Avonnarie
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Bookmarked by Avonnarie
16 Jan 2026
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Summary
Seungmin's smile was convincing—too convincing. No one questioned it, and he never gave them a reason to. But beneath it, a quiet loneliness grew, unnoticed and unspoken. Maybe if he ignored it long enough, it would disappear… or maybe it was only a matter of time before it all fell apart.
Bookmarked by Avonnarie
15 Jan 2026
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Eight acts. Eight lights.
After a night that shatters the shape of their world, Chan and Minho find themselves walking different edges of the same grief. A story of mourning told like someone lighting torches in a long corridor: a light for absence, another for rupture, another for passage, truth, reunion, choice, release… and, at last, return.
A tale of love that persists, grief that transforms, and the kind of light that only rises when everything else falls away.
Warnings: This is a story about grief. It deals with sensitive themes such as depression, suicide, and the loss of children. If these subjects are difficult for you, please read with care.
Bookmarked by Avonnarie
15 Jan 2026
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Usually, people confess to their crush because they hope to live happily ever after.
Felix confesses to his crush because he hopes to die happily ever after.- Language:
- English
- Words:
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- Bookmarks:
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Bookmarked by Avonnarie
15 Jan 2026
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“Hey, thanks. Here’s a tip-” Robert swung the door open, words flowing from his mouth before he even checked who exactly was at his door. His hand was thrust out with bills in it as you looked between his hand and his face. Time slowed as you watched the realization hit him, all casual politeness to an expression that you could not name. A widening of his eyes that became a flinch of his brows, shock that turned to regret.
“Sorry that I am not a delivery guy. Maybe I should have brought a pizza with a side of what the fuck, Robert.” The angry rush of words was out before you stop them. They hit Robert like a physical blow, a flinch that twitched his lip. Robert breathed your name, half a plea, half a comfort that you wanted to curl around your fingers and pull tight.
“Months, Robert, months. Months that you’re in a coma and you wake up without ever telling me that you’re alright.” The words became more jumbled as you spoke, gesturing in a tone louder than what the dusty hallway deserved. But conversation was not what your heart sought, more like an argument to vent out whatever had been stewing for months since he had fallen out of the sky.
Bookmarked by Avonnarie
14 Jan 2026