juno ⟢

“Fuuuuuck,” you groaned into your empty room. 

For perhaps the fifth time in the past few days, you hovered over the “send” button in the text conversation to your manager. The text you had typed so often you knew it by heart: Hey, I wanted to ask if there was any possibility of announcing my relationship publicly?

You stared at the sentence again. Then deleted the entire thing.

God, it was ridiculous. You were a grown woman, for fuck’s sake. You paid taxes, you owned property, you got a headache when it rained. Why did you need permission from another adult to tell people you had a boyfriend?

You tossed your phone onto the bed before the temptation to rewrite the message could strike again.

A grin slowly spread across your face as an idea hit you. It was terrible. Which meant it was perfect from this situation. You immediately grabbed your phone again.

Y/N: bin

Y/N: do you wanna go out later

Three dots appeared instantly.

Changbin: That’s suspicious

Y/N: answer the question

Changbin: Why?

Y/N: because i miss you :(

The response wasn’t immediate this time. You could practically hear Changbin’s exasperated sigh from here.

Changbin: Manipulation

Y/N: is it working

Changbin: Yes

Despite your best efforts, you hadn’t managed to escape being assigned security. The poor guy trailed behind you and Changbin as you walked down a busy shopping street. Far enough back that you could have a private conversation, but near enough that he could stop you from making out with your man in public. Or jump in to protect you from a sasaeng. Either or.

Beside you, Changbin adjusted the black mask covering the bottom half of his face. His bucket hat sat low. It was honestly tragic. He looked so hot today – though you thought that literally every time you saw him – but you couldn’t even properly appreciate it because of his stupid disguise. The man had 90% of his face hidden from view.

At least his eyes were visible. Small mercies.

Being from a smaller group, you didn’t have to be as careful as Stray Kids, but you wore a mask and baseball cap to obscure your features. More so in solidarity with Changbin than out of actual desire to protect your identity.

You glanced over at him again, unable to keep your eyes to yourself. He caught you staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were staring.”

“Can’t help it when you look like that, babe.”

His eyes disappeared into crescents. Cute. The kind of cute that made you forget you were in public. You needed to stop looking at him before you did something you shouldn’t.

Unfortunately, your brain had other ideas. An idea so stupid you should probably be locked away inside before it escalated.

You pretended to trip.

Instinctively, as if he had taken a martial arts class specifically designed for boyfriends protecting their girlfriends, Changbin caught you by the arms and hauled you back up before you’d even finished stumbling. God, he was so strong. His forearms! 

If this mask wasn’t covering your face, it would be clear as day that you were drooling.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. His voice was low enough that only you could hear. If you were less brazen, you would admire his subtlety. But subtlety didn’t get you what you wanted.

You looked up and made eye contact. Immediately, it was like you forgot every word you had ever known.

His eyes were warm, concerned as they focused entirely on you. His brown irises looked beseechingly into yours and all you wanted to do was kiss him. Were you ovulating? You settled for holding his hand instead. 

“Only thanks to you, Binnie.”

The nickname hit exactly as intended. His posture straightened and, though you turned your attention back to the sidewalk ahead of you, careful to not trip for real this time, you could feel him preening next to you.

A few days had passed since your excursion with Changbin and, just like you planned, something got leaked. It was one singular photo posted from a mid-sized k-pop update account on Twitter. Hadn’t yet been noticed by Dispatch or another nosy paparazzi-type org.

CHANGBIN OF STRAY KIDS AND UNKNOWN WOMAN SPOTTED HOLDING HANDS OUTSIDE OF VERSACE STORE : [1 image]

The photo was stupidly blurry, as if the fan had specifically edited it like that just to piss you off. But you zoomed in and there you were. Holding hands. You pumped your fist. Step one accomplished!

A beat.

“Wait.”

Unknown woman?

Rude. You were an idol too.

