on the steps with her legs stretched out, watching them with an easy smile.
Changbin sat beside her, still glued to his phone.
He’d been scrolling for a while now, face changing every few seconds. Interested. Confused. Slightly horrified. Intrigued again.
He suddenly stopped.
“Hey,” he said.
Jeongin glanced at him. “What?”
“What does Y slash N mean?”
She froze. Then she laughed. Loudly. So suddenly that Chan looked over in alarm.
“How did you even get there?” Jeongin asked, still laughing.
Changbin looked offended. “I clicked something. It had their names. And then suddenly there was this.”
She wiped at her eyes. “Okay. Y/N means ‘your name.’”
He frowned. “My name?”
“Kind of,” she said. “It’s so readers can imagine themselves in the story.”
Changbin stared at his phone like it had betrayed him.
Slowly, he read a paragraph out loud under his breath.
“‘Y/N- okay, Changbin felt their heart race as the cold mafia-’” He stopped, face scrunching. “Eww.”
Jeongin laughed again. “You’re not the target audience.”
Changbin regretted everything in exactly three paragraphs, phone too close to his face, thumb frozen mid-scroll. His nose wrinkled. His lips twisted.
“Why is he a mafia boss? And also why is he like... so tall?” he muttered.
Jeongin, across from him, didn’t even look surprised. She was scrolling through her own phone, calm, unbothered, like this was a perfectly normal phase of human existence.
Changbin read aloud, voice getting flatter by the sentence.
“‘He smirked darkly, his dark orbs fixed on the small fragile body of yours, his gun resting on your waist-’ EW, ew, eww.” He pulled the phone away like it might bite him. “Why does he own five clubs, four legal, plus three illegal businesses and still have time to stalk a person, and fall in love?”
Jeongin snorted. “Multitasking king.”
He kept reading despite himself.
“‘Changbin leaned closer to the mafia boss' deep voice sending shivers-’ STOP.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I would never do that. Sounds like that one is a walking red flag.”
Jeongin finally glanced at him. “You clicked mafia AU. What did you expect. Baking cookies?”
Changbin scrolled again, then suddenly frowned.
“Wait.”
He squinted at the screen.
“‘She felt his presence behind her-’”
He blinked.
Scrolled back up.
“She?” Then louder, offended, “SHE- SHE??”
Jeongin burst out laughing. Like actually doubled over. “Change the gender, you pabo,” she said between laughs. “Y/N means your name. You’re supposed to imagine yourself there.”
Changbin stared at the screen, deeply unimpressed. “I did. And it still doesn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said seriously, “I don’t look like this. I don’t act like this. And why am I always fragile, in debt, in dangerous situations, and ends up with someone emotionally unavailable?”
“Fantasy.” Jeongin shrugged. Then, she smiled, softer now. “That’s why people like it. It’s not real.”
Changbin sighed, locking his phone and dropping it beside him like he’d survived something.
“Okay. I get the appeal,” he admitted reluctantly. “But some of these are crimes.”
Jeongin smirked. “And yet, you read it.”
He groaned. “I hate that you’re right.”
She leaned back, satisfied.
Changbin stared at the plants, traumatized, enlightened, and very aware that the magic world had layers he was not prepared for.
“That’s enough internet for me,” Changbin declared, locking his phone dramatically and setting it face down.
He stood up, stretching his arms. “I’m going to play. Before I accidentally become part of a love triangle.”
Jeongin smirked. “Wise choice.”
Changbin jogged toward the kids, immediately getting tackled by the twins. Jeongin watched him go, amused, content to sit back and let him figure things out at his own pace.
Changbin sat on the low garden wall, elbows on his knees, staring very hard at absolutely nothing.
The kids were still running around behind him, but the noise felt distant now, muted, like he’d turned the volume down inside his own head.
His phone rested in his palm, screen dark, but his thumb kept rubbing the edge like muscle memory.
Jeongin came back from inside with her bag slung over one shoulder, jacket half on. She slowed when she noticed him sitting there so still.
“You good?” she asked, gentle.
Changbin blinked, then nodded once.
She tilted her head. “That... looks suspicious.”
“I wanna prove something,” he said suddenly.
Jeongin paused, then sat down beside him anyway, bag slipping to the ground. “Okay. Prove what?”
Changbin looked at her, eyes serious. “I was searching,” he admitted. “Like... after you explained. Not just that one thing. Tags. Tropes. Pairs that don’t even make sense.”
Jeongin’s lips twitched. She waited.
“And all of them exist,” he continued, disbelief lacing his voice. “Enemies, best friends, background characters who talked once. I searched the most impossible combinations I could think of. Still there. Thousands.” He let out a short laugh. “So I thought, there has to be one thing that doesn’t exist. One pair. One trope. One plot no one’s written.”
Jeongin leaned back on her hands. “And?”
He shook his head. “Couldn’t find it.”
She smiled, soft and knowing. “Because it's impossible.”
“What?”
“There isn’t just one,” she said simply. “All pairs exist. All ideas exist, because people who like them exists. It’s… a different world.”
Changbin went quiet again, processing. Then he looked at her, a little accusatory, a little amazed. “You hid this from me all this time.”
Jeongin huffed. “I didn’t hide it. People just… don’t usually like it. They get judgmental. Or weird about it.”
“Why?” Changbin asked immediately.
She shrugged. “Because it’s not ‘serious.’ Or they think it’s cringe. Or pointless.”
Changbin frowned, deep and thoughtful. “That’s stupid,” he said. “It’s like… a dream world. Where anything you think of already exists somewhere. Or can.”
Jeongin watched his face soften as the words settled. He looked almost... happy. Like he’d stumbled into a place he didn’t know he’d been looking for.
“I think I like it,” Changbin admitted quietly.
Jeongin smiled to herself.
Yeah, she thought. I can see that.
Changbin stayed quiet for a moment longer, gaze still unfocused, like his thoughts were slowly rearranging themselves into something new.
Then, very casually, too casually, he cleared his throat. “So… what kind of fanfic do you read?”
Jeongin froze.
Not dramatically. Not obviously. Just... paused. Like someone had hit buffering on her brain.
“Why?” she asked after a second, too quick, too careful.
Changbin turned to look at her properly now.
Suspiciously.
“Because,” he said, narrowing his eyes a little, “you know way too much. And you hesitated earlier. And every time I ask something, you look like you’re deciding whether to lie or not.”
Jeongin opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Changbin’s eyebrows lifted. Slowly. “Oh...”
“Oh what,” she said, immediately defensive.
“Oh nothing,” he replied, grinning now, the kind that meant he’d smelled blood. “Just… interesting.”
She crossed her arms. “You don’t need to know.”
“That’s not a no,” Changbin pointed out.
“That’s a boundary.”
He leaned back against the wall, hands up in surrender, but his smile stayed. “Okay. Fine. Keep your secrets.”
Jeongin shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe,” he said lightly. “But it’s cool. I get it. Different world, right?”
She relaxed just a little.
The kids’ laughter filled the space between them, warm and loud and grounding.
Changbin stood up, stretching. “Don’t worry,” he added, glancing back at her. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”
Jeongin stared at him. “You’re terrifying.”
He laughed, already walking back toward the chaos. “Welcome to the magic world.”
Jeongin watched him go, shaking her head, half fond, half doomed.
And somewhere between suspicion and curiosity, the line had already been crossed.
Fanfics are indeed... Godsend.