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𝐴 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 @angeliqueiguess
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015. Pushing TheLuck (FINAL)
w.count: 935
The store was quieter than it had been in weeks, the lingering hum of energy from the event slowly giving way to the usual late-night stillness. Y/n stood at the counter, scanning through the reports on her tablet. Sales had surged, and the numbers were better than she could have ever hoped. She still couldn’t believe it—they’d actually saved the store.
“Not bad, huh?”
She looked up to see Haechan leaning against the doorway, his ever-present grin accompanied by a slightly smug tilt of his head. His brown hair was messy, as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and the sequined jacket he’d been wearing all night was now slung over his shoulder.
“Not bad?” she echoed, shaking her head with a smile. “This was your crazy idea, remember? I should be asking how you feel about it.”
“I feel,” he said, crossing the room to stand beside her, “like we made history.”
Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the warmth his confidence brought her. “Well, the manager was impressed. I might actually get a raise for this.”
“Finally,” Haechan said, his tone light but his eyes sincere. “You deserve it.”
Y/n opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, the door to the breakroom swung open, and the manager walked in.
He rarely stayed this late, but tonight was different.
“Y/n,” he said, his expression uncharacteristically warm. “I just finished looking over the numbers. You did an incredible job. The store wouldn’t have made it without your hard work.”
She blinked, surprised by the compliment. “Thank you. But it wasn’t just me—”
“No, it was you,” the manager interrupted. “You kept this place running through everything. I’m lucky to have you on the team.”
Y/n felt a rush of pride, but before she could respond, Haechan clapped his hands dramatically. “Alright, alright, enough about Y/n. We all know she’s amazing. Can we focus on the unsung hero here? Me.”
The manager chuckled before nodding toward the door. “I’ll leave you two to clean up. Great work, Y/n. And Haechan, thanks for… whatever it is you did.”
“Hey, I’ll take it,” Haechan said as the manager left, leaving the two of them alone.
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, cleaning up the last remnants of the event. Haechan swept the floor with exaggerated flair, spinning the broom like a baton, while Y/n wiped down the counters.
“Do you ever stop showing off?” she asked, laughing despite herself.
“Not when there’s an audience,” he replied, winking at her.
Eventually, the cleaning was done, and the two of them stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against their faces. The store’s neon sign flickered above them, its red and blue glow casting soft shadows on the sidewalk.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Haechan said, leaning against the wall. “Knowing we actually pulled it off.”
“Yeah,” Y/n admitted, crossing her arms. “I thought I’d feel relieved, but now it’s like… what’s next?”
Haechan turned to face her, his usual playfulness replaced by something quieter. “Well, I know what’s next for me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
He hesitated for a moment, his hands fidgeting in his jacket pockets.
“Y/n… the store wasn’t the only reason I kept coming back, you know.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her voice steady. “What do you mean?”
He took a step closer, his gaze meeting hers. “At first, yeah, I just came in for snacks and to kill time. But then I got to know you. And the more I saw how hard you worked, how much you cared… I realized I wasn’t just showing up for the store. I was showing up for you.”
Y/n stared at him, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. She wasn’t used to people being this honest with her, and it left her momentarily speechless.
“I know I’m not exactly… serious all the time,” he continued, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “But I’m serious about this. About you.”
She felt a lump rise in her throat, but she managed a small smile. “Haechan…”
He held up a hand. “If you don’t feel the same, it’s fine. I’ll still come by and annoy you every night. But I had to tell you.”
For a moment, the only sound was the faint buzzing of the neon sign above them. Then, Y/n took a step forward, closing the space between them.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said softly, her voice tinged with affection.
“Yeah, but you like it,” he replied, his grin returning as his confidence flickered back.
She didn’t respond—not with words, at least. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepened as they both let go of the hesitation they’d been carrying for weeks.
When they finally pulled apart, Haechan’s grin was brighter than ever. “So… does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?”
Y/n laughed, her cheeks flushing. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Too late,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers. “I’m pushing all the luck I’ve got.”
As they stood there under the flickering neon sign, the city moving quietly around them, Y/n felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.
The store was safe, her hard work had finally been recognized, and for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she deserved a little happiness too.
And with Haechan by her side, she had a feeling the late nights were only just beginning.
prev/next masterlist
angie’s note: HE DID ITTTT! HE FINALLY DID IT! WAR IS OVER!