Ten minutes later, your Instagram story went up. It was a simple photo of you trying on shoes in the Versace store. Clearly taken by someone else. You attached no caption, no explanation, no context. You hoped that at least one person would notice the parallels and sound the alarms.

The story views climbed as you watched. So did the replies. Then Twitter and the quote tweets as fans argued amongst themselves.

The next phase of your operation was even less subtle.

After a lot of begging a while ago, you were given full reign of the instagram account instead of having it be managed by the company. Thank God. They would regret it, though.

It was a slideshow post of four pictures. First was a selfie you took a few weeks ago but never got around to posting; completely harmless. Second was a top-down shot of a nice dinner you got with Changbin last night, his own plate just barely peeking through the frame. Third was another selfie, but this time with a bucket hat in the background that any devoted STAY could recognize was Changbin’s from fifty feet away. 

The fourth photo was a mirror selfie taken in a bathroom. Not your bathroom. Very much so somebody else’s bathroom. You weren’t sure if you were hoping the fans were obsessive enough to recognize it as Changbin’s / recognize that it wasn’t yours. Maybe best not to reflect on the implications of it.

It took longer for you to write a caption than it did for you to pick the photos. Most idols carefully curated their captions, palatable for a wider audience and vague enough that no one could accuse them of anything. You, meanwhile, were trying to see how close you could get to confessing a crime without technically confessing a crime. Or getting called out by your manager.

You settled on: 

been having fun lately ♡

With any luck, it would be the digital equivalent of setting a building on fire then writing “warm today” in your diary.

Within seconds of hitting post:

whose house is this?

GIRL

That is NOT your bathroom

I KNOW THAT HAT

AM I GOING INSANE

Now wait a damn minute…

Five minutes later and you were still sprawled dramatically across your couch refreshing your notifications again and again.

Your phone rang and the contact photo made you grin instantly.

“Binnie,” you cooed into the phone.

“You posted.”

“Yeah?” Maybe acting dumb would save you.

A pause.

“You know,” Changbin said carefully, “sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to get us caught.”

“Trying? That’s a strong word, babe.” Your smile was incredibly audible, even through the phone.

“You literally posted a picture from my bathroom.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“My manager is going to killll me,” he whined into the phone.

“Don’t worry, Binnie. I’ll rescue you from your manager.”

Another pause on his end.

“Oh my God, he’s already texting me.”

You burst out laughing.

“You sound proud of yourself.”

“I am proud of myself.”

“You are impossible.”

“And yet you’re in love with me.”

“Unfortunately.”

The smile on your face hurt.

This was the problem. Every time you seriously considered keeping things secret forever, Changbin would say something stupidly sweet and you would willingly throw away your career in the spotlight if only you could hear his voice every day for the rest of your life.

“You know what?” you started.

“What?”

“I think people should know.”

His voice softened. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know.”

“You know why it could be difficult.”

You did. You really did. The k-pop industry wasn’t exactly known for being normal about relationships. Fans got attached. Companies got nervous. The interest got weird. Etcetera, etcetera. 

But it didn’t seem so difficult as long as you had him on your side. You wanted to hold his hand without checking over your shoulder. You wanted to post pictures of his beautiful face and not stick to subtle hints of his presence in your life. You wanted to tell people why you smiled every time your phone lit up. You wanted to stop acting like being in love was some terrible secret.

“I just hate pretending,” you admitted.

The line was quiet for a second.

“I know.”

Somehow, that hurt worse than if he argued. If he called you an idiot for risking your careers like this. Because he understood, because he hated it too. And because neither of you had a solution.

Three days later, you and Changbin were sitting together in his studio. You were slumped on the couch pushed against the back wall, watching your man in his element. Moving dials around and rearranging vocals and all that other stuff you couldn’t quite understand. Every time he tried to explain it to you, you sort of just zoned out and stared at his lips until he got the message. It wasn’t your fault he was so irresistible!

“Binnie?”

