Midnight Archivist

Overworked & Overwanted

- Behind the schedules, rehearsals, and cameras, ITZY is falling apart far more quietly than anyone realizes. When concerns about the group’s emotional state reach the wrong people, Park Benjamin finds himself pulled into a situation that was never meant to become personal. It becomes personal anyway.

A/N: This story is in the same universe as "Underpaid & Overloved"

• Prelude Story • Chapter 1: Proximity • Chapter 2: After Hours • Chapter 3: Quietly Yours • Chapter 4: The Things We Saw • Chapter 4.5: Damage Control • Chapter 4.75: The Top Floor Summit • Chapter 4.9: Hostile Wellness • Chapter 5: Wife Privileges

If It Were Me

- A series of alternate lives shaped by different choices—where each path is real, but only one can remain.

• Yeji • Ryujin • Lia • Chaeryeong • Yuna

Underpaid & Overloved (Original Series by @electro469)

- A rotating love story where John navigates nine relationships—each unique, each genuine.

Season 1

• Nayeon • Jeongyeon • Momo • Sana • Jihyo • Mina • Dahyun • Chaeyoung • Tzuyu • MiChaeng Special Chapter

Season 2

• Nayeon • Jeongyeon • Momo • Sana • Jihyo • Mina • Dahyun • Chaeyoung • Tzuyu

Spin Offs, One Shots, and Bonuses

There was a difference.

Jihyo had said assigned silence until the first checkpoint, and somehow, by sheer force of Park Jihyo existing, everyone had obeyed.

Mostly.

Ryujin had obeyed in spirit, which meant she had not spoken but had communicated several criminal thoughts through facial expressions alone.

Yuna had lasted eleven minutes before silently writing activity notes in her vacation notebook with the intensity of a woman planning a government program.

Lia had watched her do it, sighed once, and taken the pen away twice.

Chaeryeong had spent most of the drive making sure the snack bags were evenly distributed, which became less about logistics and more about survival once Momo’s van pulled beside ours at the first stop and Momo looked through the tinted window with terrifying food awareness.

Yeji sat beside me. Her hand had found mine ten minutes after we left the parking level. No one commented. That was how I knew they were tired. Or plotting. Possibly both… definitely both.

By the second hour, the silence order had dissolved into low conversation.

By the third, Ryujin had fallen asleep with sunglasses still on, which somehow made her look more suspicious.

By the fourth, Yuna had renamed the retreat six times.

By the fifth, Lia had threatened to throw the notebook out of the window if the phrase “Hostile Wellness” appeared one more time.

“It’s not a title anymore,” Yuna protested from the back.

“It is on the page.” “It’s a concept.” “It’s a felony with spa access,” Lia said.

Ryujin, without opening her eyes, raised one hand “I vote felony with spa access.” “No one asked you,” Yeji said. “I live here emotionally.” “You live everywhere emotionally,” Chaeryeong murmured.

Ryujin opened one eye “That was sharp.”

Chaeryeong immediately looked down “Sorry.” “No, keep going. I like vacation Chaeryeong.”

Chaeryeong hid behind a snack bag. I looked toward Yeji. She was trying not to smile. I noticed. Of course I noticed. She noticed me noticing “Don’t,” she said. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.” “I was about to say you look happy.”

Her expression softened before she could stop it. Then she looked out the window “I am.”

That stayed with me longer than it should have.

Outside, the city had thinned into long roads, guarded turns, and stretches of coast that looked too clean to be casual. Eventually, the vans turned away from the public highway and onto a private access road lined with tall trees and security posts so discreet they looked decorative until you noticed the cameras. Yuna leaned forward “Are we arriving or being abducted luxuriously?”

“Both can be true,” Ryujin said. Lia looked out the window “This is… really private.” Chaeryeong shifted closer to the glass “There are no other cars.” “Good,” I said. Yeji looked at me “That sounded expensive.” “Privacy usually does.” “That did not make me feel better.” “It was not meant to.”

The first gate opened before our vans fully stopped. Then the second. Then a third, hidden behind a curve of palm trees and stone walls. By the time the resort finally appeared, even Ryujin sat up properly. The place did not look like a hotel. It looked like someone had taken a private beach, erased the rest of the world from around it, and built a quiet kingdom along the water.

White villas sat apart from each other along the coastline, spaced far enough that no balcony looked directly into another. A private road curved through landscaped gardens toward a central pavilion of glass, wood, and stone. Beyond it, the beach stretched out in pale sand and blue water, empty except for staff preparing shaded lounges beneath the trees.

No crowds, visible guests, camera flashes, distant fans, or noise— except the ocean.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Ryujin whispered “Okay. This is rich-rich”. Yuna pressed both hands to the window “This is not a retreat. This is where villains recover after losing the first movie”. Chaeryeong’s mouth opened slightly “Is this all for us?”

“For two weeks,” I said. The van went quiet. Yeji turned toward me slowly “Ben”. I looked out the window “Yes?”

“How expensive is this?” “That depends on how you define expensive.” Lia closed her eyes “Bad answer.” Yuna pointed at me “That is a tax bracket answer.”

The van stopped near the private reception pavilion. The doors opened. Warm air, salt wind, and sunlight spilled in. TWICE’s van had arrived just ahead of us, and they stepped out one by one into the brightness.

Nayeon took off her sunglasses and stared. Sana clasped both hands in front of her chest. Dahyun looked around like she was searching for the hidden production crew. Jeongyeon crossed her arms, suspicious. Momo looked toward the dining pavilion first. Tzuyu looked at the beach quietly. Chaeyoung smiled to herself. Jihyo stepped out last, already assessing the entire venue like a leader who did not believe in relaxing until the building had earned her trust. Mina stood beside her, calm as ever.

That was unfair because this was partly her fault. John got out of the van looking like a man who had survived a long drive only to be financially attacked by architecture. He looked at the resort. Then at me. Then at Mina “No.”

I frowned “What now?” “This is not a wellness retreat.” Mina looked at him “It has wellness facilities.” “This is a private country with towels.”

Nayeon walked closer, eyes still moving across the resort “So… nobody else is here?” A staff member approached at a respectful distance but did not stare. That helped. A little.

Sana’s smile softened, but her eyes stayed careful “No guests?” “No public bookings,” Mina said.

The group turned toward her. Mina adjusted the strap of her bag “This resort does not operate through normal channels. There are no public listings, no standard reservations, no casual walk-ins, no press access, and no guest overlap unless approved in advance.”

Dahyun lowered the invisible microphone she had almost raised “That sounds illegal.” “It is not,” Mina said. I added, “It is just expensive.” John looked at me “That is not a defense.” “It is often the explanation.” Jeongyeon looked toward the beach “And staff?” “Vetted,” I said. “Rotations locked. Phones restricted on working areas. Social posting prohibited by contract. Security handles perimeter access. Internal routes are separated.”

Jihyo’s eyes narrowed “That was too detailed.” “Privacy requires detail.”

Yeji stepped closer to me. Her voice dropped just enough “Ben.” I looked at her “What?” “Invoice.” I immediately looked away “No.” Jihyo turned toward Mina “Invoice.”

Mina looked at Jihyo, then at me. Then calmly opened her phone “Mina,” I said. She ignored me. John exhaled “I knew it.” Yeji held out her hand “Show me.”

“It is already paid,” I said. “That is not what I asked.” “Technically, Mina paid half.” Mina nodded “Split evenly.”

Jihyo took the phone first. She looked at the screen. Her face did not move. That was worse than screaming. Nayeon leaned over her shoulder. Then froze. Sana looked. Her smile dropped. Dahyun looked. Her imaginary microphone slowly lowered to her side. John saw the number and made a sound like someone had unplugged him from life support. Yeji took the phone last. She stared. Then stared longer. Then looked at me “Benjie.”

I stood straighter “Yes?” “This is the price of every seat in an arena concert.” Ryujin’s mouth dropped open. Yuna turned toward the resort “We are sleeping inside a sold-out concert?” Chaeryeong whispered, “For two weeks?” Momo looked concerned “Is food included?”

Everyone turned toward her. She blinked “What?” I nodded “Yes. Food is included.” Chaeryeong visibly relaxed. Mina added, “Food, staff, security, medical standby, private venue access, route control, and emergency contingencies.”

Jihyo handed the phone back to Mina slowly “Emergency contingencies?” “Standard,” Mina said. John pointed at her “For who?” “For people like us,” Mina said. He stared “That did not help.” Yeji looked at me “There are staff bonuses on here.” “Yes.” “Why are there staff bonuses?” “So they remain happy.” Jihyo closed her eyes “You bribed the resort staff into emotional loyalty.” “I prefer incentivized discretion.” “That is bribery with better lighting,” John said. Mina looked at him “It improves retention.” John looked physically pained “Why do both of you have the same money disease?”

I frowned “It is not a disease.” Yeji looked at me I corrected myself “It is a condition.” “That is worse,” Lia said. Yuna looked around the resort again, this time with a different kind of awe “So we can really… relax?”

The question softened the air. Because beneath the jokes, there it was. The thing none of them wanted to ask too loudly. Can we stop watching ourselves? Can we stop checking the corners? Can we laugh too loud? Can we walk outside without calculating exits? Can we exist without being consumed?

The ocean moved quietly beyond the pavilion. I looked at Yuna first. Then at Lia. Chaeryeong. Ryujin. Yeji. Then at TWICE “Yes,” I said. “That is the point.” Mina’s voice came softer beside me “For two weeks, this place is yours. Not publicly. Not symbolically. Functionally.” Jihyo looked at her. Mina continued “No press. No guests. No overlap. No staff access beyond assigned areas. If anyone tries to breach the perimeter, security sees them before they see you.” That helped more than the luxury did.

