After The Send-Off | Mingi x Reader Pairing

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Where Light Begins to Fade

The morning after the kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower, you stayed in bed longer than usual. The city outside your window bustled awake - clinking dishes, muffled chatter, the occasional echo of a scooter down a narrow street, but inside your hotel room, there was only stillness. A heaviness settled on your chest, like a weighted blanket you hadn't asked for but couldn't shake.

You hadn't heard from Mingi since he told you to sleep well at your door. Not a message. Not a knock. Nothing. And maybe that was fine. Maybe he needed space. Or maybe last night was a mistake for him, something beautiful and fleeting that couldn't survive the flash of a camera.

You told yourself not to overthink it. But the voice in your head that never truly slept whispered otherwise.

You thought of all the reasons he might've changed his mind. All the things about you that were too much, too dark, too inconvenient. All the things you worked so hard to hide. But no amount of rationalizing could hush the sting of silence.

That afternoon, staff texted you your credentials for the Paris show. You hadn't even asked for them. Part of you considered not going. But the other part - the part that still believed in something small and sacred - told you to show up. Even if just to hear their music again.

Because ATEEZ had always been your lifeline. Even before Mingi. Even before the kiss and backstage flirtations. During the rat race at home. When things had felt impossibly dark, their music cracked the window open just wide enough to let in light.

You got dressed slowly, pulling on black jeans and an oversized bomber jacket, hair tucked under a beanie. You looked in the mirror and barely recognized yourself, not because you were hiding, but because you didn't feel anything at all. You were numb. And maybe that was worse.

The venue buzzed with energy by the time you arrived. Fans chanted. Lights pulsed. The bass reverberated through the concrete floor. You found your seat off to the side, hidden enough to avoid attention but close enough to see every emotion flicker across Mingi's face.

When the lights dropped and the opening VCR played, your heart skipped. The crowd erupted, and the boys took the stage with fire in their veins. They owned the night. Each step, each note, every look to the crowd felt precise and powerful.

But when your eyes landed on Mingi, something was off.

He wasn't flat - he never was - but something in his gaze flickered. Like he was looking for something. Or someone. His eyes scanned the crowd more than usual. They lingered too long on the sides of the stage. And when his eyes finally found yours, just for a moment, they stopped. Locked. Held.

Your breath caught.

He didn't smile. He didn't wink or give one of those playful nods. He just stared. Eyes dark and unreadable. Then, just as quickly, he turned away and kept rapping, sweat glistening on his jaw.

The show raged on. You tried to focus, to get lost in the performance, to hold on to the feeling that used to save you. But the darkness inside you had started whispering again.

You don't belong here.

He's just being polite.

It was one kiss. One mistake.

Backstage after the show, you waited near the catering table, half-heartedly sipping a bottled water. You could hear the laughter down the hall. The boys were celebrating. You didn't want to intrude. You weren't part of their world. Not really.

Yeosang found you first.

"You okay?" he asked in his soft, accented English.

You nodded too quickly. "Yeah. I'm fine."

He tilted his head, clearly not convinced, but didn't push. "Mingi... looking for you."

That made you pause. "He is?"

Yeosang nodded. "He quiet. Since yesterday."

Before you could respond, you saw him.

Mingi rounded the corner, hair damp, a towel slung around his neck. He looked tired. But when his eyes met yours again, they lit up just a little. Not like before. But enough.

"Hi," he said, stopping just in front of you.

"Hi."

Silence lingered between you for a moment too long. You hated how small you felt.

"You like show?" he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded. "Of course. You were amazing."

His lips curved up slightly, but he still looked unsure. "Can... talk? Later?"

You nodded again. Departing without anymore words. Hoping to wash away your uneasy feelings, you quickly get to your room and shower, somehow neither dreading nor looking forward to seeing Mingi later.

However, that night, you found yourself in his room, sitting on the edge of his hotel bed while he paced. He was always more talkative through action - his fidgeting, his expressive hands, the way he'd glance at you between thoughts.

"I scared you," he finally said.

You looked up. "What?"

"Yesterday. After kiss. I... not mean be cold." He frowned, searching for the right words. "I panic. Paparazzi. I want keep you safe. But also... I want hold your hand. Kiss you again. But... scared."

Your heart squeezed. You didn't realize you'd been holding your breath until now.

"I get scared too," you admitted quietly. "Sometimes I feel like I'm... sinking. Even when things are good."

He walked over slowly, kneeling in front of you. His fingers brushed yours. "You sink... I hold."

It was a simple sentence. Broken English. But it shattered something inside you.

You leaned into him without meaning to, your forehead resting against his. His hands found your waist, warm and tentative.

The kiss was softer this time. Familiar. But slower. Your hands found the nape of his neck, his touch pressing into the fabric of your jacket like he didn't want to let go. His mouth moved against yours with more certainty, and when your lips parted slightly, he deepened the kiss just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You pulled back first, heart racing.

"I don't want to rush," you whispered.

"I know," he said. "I wait. Just... want to be close."

So, you lay on the bed side by side, facing each other in the quiet. Your fingers found his again, lacing between them like they belonged there. His thumb stroked your knuckles gently, over and over again.

"Sometimes I... feel dark," you confessed quietly, your voice barely audible. Although this wasn't the confession you should have mentioned, it was an attempt, small at that. But you couldn't bare to muster up how you really felt. How inside you were broken and needed help. How could you tell him that?

Mingi's brow furrowed. "Inside?"

You nodded. "It creeps in. Quiet. I don't always notice it. Until I'm drowning."

His hand tightened slightly. "I know that place."

You looked at him, really looked. And he looked back, something flickering behind his eyes. A shadow you hadn't seen before. A sense of shared experience. Maybe you should trust him.

"You too?"

He nodded once. "Long time ago. I... not talk about it. But I know."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was sacred. Shared. You didn't want to push him for more just like you weren't willing to tell him everything....just yet. He didn't need to worry too much about you anyways.

But when he leaned in again, this time pressing his lips to your cheek, then your temple, then your hand, you felt something shift inside you. Not healed. Not fixed. But held.

That night, you fall asleep with his arm draped over your waist, your back to his chest, his breath warm on your neck.

And for the first time in a while, you dreamed of light instead of falling.