He hummed in a ‘Yeah?’ sort of way, but didn’t turn away from the soundboard.

“I have an idea.”

“No.”

“Oh come on, Binnie. You haven’t even heard my idea yet.”

He was looking at you now. “I know you and I know that smile. That smile means you’re up to something you shouldn’t be.”

“Rude.” You grinned anyways. “But it’s a good idea this time.”

“Doubt it,” he muttered at a volume you were meant to hear.

“Binnnnn.”

“No.”

You stood up and walked the two steps over to his chair, draping yourself over his shoulders and whining into his ear, “Binnie.”

His expression immediately weakened. Pathetic. You loved him.

“You know you’re using my weakness.”

“You love when I use your weakness.”

His pause was confirmation. “What is this idea?”

“We go on a date.”

“We do that already.” He could tell where you were going with this and didn’t like it in the slightest.

“A public date.”

“No.”

“A very public date.”

“Absolutely not.”

“A date where people will definitely see us.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re insane.”

You snorted. “You’re saying that like it’s news.”

The date happened anyway because of course it did. You had never been particularly talented at accepting the word no. Changbin had never been particularly talented at refusing you either.

Your plan was simple. You and Changbin would visit a popular café – one frequented by idols, by fans, by exactly the type of people who noticed things and couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

The moment you arrived, you knew it was working.

People were looking. Double takes, whispers, phones subtly lifting.

Across the table from you, Changbin looked like he wanted to pass away.

“You look nervous.”

“I wonder why.” The sarcasm dripped from his words and you purposefully ignored it.

“You look handsome when you’re nervous.” He always looked handsome, but why not flirt a little?

“You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

You leaned forward. His eyes immediately darted around the café. The security guard near the entrance looked exhausted already. Changbin’s jaw clenched. If this table wasn’t in between you, you would’ve jumped his bones already.

“Binnie.”

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“You want to kiss me.”

Your grin widened. “Why didn’t you tell me you learned how to mind read, Changbin?”

He groaned.

The photos hit the internet before you even got home. This time, people recognized you immediately. Both of your names were trending. A fierce sense of pride burned in your chest when you saw your names next to each other on the Twitter “Trending Now” tab.

Articles were published. Fan edits were posted. Entire investigation threads appeared. Someone on Reddit managed to connect: the hand-holding photo, your Instagram story in Versace, the bathroom selfie, the bucket hat, the dinner plate, and even more things you hadn’t even intentionally planted. You were impressed, suffice to say.

Impressed and a little bit frightened. But mostly impressed.

“Look at this one,” you called out to Changbin, who was pouting across the living room, curled up on your couch like the baby girl he was.

“No.”

“They made a timeline.”

“Don’t want to see it.”

“But they added background music and PowerPoint transitions!”

“Stop encouraging them.”

You laughed but stood and walked over to him anyway, insisting on showing him the dedication fans can show when they put their minds to it. 

The next morning was chaos. You were grateful that Changbin agreed to spend the night. His cool hand rubbing soothing circles on your back brought you down from a surprise panic that nearly hit after seeing the sheer volume of notifications that hit your phone in the hours you were asleep.

Your manager called. His manager called. Somehow the CEO ended up on the other line. What the hell.

At one point you considered throwing your phone into a river. Changbin had to help talk you down from that one.

It took nearly a day of emergency meetings and phone calls and more emergency meetings until the companies finally agreed to make a statement. Dispatch had obtained more photos, apparently.

In the meantime, while your company and JYPE waged war on each other – or whatever it’s called when two huge idol management companies have to speak to each other civilly – you navigated the equally volatile war zone that was the K-Pop side of the internet.

Some fans were supportive. Some weren’t. Most just seemed excited to finally have confirmation that years of romantic songs had apparently been written by people capable of romance. Who would’ve guessed.

The highly awaited statement came out at 10:03 AM the next day, two days after the café lunch date.