I saw it happen. Not all at once. Not completely. But enough. Nayeon’s shoulders dropped. Sana looked toward the beach like she was letting herself believe in it. Dahyun tucked her phone deeper into her bag without being told. Jeongyeon exhaled. Tzuyu smiled faintly. Ryujin pulled off her sunglasses. Yuna lowered her notebook. Lia looked at the water and said nothing. Chaeryeong held the snack bag a little tighter, but her face softened. Yeji stood beside me. Like the room inside her had finally opened a window.

A resort manager approached and bowed “Welcome. Your villas are ready.” John muttered, “Of course there are villas.”

“There are multiple groups,” Mina said. “I understand the concept. I’m reacting to the price.”

The staff led us down a private stone path toward the villa cluster. The resort opened wider as we walked. Private pool. Beach access. Outdoor dining pavilion. Spa building. Training room. Cinema lounge. Garden paths. A kitchen large enough that Chaeryeong made a small noise under her breath. Momo heard it. Momo looked at the kitchen. Then at Chaeryeong. Something like alliance passed between them.

Jihyo noticed and immediately looked concerned “Do we need kitchen rules?” “Yes,” John said. Momo blinked and Chaeryeong looked down “Maybe.” The room assignments became a separate diplomatic event.

Jihyo wanted structure. Nayeon wanted chaos. Sana wanted “organic bonding.” John said the word organic had become dangerous. Mina provided a villa map. Yuna immediately tried to improve it with activity zones. Lia took the pen away again. Eventually, the arrangement settled into something survivable. TWICE had one large villa wing closest to the garden path. ITZY had the connected wing facing the beach. John had a separate manager’s suite near the central office, which he claimed was for operational oversight.

Nayeon called it cowardice. Jihyo called it practical. Mina had a quiet villa near the end of the path with the best view and enough distance to make John suspicious. I had a room in ITZY’s wing. That alone should not have been a problem. Naturally, it became one. Ryujin looked at the room list. Then at Yeji and then at me. Slowly. “You two are sharing?” Yeji’s face changed by one degree. Leader mode tried to save her. It failed “For logistics,” she said.

Yuna leaned in “Logistics.” Lia closed her eyes “Do not.” Chaeryeong looked down, already smiling. Nayeon appeared behind Ryujin with terrifying timing “Honeymoon logistics?”

Yeji turned pink “No.” Sana appeared beside Nayeon “Wife privileges?”

“No.”

Dahyun lifted one finger “Room assignment confirms ongoing title dispute.” Jihyo pointed at her “No reporting.” Dahyun lowered her hand. I took the key card from the staff member.

“There are enough rooms for everyone to be comfortable. Yeji and I can switch if needed.” Yeji looked at me. The room went quiet. She took the key card from my hand “No.” Everyone froze. Yeji held the card, face warm but voice steady “It’s fine.” Nayeon smiled. Ryujin’s eyebrows rose. Yuna covered her mouth. Lia looked away to hide a smile. I looked at Yeji. She did not look back immediately. That was how I knew she knew exactly what she had done.

Jihyo, mercifully, clapped once. “Unpack first. Meeting in the dining pavilion in one hour. No wandering alone until security finishes the final perimeter confirmation.” Ryujin raised her hand “What if wandering is emotionally necessary?”

“Then wander with witnesses.” Yuna raised her notebook “What if I need to inspect activity zones?” “Later.” Momo raised a hand “Food?” Chaeryeong lifted her bag “I can help check the kitchen.” Jihyo looked between them, then sighed “Thirty minutes. Supervised.”

Momo smiled. Chaeryeong looked like she had been given a sacred mission. The group scattered in pieces. Laughter down one path. Bags rolling over stone. Staff moving quietly around us. The ocean following everything. For the first time, the noise did not feel trapped in a room. It had somewhere to go.

Yeji walked beside me toward our assigned villa. Neither of us spoke at first. The path curved past low greenery and opened toward a private terrace facing the water. Our room sat at the edge of the ITZY wing, close enough to everyone to be reachable, far enough to feel separate.

Yeji unlocked the door. The room opened into warm light. Wide bed. Soft curtains. Private balcony. Ocean view. A couch near the window. A bathroom too large to be reasonable. Fresh flowers on the table. Our luggage already placed neatly near the closet. And silence. Actual silence.

The door clicked shut behind us. For the first time since morning, there was no one else. No paperwork. No John suffering in the corner. No Ryujin listening through the walls. No Nayeon weaponizing the word ‘wife’ from ten feet away. Just the room. The ocean. Our bags by the door, and Yeji standing very still in front of me.

I looked around “Not bad,” I said. “Does my wife approve?” I meant it as a joke. Mostly. Yeji turned around slowly. The look on her face made every surviving thought in my head stop moving “Say that again.” I blinked “What?” Her eyes stayed on mine as she stepped closer. Close enough that I felt the shift in the air before I felt her hand against my shirt “You keep doing that,” she said softly “Doing what?”

“Calling me that”. My throat went dry “Jokingly.” Yeji’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile or a warning. Something worse. Something private “Do you know how hard it was for me not to pounce on you every time you called me your wife in front of everyone?”

The room went quiet. Or maybe I did. Because Yeji had stepped fully into my space now, one hand resting against my chest, close enough to feel the temporary ink beneath the fabric “And then you had the nerve,” she whispered, “to put my name here.”

I looked down at her hand. Then back at her “You chose the font.”

“I know.” “You chose the hearts.” Her fingers curled into my shirt “I know.” “Yeji.”

Her eyes lifted to mine, steady and bright and dangerous “You kept making me blush in front of everyone,” she said. “So now you can deal with me without an audience”. I swallowed. “Is this leader mode?”

“No.” She stepped closer “This is me, making good use of wife privileges.”

The silence of the room didn't just feel like a lack of noise. It felt like a vacuum, pulling the air out of my lungs until the only thing left to breathe was the scent of Yeji—something like vanilla, salt, and a sudden, electric heat.

She didn't give me a chance to answer. She didn't give me a chance to joke. Yeji stepped forward, her movements devoid of the hesitation that usually governed her public persona. She didn't just enter my space; she annexed it. Her hand, which had been resting on my chest, suddenly tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt with a strength that bordered on desperation.

"You think you're so clever," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, vibrating against my skin. "All those little comments. All those looks. Do you have any idea what it does to me? To have to stand there, the leader of the group, pretending I'm not vibrating out of my skin because you're treating me like I belong to you?"

I opened my mouth to say something—probably a joke about how she seemed to be enjoying it—but the words died in my throat. Yeji’s eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris. There was a hunger there that I had only ever seen in flashes, hidden behind the professionalism and the poise. Now, it was a wildfire.

"I spent the whole drive thinking about this," she murmured, her breath hot against my lips. "Thinking about a place where I didn't have to be the one holding everything together. Where I could just... take."

Then she kissed me.

It wasn't a gentle invitation. It was a collision. Her lips slammed into mine with a ferocity that knocked me back a half-step, her tongue immediately forcing its way past my teeth to claim my mouth. She tasted like the mint she’d been chewing and a deep, visceral need. We exchanged saliva in a messy, desperate rhythm, the sound of our mouths meeting—a wet, slapping noise—filling the quiet room.

Yeji’s hands didn't stay still. While her mouth worked mine, her fingers flew to the buttons of my shirt. She didn't unbutton them so much as she ripped them, a couple of small plastic discs pinging off the wall as she tore the fabric open to get to my skin. I groaned into her mouth, my hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against me. She was relentless, her nipples peaking through her clothes, pressing into my chest.

"Clothes," she breathed, breaking the kiss for a split second, her voice a jagged edge. "Get them off. Now."

She didn't wait for me to comply. She pushed me backward, her kisses migrating to my jaw, then my neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there. I stumbled back, my heels catching on the edge of the luggage, but she used the momentum to keep me moving. We drifted across the room in a chaotic dance of limbs and friction. Yeji was a whirlwind, her hands diving into my waistband, shoving my trousers down with a frantic energy.

I managed to kick my shoes off, one of them hitting the nightstand with a thud, while she worked on my underwear. She didn't just slide them off; she peeled them away, her eyes never leaving mine for more than a second. When I was finally standing there, completely naked and shivering despite the warmth of the room, Yeji stepped back.

She didn't look away. She looked at me—really looked at me—from the line of my shoulders down to the heavy, pulsing length of my cock, which was already leaking a bead of pre-cum.

"Finally," she whispered.

With a sudden, forceful shove, she pushed me down onto the bed. I hit the mattress with a soft huff, the white linens cool against my back. Yeji stood over me, her silhouette framed by the golden light filtering through the curtains. Slowly, with a deliberate, erotic precision, she began to strip.

She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it blindly toward the corner of the room. Her breasts were perfect, small and firm with aroused nipples. I reached up, my fingers itching to touch her, but she stepped back, a small, commanding smile playing on her lips.

"Wait," she commanded.

She slid her trousers down, the fabric whispering against her skin. She stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lace panties that left nothing to the imagination. The sight of her—the curve of her hips, the softness of her belly, the way her thighs trembled slightly—made my blood roar in my ears. She reached back, hooking her fingers into the lace and sliding the fabric down her legs.

She stood there for a heartbeat, completely nude, her skin glowing in the afternoon light. She looked like a goddess, but the expression on her face was entirely human. She looked hungry.

Before I could even reach for her, before I could utter a single word of praise, Yeji climbed onto the bed. She didn't crawl; she prowled. She moved over me, her knees flanking my hips, and then, with a sudden shift in weight, she pivoted.

She lowered herself directly onto my face.