The night was electric. The venue was packed, the crowd a sea of faces lit by the soft glow of stage lights. Mark stood at the front of the stage, his guitar in hand, scanning the audience with a mix of nerves and excitement. His heart was pounding, but he knew that this moment—this performance—was the culmination of everything he had worked for.
Y/n sat near the front, her eyes fixed on him. She had been there for every step of his journey, through the late-night rehearsals, the doubts, the breakthroughs. But tonight, it was different. Tonight, Mark was about to perform not just for himself, but for everyone who had believed in him, for everyone who had supported him when he had almost given up. And she was right there, the person who had been his constant, watching him take this final step into the light.
The lights dimmed slightly, and a hush fell over the crowd as Mark stepped forward, his fingers gently strumming the opening chords of the song they had written together. The familiar melody filled the air, its rhythm steady and reassuring. The lyrics flowed with the same raw emotion that had first inspired them, but now, they carried a new weight—one shaped by the journey Mark had taken to get here.
Y/n’s heart swelled as she listened to Mark’s voice fill the room. She had always known how much he had to offer, how his music could touch people. But now, hearing it in front of a crowd—his crowd—felt like the realization of something more, something she had believed in from the very beginning.
Mark’s gaze flickered to her in the audience, and for a split second, the connection between them felt electric, like an unspoken conversation carried on the wings of the music. He wasn’t just performing for the crowd—he was performing for her, too.
As he reached the bridge of the song, Mark paused, his fingers resting on the guitar strings. The crowd waited, breathless. He stepped up to the microphone, his voice cutting through the silence.
“I want to take a moment before I finish this song,” he began, his tone filled with quiet sincerity. “This next part of my journey wouldn’t have been possible without one person. There’s someone here tonight who inspired me to keep going, someone who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”
The audience murmured, intrigued by the unexpected pause in the performance. Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening in surprise as Mark’s gaze locked with hers.
“This song,” he continued, “the one you’re about to hear, was born out of something old, something I thought was lost forever. It’s a story about rediscovering who you are and finding the courage to move forward. And I owe it to Y/n, who brought me back to my music when I had forgotten why it mattered in the first place.”
Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as the crowd erupted into applause. She felt her cheeks flush, but there was no mistaking the warmth that spread through her chest. Mark had just publicly credited her—his inspiration, his muse—for everything he had accomplished.
His voice softened, his gaze never leaving hers. “This song is for you, Y/n. For everything you’ve given me.”
A lump formed in Y/n’s throat, and she swallowed hard, her heart swelling with pride. She had never expected this, but hearing those words coming from him—coming from someone whose music had meant so much—was more than she could have imagined.
Mark continued, his fingers beginning to move again as the melody swelled. He played the final verse with a passion that was raw and unapologetic, every word a testament to his journey, to the trust they had built together.
The crowd cheered as the song came to an end, their applause reverberating through the venue. Mark stood there, his chest rising and falling with the emotion of the performance. For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the sound of their appreciation, but his eyes were still on Y/n, a silent thank-you passing between them.
When the noise died down, Mark spoke again, his voice thick with emotion. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Y/n. You helped me rewrite the story I thought was finished. And I’m not done yet.”
Y/n felt a tear slip down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. She was overwhelmed, not just by his words, but by the sheer depth of what they meant. He wasn’t just talking about the music. He was talking about everything—the way they had both grown, the way they had helped each other heal. They had both come to life again, in different ways, and they had done it together.
Mark lowered his guitar and gave her one last smile before he turned back to the microphone. “Thank you, everyone. This night is special to me, and I hope you’ll keep listening.”
The crowd cheered once more, but Y/n’s heart was still with the words he had spoken to her. He had finally found his place on that stage, and in doing so, he had given her something she would never forget.
As Mark exited the stage to a chorus of applause, he made his way directly toward Y/n, his expression soft but filled with purpose. He didn’t speak as he reached her; instead, he simply took her hand, his fingers warm and steady.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.
Y/n nodded, her emotions overwhelming her in the best way. “Yeah. I’m more than okay. I’m proud of you.”
Mark’s smile deepened, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
They stood there for a moment, just the two of them, surrounded by the cheers and the noise of the crowd. But in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them—two people who had helped each other find their way back to something they loved.
Y/n realized, as Mark’s hand gently squeezed hers, that this was just the beginning. Not just for Mark, but for both of them. They had rewritten the story of their lives, together, and nothing could change the bond they shared now.
