❫ 🎞️⠀⦂ you overhear your boyfriend telling his friends that you’re “too much”.
──── Idol!juhoon x f!reader ╱ established relationship. ∿ ୭ cw. angst, miscommunication, skinship, kissing, hugging, fluff, yearning.
You’d always been the talkative one.
The one who filled the silence between Juhoon’s quiet sentences with warmth and laughter and questions that sometimes didn’t even need answering.
And he liked that — or at least you thought he did.
You never meant to eavesdrop that day. You’d dropped by the practice room with iced coffees, one for each of the cortis members, because they’d been rehearsing for hours. You were used to the teasing you got when you did things like that — keonho telling Juhoon, “Man, your girlfriend’s a saint,” or seonghyeon making dramatic fake cries about how no one brought him coffee.
The hallway outside the practice room was warm and smelled faintly of floor polish and sweat. You could hear laughter from inside — familiar, easy, the kind of laughter that came from people comfortable with one another.
You never meant to eavesdrop.
You smiled faintly, hand already on the door handle. You were just about to knock when your name floated into the conversation.
“Your girlfriend’s always around these days, huh?” Martin teased, the grin obvious in his voice.
Juhoon laughed — that low, warm laugh you loved. But the words that followed froze you.
“Tell me about it. She literally talks from the moment she sees me until I drop her off.”
You froze mid-step, your heart giving a tiny, painful squeeze.
“She’s sweet though,” James said.
“She is,” he responded. “But sometimes it’s like she doesn’t have an off switch. I get home from practice dead tired, and she’ll call just to tell me every single thing she did that day.”
The others laughed, and Juhoon chuckled along.
“I don’t even know what to say half the time,” he added. “I just nod. If I try to talk, she talks over me anyway.”
The laughter was louder this time. Someone clapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re too nice, man,” martin said. “I’d have told her to chill already.”
“Yeah,” Juhoon said after a pause, voice low but clear. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She just doesn’t know when to stop sometimes. It’s like… she needs attention all the time. It gets exhausting.”
You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your chest started to ache.
That word echoed in your head, sharp and ugly.
You backed away before you could hear more, your fingers tightening around the drink carrier until the plastic nearly cracked. You didn’t even feel the condensation soaking into your sleeve.
You turned and walked away — fast — your vision blurring as you blinked hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
“But she is like my happy pill, my sunshine, my heart so I guess it’s okay.” He says slightly blushing earning a disgusted look from seonghyeon.
“Ew.” Seonghyeon says maybe out of envy. “We get it dude.” James adds on with a chuckle.
He had sounded so casual. So comfortable saying it.
Like it wasn’t the first time he’d thought it.
It felt like your chest caved in on itself — because those same things he was laughing about were the parts of you you thought he liked.
The way you filled the spaces. The way you made him laugh when he forgot to.
You thought your chatter kept him company.
But maybe you were just… too much.
The next few days, Juhoon noticed something was off.
You didn’t text as much during the day, didn’t send him pictures of the random things you saw. When he called, your tone was softer, slower, like you were afraid to disturb him.
When you met up after his schedule, you smiled — but it was the polite kind, the one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
And you nodded. “Just tired.”
But the truth was that you were tired — tired of feeling like your presence might be something he endured rather than enjoyed.
So you decided to try something different: to be quiet, too.
To match his calm. To not be “too much.”
At first, Juhoon thought it was sweet that you were being extra gentle.
But then it started to feel… wrong.
He noticed how you stopped rambling when you got excited about something. How you’d glance at him before speaking, as if checking whether it was okay to talk. How the little sparkle in your eyes had dulled.
You’d sit beside him watching a show, not commenting on the funny parts like you used to.
No spontaneous hugs from behind, no random “hey, you know what’s crazy?” moments.
One evening, you came over to his dorm after his practice. You brought food, as always, but even the way you set it out was quiet — efficient. You didn’t chatter about your day or ask about his rehearsal.
He finally couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Did I… do something wrong?” he asked hesitantly.
You looked up, startled. “No. Why?”
“You’ve been different lately,” he said, eyes searching yours. “Quieter.”
You tried to smile. “Guess I figured you liked it better this way.”
His heart dropped. “What?”
You let out a small breath, forcing a laugh that didn’t sound like you. “Just thought maybe I was too much sometimes.”
Juhoon immediately leaned forward, his brows knitting in confusion and worry. “Too much? Where did that come from—”
“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “You heard that, didn’t you.”
You didn’t answer. You looked down at your food instead.
“Y/N…” His voice softened. “That was just stupid talk with the guys. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
You stayed quiet, but your silence wasn’t angry — it was hurt.
“I know you didn’t mean to sound bad,” you said finally. “But… it still hurt. Because I always thought you liked that I talked so much. That I tried to make things fun. It’s just… embarrassing to realize maybe you didn’t.”
Juhoon leaned forward, his brow furrowed deeply. “I do like it. I love it.” His tone was firm now, desperate even. “I just— I’m bad at talking sometimes. You know that. I didn’t mean ‘too much’ like a bad thing. I just meant… you make up for where I can’t. You’re the reason our conversations even happen.”
You blinked, trying to process his words.
“I’m quiet because I don’t know how to express things easily,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy them. When you talk, it makes me feel—” he paused, exhaling shakily, “—like I’m home. Like I don’t have to say anything for it to be warm.”
He made his way towards you and knelt in front of you, gently taking your hand. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to change who you are around me. You’re not too much. You’re exactly right. And I’ve been missing you — the real you — like crazy.”
That cracked something open in you.
You let out a shaky laugh, eyes glistening. “I just didn’t want to annoy you.”
“You could never,” he said, smiling softly now. “Honestly, when you stopped talking so much, it felt… empty. I kept waiting for you to start again. I missed your voice.”
He tugged your hand gently, pulling you into his arms. You could feel his heart racing against your cheek.
“Don’t go quiet on me again, okay?” he murmured. “Silence is too loud without you.”
You laughed softly, muffled against his chest. “That was so cheesy.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, smiling into your hair, “but it made you laugh again. So I don’t care.”
He tilted your chin up and pressed a kiss on your lips — slow and lingering, a quiet apology wrapped in warmth.
When you pulled away, he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “Talk my ear off again. Please. Tell me everything I missed while I was being an idiot.”
You giggled, the sound light and familiar.
“Okay,” you said, eyes bright again. “But you asked for it.”
That night, he wouldn’t stop touching you — hand on your knee, fingers tracing circles on your wrist, chin resting on your shoulder as you finally started rambling again about your day.
And every time you laughed, Juhoon smiled quietly to himself, thinking how silence had never sounded so wrong until you came back to fill it.