The air left me in a rush as the wet, hot folds of her pussy pressed firmly against my mouth and nose. The scent hit me instantly—musk, arousal, and that singular, intoxicating Yeji-smell. I could feel the heat radiating from her, the slickness of her juices already soaking into my skin.

She gasped, her voice strained as she shifted her weight, sliding down my body until her face was positioned perfectly between my legs. "I've wanted this since the moment we left the city." The world narrowed down to the sensation of her. I pressed my tongue upward, finding her clit, swirling around the tiny, engorged bud of pleasure. Yeji let out a loud, guttural moan that vibrated through my entire skull. At the same time, her mouth closed around me.

She didn't just suck; she worshipped. Her tongue wrapped around the head of my cock, swirling in a tight, rhythmic circle before she slid her mouth down the shaft. The suction was intense, a vacuum of heat and saliva that made my toes curl. I could hear the wet, shlicking sounds of her tongue working against my skin, the squelch of saliva as she took as much of me as she could handle.

I responded by burying my face deeper into her. I used my tongue to part her lips, delving deep into the creaminess of her center. She tasted sweet and salty, a flood of arousal that coated my tongue. I flicked my tongue rapidly against her clit while sucking on the soft flesh of her inner thighs.

Yeji’s breathing became a series of erratic, high-pitched whimpers. She was shaking, her hands gripping my thighs so hard her nails dug into my skin. The rhythm intensified. Her mouth was a furnace, her tongue dancing over the frenulum, while I worked my way deeper into her, my tongue mimicking the thrusts she would eventually want.

"Ben... Ben, I'm... I'm close," she wailed, the sound muffled by my lap.

She shifted suddenly, pulling away from my cock and sliding back up. She didn't move off my face; instead, she sat directly on it, her weight pressing her pussy firmly against my mouth, sealing us together. She arched her back, her chest thrusting toward the ceiling, her head falling back as the first wave of orgasm hit her.

I could feel her muscles contracting against my lips, the rhythmic pulsing of her walls as she came. A flood of hot, thick juices drenched my face, the taste of her climax filling my mouth. Yeji screamed—a raw, unfiltered sound of release that echoed through the room.

The sight and feel of her coming on my face, the sheer vulnerability and power of it, snapped something inside me. The tension that had been building for months, the longing, the frustration—it all converged into a single point of explosion.

I bucked upward, my hips surging with a violent force. I came with a power that felt like a physical blow, my cum spraying upward in thick, hot jets. Because of the angle, the force sent the white fluid flying, splashing across Yeji’s stomach and chest, and spraying directly across her face.

She gasped, her eyes snapping open as the warm liquid hit her cheeks and forehead. We stayed like that for a moment, locked together, breathing in sync, the room smelling of sex and salt.

Yeji didn't move for a long time. Then, slowly, she shifted, sliding off my face and rolling onto her side. She looked at me, her eyes hazy and pupils still wide. She raised a hand, her thumb wiping a streak of my cum from her cheek.

She didn't wipe it away in disgust. She looked at the white fluid on her thumb, then slowly brought it to her lips and licked it clean, her eyes locked on mine with a predatory intensity.

"Stay still," she whispered.

She moved with a purpose now, her movements slower but more deliberate. She guided my cock, which was already beginning to stir again, toward the entrance of her pussy. She didn't just slide on; she teased the head against her folds, rubbing the slickness of her own juices and my cum across her lips.

"It's time for the wife to give her husband what he deserves," she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr.

She lowered herself slowly, the friction causing a wet, squelching sound that echoed in the quiet room. I felt my head disappear into her, the tightness of her walls gripping me like a vice. Yeji let out a long, shaky breath, her eyes closing as she settled fully onto me, her cervix meeting the head of my cock.

"Oh god," she whimpered. "You're so... you're so deep."

She began to move, her hips rotating in a slow, grinding circle. I reached up, my hands finding the swell of her breasts, squeezing them as she rose and fell. The sound of our bodies meeting—the slap of her ass against my thighs—became the only rhythm in the world.

Yeji was vocal, her moans turning into passionate, loving declarations.

"I love you," she gasped, her voice breaking. "I love you so much, Ben. I've wanted this... I've wanted you inside me for so long."

She increased the pace, her movements becoming more urgent. She wasn't just riding me; she was claiming me. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against my chest, her sweat mingling with mine. I could feel her internal muscles clamping down on me with every downward thrust, drawing me deeper into her heat.

As she approached her second climax, she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned down and captured my lips in a kiss that felt like a seal of ownership. She put both of her hands on my face, framing my jaw, her fingers digging into my cheeks, refusing to let go. She held me there, her gaze locked on mine, as the orgasm ripped through her.

I felt her walls spasm violently, squeezing the life out of me. My own hand slid down, gripping the curve of her ass, pulling her down hard against me, while my other hand stayed at the back of her head, holding her close. We rode out the wave together, the intimacy of the moment far outweighing the physical pleasure.

When she finally collapsed against me, her breathing ragged and her skin flushed a deep pink, she stayed there for a long time. She felt soft, spent, and completely satisfied.

"I'm... I'm done," she whispered into my neck, her voice trailing off into a contented sigh. "I think... I think the wife has made the husband happy. Maybe we should... go meet the others for dinner."

I felt a shift in my own chest. Watching her like this—undone, vulnerable, and utterly devoted—flipped a switch in me. The softness was gone, replaced by a sudden, towering hunger. I didn't want to stop. I wanted more. I wanted to see her break again.

"Not so fast," I whispered, my voice sounding deeper, even to my own ears.

Yeji blinked, looking up at me with a confused smile. "What?"

"You used the wife card to get your way," I said, my hand sliding from her ass to her waist, gripping her firmly. "Now it's time for the husband card. The wife deserves more pampering after all that hard work she's done."

Before she could protest, I gripped her hips and flipped her over. She let out a small, surprised yelp as I moved her onto her hands and knees. I didn't stop there. I guided her further, pressing her chest down into the mattress while keeping her hips high, her legs spread wide.

I entered her from behind, but I didn't just slide in. I angled my body, lifting one of her legs up and over my hip, creating a steep, deep incline. This was a variation of the *Indrani* position from the Kama Sutra, designed for maximum depth and contact.

As I thrust forward, I felt myself hit her G-spot—the sensitive area that had become hyper-responsive after her previous orgasms.

Yeji’s reaction was instantaneous. She let out a scream that was barely human, her back arching violently.

"Ben! Oh my god, Ben!"

The pleasure was too much. She began to shake, her movements mirroring the overstimulation Ryujin often described. Every thrust felt like an electric shock, a wave of intensity that threatened to drown her. She was moaning loudly now, the sounds raw and desperate, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

"Too much... it's too much!" she wailed, but she pushed her hips back against me, demanding more.

I didn't let up. I hammered into her, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room with a rhythmic, visceral thud. I could feel her internal walls fluttering, pulsing around me in a frantic attempt to absorb the pleasure. She was hovering on the edge of a third, massive climax, her voice reduced to fragmented whimpers.

"Please... please, Ben... give it to me... all of it!"

I felt the pressure building in my gut, a tidal wave that I could no longer hold back. With one final, deep surge, I buried myself as far as I could go, pinning her against the mattress.

I came inside her with a force that made my entire body shudder. I could feel the hot, thick pulses of my seed filling her, the warmth spreading through her core. Yeji let out a final, long moan, her head falling forward as she collapsed into the bed, her body still twitching from the intensity of the release.

We lay there in the wreckage of the room, the curtains fluttering in the breeze, the ocean calling from the balcony. The silence returned, but it was different now. It wasn't a vacuum; it was a sanctuary.

Yeji shifted, rolling over to look at me. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, and her eyes were filled with a softness that made my heart ache. She looked embarrassed for a fleeting second, remembering how aggressive she had been, but then she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and pulled me close.

"I think," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I really like these wife privileges."

For a second, I forgot how to answer. Not because I did not have a joke. I had several. All of them terrible. All of them dangerous.

But Yeji was looking at me with her hair ruined, her lips swollen, her skin still warm against mine, and that tiny embarrassed smile caught between pride and disbelief. The kind of smile she only gave when she had surprised herself first.

So for once, I did the smarter thing. I kissed her. Softly this time. No urgency. Just my mouth against hers, slow enough that she melted into it instead of trying to win. Her hand slid up my chest, fingers brushing over the place where her name was still hidden beneath my shirt somewhere on the floor, and she laughed quietly against my lips.

“What?” I asked. Her cheeks colored “I’m thinking.” “That sounds dangerous.” “It is.” I smiled “About?” She hid her face against my neck “No.” “Yeji.” “No.” “Wife privileges?”

Her hand hit my chest weakly.

“Don’t ruin it.” “I’m not ruining it. I’m appreciating the policy.” “There is no policy.” “There are clearly benefits.” She groaned into my skin “I hate you.” “No, you don’t.”

Her silence lasted too long. Then, very quietly, she said, “No. I don’t.” That did something to me. More than the teasing. More than the way she had said wife earlier like it belonged in her mouth. More than the tattoo. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer until she was lying half on top of me, her cheek against my chest, one leg tangled between mine. The room had gone still again, but this time it did not feel empty. It felt protected.

Outside, the ocean moved beyond the balcony.

Inside, Yeji traced idle shapes against my skin. For a while, neither of us spoke. That was new. Not because we had nothing to say. Because for once, nothing needed defending. Her breathing slowed first. Then mine followed. I pressed a kiss into her hair, and she made a small sound like she wanted to complain but did not have the strength to commit to it. “You okay?” I asked. She nodded against me.

Then, after a pause, she lifted her head “You?” “Yes.” Her eyes narrowed “That was too fast.” “I’m very okay.” “Ben.” I smiled “I am happy.”