The hidden notes, the unfinished lyrics, the doubts and the struggles—they had all led them here, to this moment of truth, of connection. And as they walked off into the night, hand in hand, Y/n knew one thing for certain: whatever came next, they would face it together.
previous // next masterlist
angie's note: that shoutouttt my gawd!!!
taglist: @thegracerammy @kittydollzz @nmlee @haluenx
023. cornered W.C: 912
The restaurant felt like a pressure cooker, with everyone trapped inside, sweating under the heat. Each shift dragged heavier than the last, and the looming shadow of the shiny new competitor down the block hung over them like a thundercloud. The steady stream of customers had become a trickle, and the tension in the kitchen was suffocating, ready to boil over at any second.
For Johnny, it already had.
Y/n could see it in the way his shoulders were constantly tense, in the clipped tone of his voice, and in the sharp, icy edges of his words. He wasn’t just snapping at her; he was snapping at everyone. But somehow, when she tried to help, to take even a fraction of the weight off his back, he shoved her away like her presence was only making things worse.
And those words of his—they stuck. “You don’t understand what’s at stake. You can’t.”
She replayed them more times than she cared to admit, their sting burrowing into her thoughts long after they’d been said. It wasn’t just the frustration in his voice—it was something deeper, rawer. And even though she knew the words were laced with fear, they still cut her.
That afternoon, she found refuge in the break room. Karina, Haechan, and Jeno were already there, each unwinding in their own way. Karina, as always, was the first to pick up on Y/n’s red-rimmed eyes and the tight line of her shoulders.
“Okay,” Karina said, putting her phone down and turning her full attention to Y/n. “Spill. What’s going on?”
Y/n sank into the chair with a heavy sigh, gratefully accepting the cup of tea Karina handed her. “It’s just… impossible. I get that he’s stressed and all, but it’s like everything I do is wrong. I tried to help, and he basically called me useless.”
Karina’s brows knit together, her protective instincts flaring up. “He said that?”
“Not in those exact words,” Y/n admitted, swirling her tea, “but… close enough.”
Haechan, ever the investigator, leaned back in his chair with a sly smirk. “Sounds like someone’s overthinking. Maybe he’s losing his mind because he knows you’re right.”
“Haechan,” Karina scolded in her best mom voice, but Jeno nodded thoughtfully.
“He’s scared,” Jeno said simply, his quiet tone carrying weight. “The way he’s acting? It’s not about you, Y/n. It’s because he feels like he’s failing.”
Y/n frowned, letting his words sink in. “Then why push everyone away? Why make it harder than it already is?”
“Pride,” Karina said, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s always been like this. But Jeno’s right—he’s scared. Still doesn’t excuse him, though.”
“Maybe he’s afraid if he apologizes, he’ll start crying,” Haechan quipped, dramatically pretending to sniffle.
Karina shot him a withering glare, but Y/n let out a small, weak laugh, feeling some of the tension in her chest ease just a little.
Meanwhile, in the quiet kitchen, Leeteuk and Heechul had cornered Johnny. His arms were crossed, his face set in a hard line.
“Johnny,” Leeteuk began, his voice steady.
“Whatever you’re doing,” Heechul cut in sharply, “stop.”
Johnny turned away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what the fuck we are talking about,” Heechul countered, his tone sharp as a knife.
Leeteuk placed a calming hand on Heechul’s shoulder before stepping forward. “You’re snapping at everyone, shutting people out, and now you’re taking it out on Y/n.”
At her name, Johnny’s shoulders went stiff, but he stayed silent.
“Do you really think you’re the only one who cares about this place?” Leeteuk pressed, his voice firm but calm. “Pushing people away isn’t going to solve anything.''
“Newsflash: it’s making things worse. And if you keep this up,” Heechul added harshly, meeting Johnny’s eyes with a steady glare, “you’ll lose more than this restaurant. And you’ll deserve it.”
Johnny’s head snapped up at that, a mix of guilt and defiance flashing across his face.
Leeteuk softened his tone as he stepped closer. “Talk to her, Johnny. She’s not your enemy. None of us are.”
Johnny didn’t respond, but their words lingered, carving deep into his thoughts. He wasn’t sure which fear gripped him harder: losing the restaurant or losing the one person who still mattered to him.
