Title: Echoes of Exhaustion
SEVENTEEN’s relentless world tour preparations have left Jeonghan exhausted and irritable. When his concerned girlfriend, surprises the group with food during practice, hoping to ensure they’re cared for, she’s met with an unexpected backlash. Pairing: Idol Jeonghan x reader Genre: Angst
The practice room was a blur of movement and sound—sharp choreography, the echo of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, and the faint hum of music looping for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The group had been at it for hours, preparing for their upcoming world tour, and exhaustion hung heavy in the air. Jeonghan, in particular, was running on fumes. His usually playful demeanor had been replaced by a tense, quiet focus, his body aching and his mind begging for rest. All he wanted was to push through the last set and collapse into bed.
The door creaked open, barely audible over the music, but the sudden shift in the room’s energy made it impossible to ignore. You stepped in, arms laden with bags of takeout—warm, comforting scents of rice, fried chicken, and kimbap wafting through the space. A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips as you scanned the room, spotting Jeonghan among the members. You’d been worried about him—about all of them—knowing how relentless their schedule had been. They weren’t eating properly, weren’t resting enough, and as Jeonghan’s girlfriend, you couldn’t shake the nagging concern that had settled in your chest.
“Surprise!” you said softly, setting the bags down on a nearby table. “I thought you guys could use some food. You’ve been working so hard.”
The members perked up almost instantly. Seungkwan let out a dramatic groan of relief, clutching his stomach, while Dino was already halfway to the table, muttering a grateful “Noona! you’re a lifesaver.” Even Joshua flashed you a warm, tired smile as he paused to catch his breath. But Jeonghan? He didn’t move. His eyes flicked toward you, then away, his jaw tightening as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
You stepped closer to him, voice gentle. “Hannie, I brought your favorite—spicy tteokbokki. You should take a break and eat something.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, not meeting your gaze. His tone was clipped, edged with irritation. “We’re almost done. I just want to finish this.”
You hesitated, the smile faltering on your face. “I know, but you’ve been at it all day. Just a quick break—”
“Yn, I said I’m fine,” he snapped, louder this time, his voice cutting through the room. The music stopped abruptly as someone—probably Woozi—hit pause, and a heavy silence descended. All eyes turned toward you and Jeonghan. “God, why are you being so clingy right now? I don’t need you hovering over me. We’re busy.”
The word *clingy* landed like a slap, sharp and humiliating. Your cheeks burned, and you instinctively took a step back, clutching the edge of your sleeve. The other members shifted uncomfortably—Seungcheol cleared his throat, Mingyu looked down at his shoes, and Hoshi busied himself with adjusting his cap. No one knew what to say, and the awkwardness only made it worse.
“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m sorry, guys.” You turned to the group, avoiding Jeonghan’s gaze entirely. “I’ll just… go. Enjoy the food.”
“Yn, wait—” Vernon started, but you were already grabbing your bag and heading for the door, your steps quick and unsteady. Jeonghan didn’t move, didn’t call after you. He just stood there, chest heaving from practice and frustration, his hands clenched at his sides.
You left the building with tears stinging your eyes, the cool night air doing little to calm the storm of embarrassment and hurt swirling in your chest. What Jeonghan didn’t know—what you hadn’t had the chance to tell him—was that this wasn’t just a random visit. You’d come because your own schedule was about to get insane. Work was piling up, deadlines looming, and you wouldn’t have time to see him for weeks. You’d wanted to steal a moment with him before everything pulled you apart, to make sure he was okay. Instead, you’d been sent away, branded as *clingy* in front of everyone.
Back in the practice room, the mood was somber. The members picked at the food in silence, the earlier excitement replaced by an unspoken tension. Jeonghan slumped against the wall, running a hand through his damp hair, replaying the scene in his mind. He hadn’t meant to snap like that—not really. He was just tired, stretched too thin, and you’d caught him at the worst possible moment. Guilt consumed him, but he pushed it down, telling himself he’d fix it later. You’d understand. You always did.
Except ‘later’ didn’t go as planned. That night, he texted you—a simple "Babe, sorry about earlier. I was out of it. Can we talk?”—but your reply was short: “It’s fine. I’m tired, going to bed.” He frowned at the screen, unease settling in, but he let it go, figuring you just needed space.
The next day, he messaged again: “Good Morning babe. You okay? ” Your response came hours later, a short “Yeah, just busy.” No emojis, no teasing, none of the warmth he was used to. He tried calling that evening, but it went to voicemail after a few rings. Another text—“Babe, you sure everything’s good?”—and this time, you didn’t reply until late: “Yep. Work’s crazy. Talk later.”
Days turned into a week, then two. His messages grew more frequent, more desperate—“Haven’t heard from you much, you alright?” “Miss you. Call me when you’re free?”—but your responses, when they came at all, were brief and distant: “Busy right now. I’ll let you know.” He scrolled through the thread, the one-sidedness of it glaring back at him. You weren’t just busy. You were pulling away.
Jeonghan sat on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the last message he’d sent—“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. Can we please talk?”—and the “Read” status beneath it that had been there for a day with no reply. His chest tightened. He’d messed up, he knew that, but he hadn’t realized how deep the wound had gone. Now, he was left wondering if you were mad, hurt, or worse done with him entirely. The thought made his stomach twist, and for the first time in weeks, the exhaustion from practice felt insignificant compared to the ache of missing you.