That softened her. She looked down, embarrassed again, but this time she did not hide. “Me too.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “You were very scary.” Her eyes flicked back to mine. “You deserved it.”

“I did.” “You kept calling me your wife.” “I did.” “In front of everyone.” “I did.” “And then you put my name on your chest.” “You chose the hearts.” Her mouth twitched “They were artistically necessary.” “Of course.” “And private.” “Apparently not, since John betrayed me with documentary evidence.” Yeji covered her face “I still cannot believe he showed everyone.” “I can. John is a wounded animal. He wanted collateral.”

She laughed. Soft and happy. Then she kissed me again. That one lasted longer. It started gentle, but Yeji had a way of making even softness feel like a decision. Her fingers found my jaw, holding me there as if I might escape, even though both of us knew I had nowhere else I wanted to be.

I kissed her back until she sighed into my mouth. Until her shoulders loosened. Until the leader finally stopped standing guard behind her eyes. When she pulled away, she stayed close enough for our noses to brush.

“For the record,” she whispered, “I am still your girlfriend.” “I know.” “Not wife.” “I know.”

She stared at me. I stared back. Then she added, quieter, “Yet.”

The word barely existed. But I heard it. My heart stopped so violently that it should have triggered the resort’s medical standby. Yeji realized what she had said and immediately tried to roll away. I caught her “Nope.”

“Ben.” “No. Come back.” “I said nothing.” “You said theology.” “I said one word.” “One devastating word.”

She buried her face against my shoulder “I hate this room.”

“This room has done nothing wrong.” “This room has heard too much.” “The walls signed an NDA.”

She laughed again, and I felt it against my chest. For a while, that was all we did. Cuddle. Kiss. Talk in fragments. Pretend we were not both trying to memorize what it felt like to be this quiet together. Eventually, Yeji’s hand drifted lower and found my wrist. She turned it slightly, checking the time.

Then went still.

I felt it before I understood it “What?” She lifted my wrist closer. Then her head snapped up “Ben.”

“What?” “We’re late.” I blinked “For what?” “Dinner.”

The word landed like a siren. We both moved at once. Badly. Yeji sat up too fast, winced, then pointed at me before I could comment “Do not.”

“I said nothing.” “You thought something.” “That is not illegal.” “It will be if you smile.”

I did not smile. Technically. She scrambled toward the edge of the bed, then stopped when she looked around the room. The room looked like it had lost an argument. Clothes on the floor. One of my shirt buttons near the curtain. A pillow halfway off the mattress. The blankets destroyed beyond reasonable explanation. Yeji stared. Then slowly looked back at me.

“We need to get clothed.” “We need to be at dinner.” “We need all three.”

She closed her eyes.

“We are doomed.” “Probably.” “Benjie.”

I got up. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. We managed to shower, dress, and make the room look less like a crime scene in record time. Not clean, but survivable. Yeji fixed her hair in the mirror with the focus of someone preparing for a comeback stage instead of dinner with women who already knew too much. I buttoned a fresh shirt all the way up because I had learned at least one lesson in the past twenty-four hours.

Yeji noticed.

“Good.” “I can behave.” “No, you can be managed.” “That sounds like wife work.”

She pointed the hairbrush at me “Do not start.” I smiled. She tried not to, she failed. We were twenty-three minutes late. Which was not ideal. But also not catastrophic. Until we reached the dining pavilion and the entire table went silent. That was catastrophic. Every head turned. ITZY. TWICE. John. Jihyo. Mina.

Even Momo stopped eating.

That, more than anything, told me we were in danger. Yeji straightened beside me. Damaged, but functional “Sorry we’re late.”

No one spoke.

Then Ryujin leaned back in her chair and smiled. Slowly “Oh?” “No,” Yeji said immediately. Ryujin’s smile widened. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.”

Yuna looked between us, eyes bright with the kind of joy only danger could produce “You both look very… rested.” Lia closed her eyes “Yuna.”

“What? I said rested.” Nayeon leaned forward, chin in her hand “Rested is generous.” Sana smiled sweetly “Glowing?” Yeji’s face turned pink “We lost track of time.” John stared at me “You lost track of dinner?”

“Apparently.” “You?” “I was busy.”

The table inhaled as one organism. Yeji’s head whipped toward me.

“Ben.” “What? With unpacking.”

Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: local couple claims unpacking after arriving twenty-three minutes late to dinner.” “I did not claim couple,” Yeji said. Mina looked at her plate “You did not deny unpacking.” Yeji turned toward Mina, betrayed “Mina.” “It is a factual gap.” Ryujin pointed at the two empty seats “Sit down before this gets worse.” “That sounds merciful,” I said. Ryujin smiled “It is not.”

We sat. Unfortunately, sitting did not help. Because the silence kept smiling at us. Chaeryeong, who had clearly been trying very hard not to participate, looked at Yeji with gentle concern “Unnie, are you okay?” Yeji froze. The table froze with her. I looked at my water. Cowardly, but necessary. Yeji cleared her throat “Yes.”

Ryujin’s eyes sharpened “Physically?” “Ryujin,” Lia warned. Yuna leaned forward “Private resort does not mean subtle resort.”

Yeji closed her eyes. I stopped breathing. Jihyo slowly lowered her utensils “What does that mean?” Lia looked at Yuna “Do not.” Yuna looked at her “They were not quiet.”

The table detonated.

Yeji covered her face. I stared into the middle distance and accepted death. Nayeon slammed both hands on the table “I knew it.” Sana gasped like she had just witnessed romance itself walk into the room. Dahyun’s imaginary microphone returned instantly “Breaking news: honeymoon logistics confirmed by acoustic evidence.”

“It was not honeymoon logistics,” Yeji said through her hands. Ryujin leaned toward her “Unnie.” “No.” “You screamed.” “Ryujin!”

Momo blinked. Then looked at John “Is that what we heard?” John choked on his drink. Jihyo closed her eyes “Do not answer that.” Nayeon turned to John anyway “Manager-nim.”

“No.” “You never did that when we arrived somewhere.” “I am begging you not to compare arrival protocols.” Sana tilted her head “Why not?” “Because that phrase already sounds illegal.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms “Ben arrives at a resort and immediately treats his wife properly.” Yeji’s face went fully red “I am not his wife.” Tzuyu looked at her calmly “But the room heard otherwise.”

The table exploded again. I covered my mouth. Not because I was embarrassed— because if I laughed, Yeji would kill me. Lia, somehow, tried to restore dignity “Maybe we should let them eat.”

“Thank you,” Yeji said weakly. Lia nodded, then added, “They probably need energy.”

Yeji stared at her. Lia took a sip of water, expression perfectly calm “Traitor,” Yeji whispered. Ryujin looked delighted “Vacation Lia is dangerous.” Yuna nodded “She has timing.” Nayeon pointed at John “See? Even Lia understands the standard.” John looked betrayed by the entire world “I drove for hours. I handled logistics. I survived Ben. I deserve peace.” Jihyo looked at him “You also streamed his tattoo video to everyone.” John paused and then nodded “I deserved that part.”

Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again “TWICE files formal complaint: lack of honeymoon-grade welcome treatment.” John pointed at her “No filing.” Sana smiled “Just verbal complaint.” Momo raised her hand slightly “Can dinner still continue during the complaint?” Chaeryeong immediately nodded “Yes.”

“Good,” Momo said, and returned to eating. Mina looked toward me “Was the room satisfactory?” Yeji made a strangled sound. John put his head in his hands. I stared at Mina “The room was excellent.” Mina nodded “Good.” Nayeon grinned “Apparently.” Yeji grabbed her glass of water and drank like it was the only thing keeping her alive. I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice “You okay?”

She did not look at me “No.” “Do you want me to stop them?” “You cannot stop them.” “That is true.”

Her eyes flicked toward me. Then down to my shirt. Still buttoned. Still hiding everything. Her voice dropped “If you show even one letter at this table, I will push you into the ocean.” I smiled faintly “Yes, my dear wife.”

She kicked my ankle under the table. Hard. I deserved it. Unfortunately, Nayeon saw “She kicked him.” Sana gasped “Domestic.”

Dahyun lifted the microphone “Breaking news: wife disciplines husband at dinner after honeymoon scandal.” Yeji pointed at Dahyun “No more breaking news.” Dahyun lowered her hand “For now.” Jihyo finally clapped once “Enough. Let them eat.” The authority in her voice worked… Mostly.

People returned to their plates, but the table stayed lighter now. The kind of laughter that did not need to be loud to keep circling back. Yuna kept smiling into her food. Ryujin kept glancing at Yeji like she had discovered a new favorite weakness. Lia looked too pleased with herself for someone who had pretended to be the voice of reason all morning. TWICE, meanwhile, continued punishing John in smaller ways.

Nayeon asked if he needed “arrival training.” Sana suggested a retreat workshop. Dahyun offered to document improvement. Jeongyeon said he could start with eye contact and work his way up. Momo said dinner first. Tzuyu quietly added that expectations had now been established.

John looked at me across the table “I hate you.” I lifted my glass “You should have taken notes.” The TWICE side erupted. John pointed at me “You are the problem.”

Yeji, still pink, still embarrassed, still glowing in a way everyone could see, reached under the table and found my hand. No one saw that part. Or if they did, they were kind enough not to say anything. For once.

Yeji’s fingers threaded through mine. I looked at her and she did not look back. But her thumb brushed once over my knuckles. A private answer in the middle of a public execution. The first dinner of the retreat continued around us. Too full of people who knew too much and somehow, for the first time since we arrived, it felt exactly like what we had come here for.