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angie's note: hiiiiiii, please don't kill me for being absent :(((((
taglist: @thegracerammy @neocupidd @pjsteroid @peterm4rker @pandagirl753 (lemme know it you'd like to be tagged <3)
014. Showstopper
w.count: 835
The store was quiet after another exhausting late-night shift, the kind of quiet that made Y/n’s doubts feel louder. Sitting on a stool behind the counter, she flipped through her notebook, its pages crammed with messy calculations and half-baked ideas. No matter how she spun the numbers, they all pointed to the same grim reality—sales weren’t cutting it, and time was running out.
Across from her, Haechan leaned lazily against the counter, crunching on a bag of chips he’d blatantly grabbed without paying.
Again.
“If this ship’s sinking,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs, “we might as well go down in flames. A real showstopper.”
Y/n didn’t even look up. “Unless your ‘showstopper’ magically triples our sales overnight, I’m not interested.”
“Wow. No faith in my vision. Hold on, though—” Haechan crumpled the chip bag and tossed it into the trash with an unnecessary amount of flair. “What if we turn this place into the late-night spot? Like, not just snacks and karaoke. Something… bigger.”
She raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “Define ‘bigger.’”
“Picture this,” he said, leaning forward like he was about to pitch a blockbuster. “Trivia nights. Open mics. Maybe even live art shows. This city never sleeps, right? So why should we? We’ll be the go-to for students, night owls, and anyone else who’s bored at 2 a.m.”
Y/n stared at him, trying to decide if he was a genius or just ridiculous. “You’re serious?”
“As serious as I’ve ever been,” he shot back, his grin unwavering. “We don’t just sell snacks; we sell a vibe. And when people are vibing, they spend money. Simple math.”
She tapped her pen against the notebook, thinking it over. It sounded insane, maybe impossible, but also… tempting. If nothing else, it was better than doing nothing.
“Okay,” she said cautiously. “But this has to be airtight. No half-assed ideas.”
“Done,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “Just sit back and watch me work.”
Haechan was a whirlwind. Within hours, he’d mobilized his mysterious network of friends, all of whom apparently had skills perfectly suited for his wild plan. Jeno designed eye-catching flyers that got plastered all over the neighborhood. Mark ditched his usual clumsiness to help rearrange shelves and set up makeshift stages.
Jisung and Haechan tag-teamed social media, hyping the event with countdown posts and behind-the-scenes content.
Even Y/n couldn’t help but get swept up in it. She spent late nights reorganizing the store, brainstorming deals, and trying not to roll her eyes too hard at Haechan’s constant theatrics.
By the time the big night rolled around, the store looked completely different. String lights hung from the ceiling, casting a cozy glow over the aisles. One corner had been turned into a trivia zone, complete with whiteboards and markers, while another featured a tiny stage surrounded by mismatched chairs.
“Ready to make history?” Haechan asked, strolling up beside her in a sequined jacket that looked like it belonged in a 70s disco.
“I’m ready to survive the night,” Y/n replied, though she couldn’t deny the flicker of excitement creeping in.
The event kicked off with a bang. Teams huddled in the trivia corner, arguing over obscure movie quotes and TikTok trends. Local musicians performed acoustic sets, their melodies mixing with the sound of laughter and chatter. Near the front, an artist set up a live painting session, drawing a small crowd of curious onlookers.
Behind the counter, Y/n barely had a second to breathe. The steady stream of customers buying snacks, drinks, and merch was unlike anything she’d seen in months.
But the real showstopper was Haechan’s impromptu comedy routine.
“Alright, alright, here’s one,” he said, gripping the mic like he was headlining a Netflix special. “Why don’t convenience stores ever get robbed?”
The crowd leaned in, groaning in anticipation.
“Because they’re always under surveillance!”
A mix of groans, laughter, and a loud “BOOO!” followed, but Haechan basked in it all, unfazed.
Y/n shook her head, fighting back a laugh. He was insufferable, but his energy was infectious.
By the end of the night, the store was a mess—empty snack wrappers, crumpled trivia sheets, and stray markers scattered everywhere. But the cash register was bursting, and Y/n could barely believe the numbers.
“We actually did it,” she said, still holding the final tally in her hands.
“No,” Haechan said, leaning casually on the counter, his sequined jacket catching the light. “You did it. I just added a little sparkle.”
She looked at him, exhaustion giving way to genuine gratitude. “Thanks, Haechan. For everything.”
“Anytime,” he said, his voice softer than usual. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “Sooo… free snacks for life now, or what?”
