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Thursday 04 June 2026 00:48:30 GMT
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pov: sunghoon confessed to you once. well—kind of. you were both younger then, sitting on the rooftop of the old trainee building, feet dangling over the edge, the city glowing beneath you like a scattered constellation. he was swinging his legs, humming some melody he’d been working on, when he suddenly said it. “hey… what if i said i liked you?” you blinked. “huh?” he shrugged, cheeks slightly pink. “i mean—hypothetically.” a warmth spread through your chest. “hypothetically?” he met your eyes for half a second. “yeah. like… if i said i liked you. seriously.” your breath caught. but then the silence stretched, his expression tightened as if he’d revealed too much and he rushed out: “i’m joking, obviously!” he laughed, bright and loud. “you looked so serious, i had to tease!” the warmth in your chest went cold. you laughed too, because he did. you pretended not to care, because he pretended first. and that became the story you held on to: sunghoon didn’t like you, he was just teasing. you told yourself that over and over, until even the memory stopped hurting as badly. years passed, you and sunghoon debuted. lives overlapping from rehearsals to broadcasts to quiet moments in hallways no one noticed. he was still bright, still warm, and still the sunghoon you knew. except now, he was… different with you—softer, more careful, and more hesitant. and sometimes when he thought you weren’t looking—his eyes lingered too long, too tenderly, too full of something he never said out loud. you never confronted it. because the last time he confessed, he laughed it off like it meant nothing. and you weren’t going to fall for that twice. one afternoon, after a long rehearsal, you sat alone in the practice room, tying your shoelaces slowly—even though you were already done. sunghoon knocked lightly on the doorframe. “hey,” he said softly. “everyone left already.” “i know.” he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. his expression wasn’t playful today—not even close. “you okay?” “yeah.” but your voice came out too tight, your hands too shaky. sunghoon noticed. he always did. “you’re upset.” you looked down. “…i’m not.” he kneeled in front of you, taking your hands gently. “you are.” the room stopped but your heartbeat didn’t. sunghoon's thumb brushed over your knuckles, careful like he was touching something breakable. “did i… do something?” you swallowed. “no. i’m just tired.” “don’t lie.” his voice had no edge, just quiet hurt. you hesitated—just long enough for him to realize there was something. he took a breath. “please tell me.” and somehow, all the years of unspoken things pushed their way up your throat. “you—” your voice cracked. “you can’t keep acting like you… like you like me.” he froze. your breath shook. “you don’t.” his brows pulled together. “who told you that?” “you did.” he blinked. “when?” “the rooftop,” you whispered, barely audibly. “during training. you said you liked me and then you laughed and said it was a joke.” he stared at you like the world had tilted. “you… believed that?” he whispered. “of course i did!” your voice rose despite yourself. “you were joking—sunghoon, you always joke—how was i supposed to know you meant it?” he slowly stood, taking a step back like he needed space to breathe. his eyes shone—not angry, not annoyed—hurt. deeply, deeply hurt. “i wasn’t joking,” he said quietly. you looked up, stunned. “what?” sunghoon's voice trembled. “i wasn’t joking. i laughed because i got scared. i thought you didn’t feel the same.” you swallowed hard. “sunghoon…” he ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “i liked you so much back then,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone. “i still—” he stopped, biting his lip. the silence throbbed. you finally spoke, voice thin. “i’ve been confused for so long.” sunghoon's head snapped up. “confused?” “yes.” you let out a shaking breath. “because you treat me like i matter. like i'm…” (comsec++) #enhypen #enhypenpov #sunghoon #sunghoonenhypen #fyp
pov: sunghoon confessed to you once. well—kind of. you were both younger then, sitting on the rooftop of the old trainee building, feet dangling over the edge, the city glowing beneath you like a scattered constellation. he was swinging his legs, humming some melody he’d been working on, when he suddenly said it. “hey… what if i said i liked you?” you blinked. “huh?” he shrugged, cheeks slightly pink. “i mean—hypothetically.” a warmth spread through your chest. “hypothetically?” he met your eyes for half a second. “yeah. like… if i said i liked you. seriously.” your breath caught. but then the silence stretched, his expression tightened as if he’d revealed too much and he rushed out: “i’m joking, obviously!” he laughed, bright and loud. “you looked so serious, i had to tease!” the warmth in your chest went cold. you laughed too, because he did. you pretended not to care, because he pretended first. and that became the story you held on to: sunghoon didn’t like you, he was just teasing. you told yourself that over and over, until even the memory stopped hurting as badly. years passed, you and sunghoon debuted. lives overlapping from rehearsals to broadcasts to quiet moments in hallways no one noticed. he was still bright, still warm, and still the sunghoon you knew. except now, he was… different with you—softer, more careful, and more hesitant. and sometimes when he thought you weren’t looking—his eyes lingered too long, too tenderly, too full of something he never said out loud. you never confronted it. because the last time he confessed, he laughed it off like it meant nothing. and you weren’t going to fall for that twice. one afternoon, after a long rehearsal, you sat alone in the practice room, tying your shoelaces slowly—even though you were already done. sunghoon knocked lightly on the doorframe. “hey,” he said softly. “everyone left already.” “i know.” he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. his expression wasn’t playful today—not even close. “you okay?” “yeah.” but your voice came out too tight, your hands too shaky. sunghoon noticed. he always did. “you’re upset.” you looked down. “…i’m not.” he kneeled in front of you, taking your hands gently. “you are.” the room stopped but your heartbeat didn’t. sunghoon's thumb brushed over your knuckles, careful like he was touching something breakable. “did i… do something?” you swallowed. “no. i’m just tired.” “don’t lie.” his voice had no edge, just quiet hurt. you hesitated—just long enough for him to realize there was something. he took a breath. “please tell me.” and somehow, all the years of unspoken things pushed their way up your throat. “you—” your voice cracked. “you can’t keep acting like you… like you like me.” he froze. your breath shook. “you don’t.” his brows pulled together. “who told you that?” “you did.” he blinked. “when?” “the rooftop,” you whispered, barely audibly. “during training. you said you liked me and then you laughed and said it was a joke.” he stared at you like the world had tilted. “you… believed that?” he whispered. “of course i did!” your voice rose despite yourself. “you were joking—sunghoon, you always joke—how was i supposed to know you meant it?” he slowly stood, taking a step back like he needed space to breathe. his eyes shone—not angry, not annoyed—hurt. deeply, deeply hurt. “i wasn’t joking,” he said quietly. you looked up, stunned. “what?” sunghoon's voice trembled. “i wasn’t joking. i laughed because i got scared. i thought you didn’t feel the same.” you swallowed hard. “sunghoon…” he ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “i liked you so much back then,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone. “i still—” he stopped, biting his lip. the silence throbbed. you finally spoke, voice thin. “i’ve been confused for so long.” sunghoon's head snapped up. “confused?” “yes.” you let out a shaking breath. “because you treat me like i matter. like i'm…” (comsec++) #enhypen #enhypenpov #sunghoon #sunghoonenhypen #fyp
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