It wasn’t peace, not yet. But release. A place where embarrassment could become laughter. Where privacy did not mean silence. Where Yeji could be late to dinner, red-faced and furious, and still have her hand in mine beneath the table.

Across from us, Ryujin leaned toward Yuna and whispered something. Yuna’s eyes widened. Lia immediately said, “No.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Ryujin replied. “You were about to.”

Chaeryeong smiled into her plate. Momo reached for another serving. Nayeon started bothering John again. Jihyo pretended not to enjoy it. Mina quietly checked the dessert options. And Yeji, my not-wife girlfriend, the leader with wife privileges, squeezed my hand once more. I smiled into my glass. Dinner was late and the vacation, apparently, had started properly.

Dinner lasted longer than it should have. Not because anyone was still hungry. Momo was, obviously, but that was a separate condition.

 Dinner lasted because nobody wanted to be the first one to admit they were tired. The first night of the retreat had settled over us slowly, warm and salt-heavy, with the ocean breathing somewhere beyond the lights of the dining pavilion. The staff had cleared most of the plates. Dessert had appeared without anyone asking. Mina had approved the plating with one quiet nod, which somehow made the chef look more relieved than when Jihyo thanked him.

Eventually, the table broke apart into smaller pieces. Not groups exactly. More like currents.

Momo and Chaeryeong drifted toward the kitchen with a seriousness that suggested diplomatic negotiations over breakfast. Yuna cornered Dahyun and Sana with her activity notebook, which immediately made Lia stand up with a sigh and follow them like a woman trying to prevent a recreational felony. Ryujin and Nayeon had started whispering again, and John noticed too late. “No,” he said from across the table.

Ryujin looked offended “We have said nothing.” “That is usually when the damage starts.” Nayeon smiled “Manager-nim, you wound me.” “I am trying to prevent being wounded.”

Jihyo stood, folder tucked beneath one arm, and looked toward Yeji “Can I borrow you for a minute?” Yeji looked up from beside me “For logistics?”

“For logistics,” Jihyo said. Sana appeared behind Jihyo, smiling too brightly “And wife privileges.” Yeji’s face went red immediately “No.” Nayeon lifted one hand “Emotional logistics.” Dahyun raised her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: senior leaders convene to discuss honeymoon noise policy.” Jihyo pointed at her without looking “No.” Dahyun lowered her hand “For now.”

Yeji turned toward me, still pink, still trying very hard to look like this was a normal dinner and not a public trial “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll survive.”

Ryujin snorted “Barely.” Yeji gave her a look, then leaned closer to me just enough for only me to hear “Behave.” I smiled “You first.” Her eyes narrowed. The wife voice almost came out. Then she seemed to remember where we were and only shook her head, but her fingers brushed mine under the table before she let go.

It was small, private, more importantly— enough.

Then TWICE took her. Not aggressively. Worse, playfully. Nayeon hooked an arm through hers. Sana took the other side. Jihyo walked ahead like this was an actual strategy meeting and not Yeji being escorted to a tribunal. Mina followed behind them, calm as ever, and said something about the morning schedule. Yeji glanced back once. Not worried. Not possessive. Just checking. I gave her a small nod. She rolled her eyes like I had done something annoying. Then smiled before turning away. That smile stayed with me after she disappeared down the garden path with them.

For a while, I remained at the table. John sat across from me, watching TWICE drag Yeji away “That,” he said, “is how it starts.”

“What?”

“First they ask for logistics. Then they ask for feelings. Then somehow you are apologizing for things you did in a hypothetical future.” I looked at him “You speak from experience?” He stared into his drink “I speak from survival.”

Across the pavilion, Ryujin laughed too loudly at something Nayeon said from a distance despite not even being part of that conversation anymore. Yuna was arguing that “optional midnight bonding” was different from “mandatory midnight bonding.” Lia had taken the notebook and was holding it above her head while Yuna tried to reach for it.

Chaeryeong returned from the kitchen with Momo beside her, both looking strangely satisfied. The first night was loosening. The kind of loosening that came from realizing nobody had tried to take a picture of them for hours.

Nobody had shouted their names from beyond a barricade. Nobody had watched them eat through a screen. I stood before the feeling could get too large. John noticed “Where are you going?”

“For air.” He narrowed his eyes “No cigarettes.” I looked at him “Yeji said the same thing.” “Good. I like being alive.” “I’m not smoking.” “Good.” “If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.” “Bad.”

I left before he could continue. The path beyond the pavilion curved toward the beach. Lights were hidden low among the stones, soft enough not to ruin the night sky. The resort was quiet in a way the Top Floor never could be. The Top Floor had silence, sometimes. But it was city silence. Elevator silence. Glass-wall silence. Money pretending to be peace.

This was different. This was ocean and darkness and distance. I stopped near the edge of the sand, where the stone path gave way beneath my shoes. The wind moved warm against my face. For the first time that day, I did not immediately think about logistics.

Then a voice behind me said, “You really didn’t smoke.”

I turned. Lia stood a few steps away, holding two cups. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her expression quiet in the way it became when she had decided to say something before she was ready. I smiled faintly.

“Were you checking?” “Yes.” “At least you’re honest.” “I brought tea as a cover story.” “That is more suspicious than just checking.”

She looked down at the cups. Then back at me “It’s good tea.” I accepted one “Thank you.” She moved beside me, leaving enough space that it did not feel accidental, but close enough that it did not feel distant either. For a while, we watched the water.

The sound of the others drifted faintly from the pavilion behind us. Laughter. A muffled shout from Yuna. Jihyo’s voice cutting through something with leader precision. Yeji laughing after that, small and embarrassed and happy.

Lia heard it too. Her eyes softened “She sounds different here.”

“Yeji?”

Lia nodded “Lighter.” I looked toward the lights “She deserves to be.” “She does.”

The words were simple. But the way Lia said them was not. I looked at her. She was still watching the water, both hands wrapped around her cup. “And you?” I asked.

Her mouth curved faintly “I knew you would ask that.” “Should I not?” “No.” She took a breath “You should.”

The wind moved between us. Lia looked down into her tea like it might offer instructions.

“I thought coming here would make things quieter,” she said. “Has it?” “A little.” Then she smiled, but it was tired “Also no.”

I waited. That was something I had learned with Lia. If you filled the silence too quickly, she would let you. She would nod, soften, make room for everyone else’s words. But if you waited, sometimes she gave you something real.

She did this time “I have feelings for you,” she said quietly.

I did not move. Not because I was surprised. Because I knew this sentence had cost her more than she wanted anyone to see. Lia’s fingers tightened around the cup “I know that’s not new. Not exactly. I think I’ve known for a while. I think everyone else probably knew before I wanted them to.”

A small laugh escaped her. Embarrassed and soft “But knowing and doing something about it are not the same.”

“No,” I said. “They’re not.” Her eyes lifted to mine. That was the dangerous part. Not the confession. The looking. Lia could hide in careful words if she wanted to. But her eyes had always been worse at lying “I don’t want to be left behind,” she whispered. My chest tightened “Lia.”

“I know no one is doing that to me.” she shook her head gently, stopping me before I could reassure her too fast.

“I know. That’s not what I mean.”

She looked back toward the pavilion. Toward the people laughing under warm lights. Toward the life that had somehow become too complicated to name simply “I just mean… everyone is moving. In their own way. Yeji knows where she stands. Ryujin acts like fear is something she can flirt with until it gives up. Yuna is scared and still jumps anyway.”

Her voice softened “And Chaeryeong…” She paused. I watched her. Lia did not finish that thought. Instead, she looked at me again “I’m not like them.”

“You don’t have to be.” “I know.”

But again, her voice trembled enough to reveal the problem. Knowing was not believing. Not fully. Lia set her tea down on the low stone wall beside us. Then she stepped closer. Not much. Enough that I noticed. Enough that she noticed me noticing. Her breath caught, and for one second, I thought she might step back. She did not.

“Can I try something?” she asked. My voice came out lower than I expected. “Yes.”

She searched my face “You don’t know what it is.” “I trust you.”

That almost broke her.

I saw it in the way her eyes softened too quickly, in the way her lips parted around a breath she did not release. Then Lia reached for me. Her hand touched my arm first.

Careful. Testing. Then slid down to my wrist, like she needed something smaller than my face to hold onto before she could be brave enough for the rest. I stayed still. Lia stepped closer again. Then she kissed me.

It was not like Yeji. Not collision. Not fire finally finding air. Lia’s kiss was quiet. Deliberate. A question asked with trembling courage. Her lips touched mine softly, then pressed a little firmer when I did not pull away. Her fingers tightened around my wrist. For one second, she seemed to freeze inside the decision she had made.

Then I kissed her back. Carefully. Slow enough that she could stop me. Soft enough that she could stay. Lia made a tiny sound against my mouth. Not surprise, it was relief.

That sound nearly undid me more than anything else could have. Her other hand lifted, hovering near my chest. For a moment, she almost touched me there. Almost pulled herself closer. Almost crossed from kiss into something larger.

Then she stopped.

Her fingers curled in the air before they reached me. Not away. Just short of more. I felt the hesitation like a held breath between us. So I kept still. Careful “Lia.” Her eyes opened. Soft. Startled. Like she already knew what I had seen.

“You don’t have to force yourself.” Her hand lowered slightly “I know.”

But her voice said she was trying to. Not because she did not want this. Because she did. Because wanting it made her feel like she had to keep proving she was ready for all of it at once. I covered the hand holding my wrist with mine. Not to keep her there. Only to let her feel that she could let go without losing anything.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Lia looked at me for a long moment. The ocean moved behind her. The pavilion laughter carried faintly through the trees. Then she exhaled, almost laughing. Almost breaking.