“Don’t push it,” she shot back, though the smile stayed on her face. As they started cleaning up, Y/n couldn’t help but feel something she hadn’t in months: hope. Maybe the store wasn’t just surviving anymore. Maybe, just maybe, it was thriving.
And for the first time in a long time, so was she.
angie’s note: haechan's ideas are chaotic... but also iconic
taglist: @thegracerammy @yewshi @haefelt @pjsteroid @kodasity @minkyuncutie @hypneosis @yukisroom97 (let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the final chapter)
The evening air was thick with anticipation. Mark had spent the last week preparing for his first real gig in years—a chance to return to the music scene, something he had almost given up on. Y/n had been by his side through every step of the journey, helping him sort through his lyrics, rehearsing with him late into the night, and offering a constant stream of encouragement when his confidence faltered.
As they stood in front of the venue—a sleek, modern bar with a small stage in the back—Mark couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything that had led him here. It had been a long time since he had performed in front of an audience. For so long, he’d felt like his music wasn’t worth sharing, but now, standing on the edge of this new chapter, everything felt different.
“This place is amazing,” Y/n said, glancing around at the stylish interior. The lights were dim, but the energy was palpable. The stage was small but inviting, a spotlight shining on a lone microphone stand and a guitar resting on a stool. It was intimate but professional, the perfect setting for Mark’s return.
Mark nodded, his stomach a mixture of nerves and excitement. “I can’t believe they agreed to give me a spot here. I mean, it’s not the biggest venue in the city, but it’s a step up from playing open mics.”
Y/n smiled, nudging him gently with her elbow. “You’ve earned it. I’ve seen the way people respond to your music. You’re ready for this.”
He met her gaze, his eyes filled with gratitude. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Y/n. You’ve been my anchor through all of this.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She wanted to say something profound in return, something that expressed just how much she believed in him. But instead, she just gave him a soft, sincere smile.
“You’re the one doing the hard work, Mark. I’m just here to help you get there.”
As they walked inside, Mark could feel the energy in the air—nervous, eager, and full of possibility. The soundcheck was already underway, and a few people milled about, sipping drinks and chatting. Mark was about to make his way toward the back when the venue manager caught his eye.
“Mark! You made it,” the manager called, waving him over. Mark and Y/n exchanged a quick look before walking over. The manager, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, greeted Mark with a firm handshake. “It’s great to have you here tonight. We’re really looking forward to your set.”
“Thanks. I’m excited to be here,” Mark replied, trying to mask the nerves in his voice.
“Don’t worry. You’ll do great,” the manager said, her smile reassuring.
“We’ll be starting in about thirty minutes. You can head to the green room to relax for a bit if you want.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks.”
Y/n followed him toward the small hallway leading to the backstage area, where they found a cozy room with a couch, a table, and a few bottles of water. Mark set his guitar case down and sat on the couch, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“You okay?” Y/n asked, sitting beside him.
He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve done something like this. I keep second-guessing myself, wondering if people will even care about my music.”
Y/n placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Mark, your music means something. It always has. You just needed to hear it for yourself again. And now, you’re ready to show everyone else.”
He looked over at her, his expression softening. “You really believe that?”
She nodded without hesitation. “I do. You’ve been making music your whole life. That doesn’t just disappear.”
The moment hung between them, a quiet understanding settling in. Mark smiled, his gaze lingering on her. “Thanks, Y/n. For everything.''
She leaned in slightly, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve got this. I believe in you.”
As the minutes passed, the buzz of the crowd outside grew louder, and Mark’s nerves seemed to settle, replaced with the familiar rush of excitement that came with performing. He tuned his guitar one last time, double-checking everything, when Y/n stood up.
“I’ll be right back,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a picture of you before you go on stage,” she said, already walking out the door. “You look like you need a little reminder of how amazing you are.”
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
But there was a softness in his voice that made Y/n smile to herself as she stepped into the hallway. She paused for a moment, watching Mark from a distance as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his shirt. There was something about him that radiated strength, even in his vulnerability.
When she returned with her phone, she snapped a picture of him standing by the door, his guitar in hand and a smile on his face that was a little more confident than before. “This one’s perfect,” she said, showing him the screen.
Mark smiled, a genuine, appreciative smile. “Thanks. I’ll keep that one for later.”
Just then, the venue manager popped her head in. “Alright, Mark, we’re ready for you. They’re waiting.”
