The second you opened the door, Jisung all but collapsed inside, his duffle sliding off his shoulder and forgotten by the entrance. He didn’t even give you time to greet him properly before he was on his knees in front of you, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he’d never let go again.

“You have no idea what it’s been like,” he mumbled into your shirt, voice muffled but so pitiful it made your chest ache. “I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat properly—everything just felt wrong without you.”

When you tried to laugh it off, brushing your hand through his hair, he tilted his head up with the most desperate pout, his eyes glossy from exhaustion. “Don’t laugh at me,” he whined softly, tightening his grip. “I’m serious, I thought about you every second. I swear I almost begged the manager to cut the tour short.”

You cupped his cheeks, and he leaned into your touch instantly, like a cat starved for affection. “Just… tell me you missed me too,” he whispered, voice breaking into something so boyish and needy it was impossible not to smile. “Even if it’s a lie, I need to hear it or I’ll actually go crazy.”