“That’s the problem.” I smiled faintly “Is it?”

Her eyes dropped to my mouth again. Then back to mine.

“No,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

But she did not move further. And I did not ask her to. For tonight, this was enough. Her choice. Her kiss. Her stopping point. And the first time she did not run from wanting more. Lia leaned forward after a moment and rested her forehead lightly against my shoulder. It was so gentle that it almost hurt “Is this okay?” she asked.

I looked down at her “With me?” “With Yeji.”

The question was quiet. Important. I turned my head toward the pavilion lights. Yeji was still somewhere beyond them, probably being emotionally tortured by Nayeon and Sana while Jihyo pretended not to enjoy it.

I smiled softly “She knows you matter to me.” “That’s not an answer.” “It is.”

Lia lifted her head. I met her eyes “And if you need to hear the other part, I will talk to her. Properly. Not because this was wrong. Because you deserve not to carry uncertainty by yourself.”

Lia’s face changed. Not fully relieved. But steadier.

“Okay.” “Okay?”

She nodded. Then, after a second, she leaned in and kissed me again. Shorter this time. Still soft. But less afraid.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink “That’s enough for tonight.”

I smiled “Okay.” “Don’t sound proud of me.” “I’m not.” “You are.” “I am a little.” She groaned and looked away “That is embarrassing.” “It is also true.”

Lia picked up her tea again, but her hand was steadier now. We stood there for another minute, shoulder to shoulder, watching the water. Just letting the first step be exactly what it was.

From the pavilion, Yuna’s voice suddenly rose “Lia?” Lia closed her eyes “I am going to throw that notebook into the ocean.” I laughed “She found you.”

“She always finds me when she needs supervision.” “Do you want to go back?”

Lia looked at the water. Then at me. Then she smiled, small and tired and real “In a minute.” So we took one more minute. The retreat continued behind us. But out here, beneath the night air, Lia had crossed the smallest line in the quietest way. And somehow, that made it feel larger than if she had run.

By the time I returned to the villa, the resort had gone quiet in pieces. Not asleep. Not fully. Somewhere beyond the garden path, I could still hear faint laughter from the pavilion. Yuna’s voice rose once, immediately followed by Lia saying something that sounded like a warning. Ryujin laughed after that. Then the ocean swallowed the rest.

Our room was dim when I stepped inside.

Only the balcony light was on.

Yeji sat outside with one knee drawn up beneath her, wearing one of my shirts like she had every right to steal from my suitcase. Her hair was loose now, brushed soft over one shoulder. The night wind moved through it gently.

She did not turn around immediately. That was how I knew she knew. Not everything. But enough. I closed the door behind me. Yeji looked over her shoulder.

“Hi.”

Her voice was soft. Not suspicious. Not angry. Just awake.

“Hi.” I said back.

I walked toward the balcony, slower than I needed to. Yeji watched me the whole way.

“You were gone for a while.” “I know.”

She turned back toward the ocean. I sat beside her, leaving a careful space between us at first. Yeji noticed. Of course she did. After everything that had happened today, she still noticed the smallest distance.

“Ben.”

I looked at her. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were too clear for me to pretend badly.

“What happened?”

I exhaled.

“Lia kissed me.”

Yeji did not move. The ocean filled the silence for a few seconds. Then she nodded once. Small. Controlled.

“Okay.”

I waited. Because okay did not mean finished. It meant she was making room for the rest.

“She found me by the beach,” I said. “I went out for air after dinner. No cigarette.”

Yeji glanced at me.

“Good.” “I thought you would ask.” “I was going to.”

That almost made me smile. Almost.

“She said she has feelings for me.”

Yeji’s face softened by a degree.

“She said it?” “Yes.” “That must have been hard for her.” “It was.”

Yeji looked down at her hands.

“Did she force herself?”

That question hit me harder than jealousy would have. Because of course that was the first thing Yeji asked. Not whether Lia touched me. Not whether I kissed her back. Not whether she should be upset. Whether Lia had pushed herself past what she could handle.

“No,” I said quietly. “But she almost tried to.”

Yeji’s eyes lifted to mine.

“She kissed me first,” I continued. “I kissed her back. Carefully. She reached for more, then stopped herself.”

Yeji listened without interrupting.

“I told her she didn’t have to force herself.”

Her shoulders loosened. Just slightly.

“That was the right thing to say.” “I hoped it was.” “It was.”

The certainty in her voice settled something in me. I leaned back against the balcony chair and stared out at the dark water.

“She asked if it was okay with you.”

Yeji looked at me. I turned back to her.

“I told her I would talk to you properly. Not because it was wrong, but because she deserves not to carry uncertainty by herself.”

For a while, Yeji said nothing. Then she reached across the small space between us and took my hand. Her fingers slid between mine, warm and steady.

“Thank you for telling me.”

I looked down at our hands.

“I always will.” “I know.”

Her thumb moved once over my knuckles.

“But I still appreciate it.”

That somehow hurt more than being scolded. Yeji looked at the ocean again.

“I’m not angry.” “I know.” “Do you?”

I looked at her. She smiled faintly, but it was tired.

“I wanted to know,” I admitted. “Not because I thought you would be cruel. I know you wouldn’t. But because this is… a lot.” “It is.” “And it keeps getting bigger.” “Yes.” “And somehow I keep standing in the middle of all of you, trying not to ruin something I don’t even fully understand yet.”

Yeji’s grip tightened.

“You’re not standing in the middle alone.”

I looked at her. She looked back. In that way that still felt too undeserved to name carelessly.

“You came back and told me,” she said. “That matters.” “I will always come back and tell you.” “I need that.” “I know.”

“No.” Her voice dropped softer. “I need you to know I need that. Not because I don’t trust you. Not because I think Lia did anything wrong. But because silence makes stories when people are scared.”

That line stayed in the air between us.

“Then no silence.” “No silence,” she repeated.

I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. Yeji watched me do it, expression softening despite herself.

“She has been standing at the edge for a while,” she said. “Lia?”

Yeji nodded.

“I think she knows what she feels. She just doesn’t know how to move without feeling like one step means she has to take all of them.” “That’s what it felt like.” “Then don’t pull her over.” “I won’t.” “Let her step.” “I will.”

Yeji turned her face toward the water again.

“She deserves that.” “She does.” “And if she stops, let her stop.” “I did.” “I know.”

Her voice gentled “That is why I’m not angry.”

I looked at her for a long moment. Then something in me broke open quietly. The kind of feeling that arrived without asking and sat directly in the center of my chest.

“You know,” I said, “every time I think I understand how much I love you, you make it worse.”

Yeji blinked. Her cheeks colored “Ben.”

“I mean it.”

She looked down, but I did not let myself stop. Not this time.

“I don’t know how to explain this without sounding insane.” “That has never stopped you before.” I smiled faintly “Fair.”

Her thumb brushed my hand again. So I tried. “Everything around us is complicated. Everyone matters. I care about them. I don’t want to lie about that. I don’t want to diminish it because that would be unfair to them, and it would be unfair to you too.” Yeji stayed quiet. Listening. “But my heart keeps finding you first.” Her breath caught. I looked at her properly. “No matter how loud the room gets. No matter who needs me. No matter what happens with anyone else. I come back to you in my head before I even know I’m doing it.”

Yeji’s eyes softened. “You’re the place I return to,” I said. “Not because you demand it. Not because you hold it over anyone. Because you keep choosing me even when you could make this harder. You keep choosing honesty over jealousy. You keep choosing kindness toward them when it would be easier to make everything smaller so it hurts less.”

Her eyes shone now. She looked away quickly, but I saw it. I always saw her. “That does not make me perfect,” she whispered. “I don’t need perfect. I need you.”

She turned back to me. The words had landed. I could see it in the way her face changed, embarrassment and tenderness fighting for space. “I love them in the ways this life has made possible,” I said quietly. “But I love you like home.”

Yeji’s mouth trembled slightly “Do not say things like that if you don’t want me to cry.”

“I can stop.” “No.” I smiled “No?” She shook her head once “No.” So I leaned closer “I love you, Yeji.”

Her eyes closed for a second. Like she needed to hold the words somewhere safe before answering. Then she opened them and looked at me “I love you too.”

Simple. Barely above a whisper. Enough to undo me. I cupped her cheek. She leaned into my hand without hesitation. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then she said, very softly:

“I’m still your girlfriend.” “I know.” “Not your wife.” “I know.”

Her eyes narrowed faintly “But…” I waited. Her cheeks turned pink again “But if you keep being honest with me like this, I might keep letting you get away with calling me that.” I smiled slowly “That sounds like a policy.”

“It is not a policy.” “Wife privileges?” She groaned “Do not ruin the emotional moment.” “I would never.” “You are actively doing it.” “I love you.”

She tried to glare. Failed immediately. Then she leaned forward and kissed me. Loving in a way that made the rest of the night quiet around us.

I kissed her back with both hands careful at her waist, not pulling too hard, not asking for more. Just holding her there. Letting the kiss be what it needed to be after everything else the day had carried.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against mine.

“I’m glad you came back,” she whispered. “I always will.” Her eyes stayed closed “Good.” “Because my wife would be annoyed if I didn’t?”

Her eyes opened. She stared at me. Then, despite herself, she smiled “Yes,” she said. “Very annoyed.” I laughed quietly. She kissed me again before I could make it worse.

Eventually, we went back inside.

The room was still softly lit, the bed still imperfect from earlier, the ocean still moving beyond the balcony doors. Yeji turned off the light while I pulled the blanket back. She climbed in first, then immediately reached for me like the conversation had left her too tender to pretend she did not need contact.

I joined her.