Mark stood up, a determined look on his face. “Here goes nothing.”
Y/n smiled, her heart swelling with pride. “I’ll be right there watching. Break a leg.”
As Mark walked toward the stage, Y/n’s chest tightened with excitement for him. She had seen him struggle with his music for so long—his doubts, his insecurities—but now, standing at the edge of this moment, he was ready to take that final step. She could see it in the way he carried himself, in the confidence slowly returning to his posture.
The crowd cheered as Mark stepped onto the stage, and Y/n took a deep breath. This was his moment.
angie's note: so he finally went back on that damn stage... so proud of you Markie <3
taglist: @thegracerammy @kittydollzz @nmlee @haluenx
022. punching bag w.count: 743
warnings: swearing, (let me know if you find any)
The following week brought a storm that felt otherworldly. Just a block away, a new restaurant had opened its doors, dazzling the area with flashy investments and an overwhelming marketing campaign. At first, only a handful of regulars ventured in out of curiosity, but it didn’t take long for the competition to become impossible to ignore.
The once-bustling restaurant—filled with chatter and laughter—was now eerily quiet. Empty tables stood as a stark reminder of how quickly everything had changed, and the tension in the air was so heavy it felt like it could suffocate anyone who lingered too long.
For Y/n, the shift was undeniable. The once-familiar rhythm of the restaurant—chaotic but manageable—had been replaced by an unsettling silence and a growing pressure that loomed over them all. Every shift felt heavier than the last. Everyone was on edge, weighed down by the uncertainty of a struggling business. Even Johnny, usually the steady rock of the team, seemed to be unraveling. His shoulders were constantly tense, his once-sharp and witty remarks growing more infrequent, the light behind his words dimming little by little.
Y/n threw herself into keeping things afloat, determined to help in any way she could. She bounced between tasks, assisting Haechan with getting clean plates out, reorganizing Jeno’s prep station, and making sure chaos didn’t spill over into the already tense kitchen. But no matter how much she tried, it always felt like the stress was one step ahead, threatening to crush them all. And Johnny—far from the unwavering leader she was used to—seemed to be retreating into himself, becoming increasingly distant.
That fragile truce they’d shared on the rooftop felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the weight of their shared exhaustion.
Then, the breaking point arrived. Out of nowhere, the restaurant was flooded with orders. The sudden rush was a jarring contrast to the emptiness they had grown accustomed to, and no one could keep up. In the middle of the chaos, Y/n made a mistake—something small but noticeable. She delivered the wrong dish to a customer, a careless oversight in the frenzy. It wasn’t a big deal, or at least it shouldn’t have been. But it was enough to shatter Johnny’s already fragile composure.
“Can’t you keep up?” he snapped, his voice cutting through the clamor like a knife.
Y/n froze in place. His words hit harder than she expected—not because of what he said, but because of who said them. She clenched her fists at her sides, biting back the retort that threatened to slip out. She reminded herself of the pressure they were all under, but the sting of his words lingered, settling deep in her chest.
The rest of the night passed in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. When the shift finally ended, Y/n lingered behind in the now-empty restaurant, too drained to move. She leaned against the counter, the weight of endless shifts and mounting stress pressing down on her. She didn’t notice Johnny enter until he was just a few steps away.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.
She turned to look at him, her expression neutral. “It’s fine,” she replied automatically, though it wasn’t entirely true.
“No, it’s not,” Johnny admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I just… I don’t know how to handle this. That new place, the pressure—it feels like everything is falling apart, and I can’t stop it.”
“I get it,” Y/n said after a long pause. “I really do. Every day, it feels like we’re just trying to keep our heads above water.”
The silence between them was heavy, filled with all the things they weren’t saying. Y/n could see it in Johnny’s eyes—he wasn’t as unshakable as he let on. He was tired, just like she was. Tired of fighting, tired of losing, but still holding on to whatever small hope remained.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said at last, her voice steady despite the uncertainty. “Like we always do.”
Johnny nodded, a faint, almost forced smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Together.”
As they walked toward their lockers to grab their things, the uncertainty of what lay ahead still loomed large. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/n allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they had a chance. They weren’t just coworkers—they were a team.
And maybe, that would be enough to fight for.
angie's note: heyyy im back! work is stressing the hell out of me but here i am <3
taglist: @thegracerammy @neocupidd @pjsteroid @peterm4rker @pandagirl753 (lemme know it you'd like to be tagged <3)