She settled against my chest, one arm across my waist, her leg tucked between mine. I wrapped myself around her and pressed a kiss into her hair. For a while, she traced lazy circles against my side. Then her hand drifted to my chest. To the place beneath the fabric where her name still rested in temporary ink.

She did not say anything. She only left her hand there. I covered it with mine. Yeji exhaled softly “Tomorrow,” she murmured, half-asleep already, “no chaos.”

I closed my eyes “Of course.”

A pause. Then, from somewhere deep in her fading consciousness

“That sounded fake.” “It was a little fake.”

Her tired laugh warmed my chest.

“Good night, Benjie.” “Good night, Yeji.”

She shifted closer. Still mine. Still herself. Still choosing me. And for the first time since the retreat began, the silence did not feel like something waiting to be broken.

Jisoo watched all of this from beneath the narrow shelter of a production tent, still wearing the coat from her final scene which was too elegant for the weather, too expensive-looking… too thin.

She stared at the rain falling beyond the tent’s edge and decided, very calmly, that whoever scheduled a night shoot during monsoon season deserved at least one mild inconvenience every morning for a week. Not a major curse. She was not unreasonable. Just enough that their socks never fully dried.

“Jisoo-ssi, your van is ready,” one of the assistants called. Jisoo nodded politely “Thank you.” A very professional voice and smile despite the fact that her toes were cold and one strand of hair kept sticking to her lip gloss in a way that felt personally targeted. Her manager was arguing with someone near the parking area, which meant Jisoo had approximately thirty seconds to solve her own umbrella problem.

There was a rack beside the tent entrance. Black umbrellas. All of them identical in the way production umbrellas usually were. She took the nearest one. A practical decision.

The umbrella opened with a soft snap above her head, wider and sturdier than expected. The handle was wooden, smooth beneath her fingers, warm in a way plastic never was. Not a production umbrella then. Jisoo paused, looked at it, then at the rain, and finally back at the umbrella.

“…Borrowing,” she decided quietly.

The rain didn’t object. So she walked. By the time she reached the van, her manager was still on the phone, the assistant director was apologizing to someone who looked too tired to accept apologies, and Jisoo had successfully avoided becoming dramatically soaked. It was a small victory to her.

She slid into the backseat and closed the umbrella carefully before handing it toward the empty space near the door. That was when something white slipped from inside the curve of the handle. A folded note. Jisoo stared at it. The van door closed beside her. Rain softened against the roof. Her manager climbed into the front seat, still talking quickly into his phone.

Jisoo unfolded the paper, there were only two lines written in neat, dark ink.

“If you return this, you owe one honest answer.”

Below it was a small address. Nothing else. No name. No phone number. No explanation. Jisoo blinked once, then again “…Annoying,” she murmured. Her manager glanced back “What?”

“Nothing.” She folded the note again and looked at the umbrella resting beside her. It looked perfectly normal. Black canopy. Wooden handle. Slight scratch near the metal tip. A faint smell of rainwater and cedar. It did not look cursed… probably.

Still, Jisoo narrowed her eyes at it. The umbrella said nothing. That was suspicious. Her phone buzzed in her lap. Jennie had sent a message to the group chat.

Jennie: Did you survive filming? Lisa: If she did, ask her to bring snacks. Rosé: Why are snacks always your first emergency response? Lisa: Because I’m emotionally consistent.

Jisoo typed with one thumb.

Jisoo: I stole an umbrella. Lisa: Finally. Crime era. Rosé: Please return it. Jennie: Was it expensive?

Jisoo looked at the umbrella again. Then at the note.

Jisoo: It has rules. Lisa: Never mind. Haunted umbrella era.

Jisoo put her phone face down.

Outside the window, Seoul blurred through rain and neon. Headlights stretched across wet streets. People hurried under convenience store awnings. The city looked softer in bad weather, like someone had smudged its edges with a thumb. She should have ignored the note. That would have been the normal thing to do. It was an umbrella. People lost umbrellas constantly. The entire country was basically built on accidental umbrella exchange.

And yet— Jisoo picked up the note again “If you return this, you owe one honest answer”. She frowned faintly. Not because the line was charming. It was not. It was irritatingly confident. The kind of sentence written by someone who thought they were more interesting than they probably were.

Naturally, that made her curious, which was also irritating. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes “I’m returning it tomorrow,” she decided. Her manager glanced back again “The umbrella?”

“Yes.” “Okay.”

A pause. Then he asked carefully, “Is there a reason?” Jisoo opened one eye “It has bad manners”. Her manager stared at her for one second too long before deciding, wisely, not to ask anything else.

—

The address led to a narrow side street two blocks away from the filming location. Jisoo found it the next afternoon between a closed tailor shop and a tiny café that smelled aggressively of burnt espresso. The sign above the door read:

NOON RAIN REPAIRS

Underneath, in smaller letters:

Umbrellas. Bags. Small Things Worth Keeping.

Jisoo stood outside for a moment, holding the umbrella like evidence “…Of course,” she said. Because apparently she had not stolen a normal umbrella. She had stolen one from someone poetic. Absolutely terrible luck, she told herself.

A small bell rang when she pushed the door open. The shop was warmer than expected. Umbrellas hung from the ceiling in neat rows: black, navy, yellow, clear plastic, one ridiculous green one with ducks along the edge. Shelves held jars of screws, spools of thread, replacement ribs, folded fabric, and small tools Jisoo couldn’t name. Rain tapped lightly against the front window. Behind the counter, a man looked up from repairing the handle of a red umbrella. He had dark hair slightly too long near his eyes, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the calm expression of someone who had chosen a quiet profession on purpose.

His gaze moved from her face to the umbrella in her hand. Then back to her face. He didn’t gasp. Didn’t reach for his phone. Didn’t say her name like it belonged to the world before it belonged to her. He only said “You found it.” Jisoo lifted the umbrella slightly “You lost it.”

“I lent it to someone.” “You lent it badly.”

The corner of his mouth moved. Not quite a smile. Almost though.

“That depends. It came back.” “I brought it back.” “Then the system worked.”

Jisoo stared at him. He looked entirely too pleased with himself for someone whose business model apparently relied on strangers having moral responsibility. She placed the umbrella on the counter “There. Returned.”

He wiped his hands on a cloth before picking it up carefully, checking the wooden handle first like he was greeting an old friend. Jisoo noticed that. Unfortunately. People who cared about objects in specific ways were harder to dismiss “You read the note?” he asked.

“No.”

His eyes flicked toward her. Jisoo held his gaze calmly. The silence lasted three seconds. Then he said, “That was your first lie.”

“That wasn’t your question.” This time, he did smile. Annoyingly amused “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” “I can tell.” Jisoo narrowed her eyes. “That sounded sarcastic.” “It was an observational conclusion.” “That sounds worse.”

He leaned one elbow lightly against the counter. “I’m Kang Doha.” Jisoo did not immediately answer. Not because she was being rude. Because there was always a small moment, whenever introductions happened, where people stopped speaking to her and started speaking to the idea of her instead.

Doha seemed to notice the pause. He didn’t fill it, that was interesting. Eventually, Jisoo said, “Jisoo.”

“I know.” There it was. She waited. For the shift, the awkwardness. For the widened eyes or delayed excitement or sudden change in posture. But Doha only reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small tag attached to a string “Do you want a receipt?” Jisoo blinked “For returning an umbrella?”

“It feels official.” “It feels unnecessary.” “Most official things are.”

That surprised a laugh out of her. Barely there, but real enough that Doha’s expression changed slightly, like he had noticed something without meaning to. Jisoo immediately became suspicious “So,” she said, folding her arms. “The note.”

“Yes.” “You put rules inside umbrellas?” “Only that one.” “Why?” “It gets borrowed often.” “And the answer rule helps?” “Not usually.” “At least you’re honest.” “I try.” “Is that why you make strangers do it too?”

Doha looked down at the umbrella, thumb brushing once over the worn wooden handle “It started as a joke,” he said. “People return things faster when they feel like there’s a story attached.”

Jisoo hated that this made sense. “That’s manipulative.”

“A little.” “You admit it?” “That was my honest answer.” “It doesn’t count if nobody asked.” “Strict.” “Efficient.”

His mouth curved again. Jisoo looked away first, which annoyed her more than it should have. Outside, the rain grew heavier, soft afternoon drizzle turning into a steady gray sheet across the windows.

Of course it did. She had returned the umbrella. Now the weather was punishing her for being responsible. Doha noticed her glance toward the door “Do you need to leave?”

“Yes.” “With what umbrella?”

Jisoo looked slowly back at him. He looked innocent. Badly. She pointed at the counter “That one.”

“You returned it.” “I can unreturn it.” “That’s legally complex.” “This is an umbrella repair shop.” “We respect procedure here.” “You hide emotional homework in handles.” “And yet you came.”

Jisoo opened her mouth and closed it. A mistake that he noticed. Terrible man. Finally, Doha picked up the umbrella and held it out toward her “Borrow it again.”

Jisoo stared at him. “That is a trap.” “It is an umbrella.” “It has conditions.” “One condition.” “One too many.” “You can walk in the rain then.”

Jisoo looked outside. Rain hammered the pavement with immediate theatrical timing. She looked back at him. Doha’s expression remained calm. Patient. A little smug. She took the umbrella “Fine.”

“The rule still applies.” “I haven’t answered the first question.” “I haven’t asked it yet.”

Jisoo paused with her hand on the door. The bell above it swayed slightly from the movement. Doha leaned against the counter, thoughtful now, like he was choosing carefully. Then he asked “Do you always pretend you’re less curious than you are?”

Jisoo turned her head slowly. The rain blurred the world behind her into gray light. For a second, she considered giving him something easy. Something dismissive. Something clever enough to end the conversation without giving him anything real. But the umbrella was already in her hand. The note had been clear. One honest answer. So Jisoo exhaled softly through her nose.

“Yes.”

Doha’s smile softened. Not triumphant. Just quietly pleased that she had played along.

“That was better than lying.” “I’m leaving now.” “Because you answered?” “Because you look satisfied and I dislike it.” “That’s honest too.” “It’s free. Don’t get used to it.”

This time, Doha laughed. Warm and brief. Unexpectedly nice. Jisoo stepped outside before he could become more annoying. The umbrella opened above her with that same soft snap from the night before. Rain slid down its black canopy while the tiny shop glowed warmly behind her. She should have felt ridiculous. Instead, as she walked back toward the waiting car, Jisoo found herself glancing once at the wooden handle.

The folded note was gone. But somehow the rule remained anyway. Her phone buzzed again.

Lisa: Did you return the haunted umbrella?

Jisoo looked back at the shop window. Doha had returned to repairing the red umbrella, head bent beneath warm light, as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Jisoo typed:

Jisoo: No. Jennie: Why?

Jisoo looked at the umbrella above her. Then, after a moment—

Jisoo: It started raining again. Rosé: That sounds reasonable. Lisa: That sounds fake.

Jisoo slipped the phone into her pocket before anyone could ask more questions. The rain kept falling. The umbrella stayed open. And for reasons she had no intention of examining yet, Jisoo walked a little slower than usual.

The umbrella stayed with Jisoo for four more days. Not because she forgot to return it, that would have been too convenient. She simply kept finding practical reasons not to.

The first day, it rained again. The second day, there was a schedule too far from the shop. The third day, Lisa asked if the haunted umbrella had demanded her soul yet, and Jisoo decided returning it immediately after that would feel like losing.

By the fourth day, she stood outside Noon Rain Repairs with the umbrella in one hand and a convenience store coffee in the other, staring through the front window like the shop had personally inconvenienced her.

Doha was inside, repairing a yellow umbrella with a broken rib. He looked up before she knocked. The bell chimed softly as Jisoo opened the door.

“You kept it longer this time,” he said. “Observation or accusation?” “Both.” She placed the umbrella on the counter “Returned.” Doha looked at the coffee in her other hand “For me?” “No.” “Then why are there two?”

Jisoo paused. Looked down. There were, in fact, two coffees “I was thirsty twice”. Doha nodded slowly “That sounds medically concerning”. She pushed one coffee toward him “Take it before I change my explanation”. He accepted it with the kind of small smile that made her feel like he had won something. He checked the umbrella carefully, then looked back at her “You know what this means.”

“It means your umbrella has returned safely.” “It means you owe one honest answer.” “I was hoping you forgot.” “I repair umbrellas for a living. My memory has to compensate for the excitement.”

That almost made her laugh. Doha leaned lightly against the counter, choosing his question with unnecessary patience. Jisoo hated that part Finally, he asked, “Do you always answer questions like someone is cross-examining you?”

“Yes.” “That was fast.” “It was easy.” “Why?”

Jisoo pointed at him. “That is another question.”

“True.” “I respect rules.” “You stole my umbrella.” “I borrowed it with weather-based justification.”

Doha laughed into his coffee and Jisoo looked away first.

—

The umbrella returned three more times after that. Once because it rained outside a recording studio. Once because Doha claimed he needed to replace the handle grip and then somehow forgot to take it back. Once on a day it didn’t rain at all.

Jisoo noticed that last part. So did he. Neither of them mentioned it. The questions changed slowly. At first, they were harmless.

“Do you actually like rainy days?” “No. I like being inside while other people suffer through them.” “Do you always walk this slowly?” “I’m preserving energy.” “For what?” “Surviving conversations like this.”

But then Doha became worse. More precise. More dangerous. One evening, after Jisoo returned the umbrella just before closing, he asked:

“Do people usually misunderstand you?”

Jisoo’s hand paused on the counter. The shop smelled like rainwater, metal, and old fabric. Outside, the streetlights had turned the pavement gold. She should have made a joke. She almost did. Instead, she looked at the umbrella hanging between them.

“Sometimes,” she said. Doha didn’t smile this time. He only nodded once. Like he knew the difference between an answer and something that had cost her a little. That was the problem with Kang Doha. He did not push. Pushing would have made him easier to dislike. Instead, he waited and Jisoo kept answering.

—

By the third week, the umbrella rule had become less of a rule and more of an inconvenience they were both pretending not to enjoy. Jisoo left it at the shop. Doha returned it to her filming location. She brought it back the next day.

He said the strap needed stitching. She said that sounded fake. He said most meaningful things did at first. She stared at him long enough that he quietly returned to work.

The BLACKPINK group chat became suspicious before Jisoo admitted anything.

Lisa: Is this still the haunted umbrella? Jisoo: It is repaired now. Lisa: That does not answer the question. Jennie: It answered enough. Rosé: Is this a romance thing? Jisoo: No. Lisa: That was the fastest lie I’ve seen all week.

Jisoo put her phone face down. Doha glanced up from the counter.

“Trouble?” “My members are dramatic.” “Are they wrong?” “Yes.”

He waited. Jisoo narrowed her eyes.

“Do not look at me like you’re preparing a question.” “I wasn’t.” “You were.” “I was thinking one.” “Worse.”

Doha set down the small screwdriver in his hand.

“All right.” “No.” “I haven’t asked it yet.” “I can feel it.” “That sounds serious.” “It is. I’m suffering.”

He smiled faintly. Then asked, quieter than usual: “Do you like being alone, or are you just good at it?”

Jisoo went still, not visibly. She was too practiced for that. But something inside her paused.

The rain outside had softened to a drizzle, tapping lightly against the shop windows. Umbrellas hung overhead in neat shadows, swaying faintly whenever the door let in a draft. Doha did not take the question back. He also did not look pleased with himself. That helped a little.

Jisoo looked down at the umbrella between them. The wooden handle had been polished recently. She noticed because her thumb no longer caught against the old scratch near the curve.

“You fixed this,” she said. “I did.” “You didn’t tell me.” “You noticed.”

That was annoying too. She inhaled quietly. Then answered.

“I think being alone is easier to explain.”

Doha watched her for a moment “Than what?” Jisoo’s eyes lifted to his “Than wanting someone to stay.”

The shop went quiet. Not awkward. Just suddenly honest in a way neither of them had fully prepared for. Doha’s expression changed slowly. Not dramatically, just enough. Jisoo immediately regretted being sincere. So naturally, she reached for the umbrella.

“I’m leaving.” “It stopped raining.” Doha pointed out the obvious. “I enjoy unnecessary accessories.” “That sounds fake.” “It is. But you only get one honest answer.”

This time, when Doha laughed, Jisoo allowed herself to smile before turning away. It was small and brief. But it was real.

—

The storm came a week later. Not rain. A storm. The kind that made Seoul look briefly unreasonable. Jisoo had just finished a late shoot when the sky broke open hard enough to make even the staff curse under their breath.

The van was delayed. Her manager was trapped somewhere near the other entrance. And the umbrella—Doha’s umbrella, because apparently everyone had accepted that now—was the only thing between Jisoo and complete disaster.

She opened it with a familiar snap. Then a gust of wind hit sideways. The umbrella inverted immediately. Jisoo stared at it. The umbrella stared back, inside out and deeply embarrassing “…Traitor.”

Another gust pushed rain beneath the canopy, soaking her coat sleeve in seconds.

By the time she reached Noon Rain Repairs, she was damp, irritated, and holding the broken umbrella like a wounded animal she blamed personally. Doha opened the door before she knocked. His expression shifted instantly. Not amused. Concerned. Which was worse.

“Come in.” “I killed it.” “So I see.” “It died dishonorably.” “It’s an umbrella.” “It had responsibilities.”

He stepped aside, and Jisoo entered the warmth of the shop with rainwater dripping from the hem of her coat. Doha locked the door behind her and flipped the sign to CLOSED. That small action should not have felt like anything. It did anyway. The shop was dimmer after hours.

Only the lamps above the repair counter remained on, casting warm circles of light across fabric, tools, thread, and half-finished repairs. Rain hammered the windows hard enough to blur the street outside completely.

Doha took the umbrella from her carefully. One rib bent sharply outward. The canopy twisted near the top. He examined it in silence. Jisoo crossed her arms. “Be honest.”

“It looks bad.” “How bad?” “Emotionally or structurally?” “Both.” “Structurally fixable. Emotionally dramatic.” Doha continued to inspect the umbrella. “That sounds like me.”

Doha glanced up. Jisoo realized what she had said a second too late. A slow smile threatened the corner of his mouth. “Do not,” she warned.

“I didn’t say anything.” “You thought something.” “I respect your privacy.” “You do not. You ask questions for sport.” “For structure.” “For sport.”

Doha set the broken umbrella on the counter and reached for a towel from beneath it. Instead of handing it to her immediately, he paused. Then gently draped it over her shoulders. Jisoo froze for half a breath. The gesture was practical. That was the annoying part. Not romantic enough to accuse. Not casual enough to ignore. “You’re dripping on the floor,” he said.

“I see.” “I was protecting the wood.” “Of course.” “Historic floor.” “This building is not historic.” “It is emotionally historic.”

Jisoo looked at him. He looked back, entirely serious. She laughed first. A small, helpless sound she did not manage to stop in time. Doha smiled then. Properly. And the shop suddenly felt much smaller. Jisoo tightened the towel around herself and looked away.

“You owe me a question,” Doha said. “I returned your umbrella broken.” “It still returned.” “That feels generous.” “I’m in a generous mood.” “You’re enjoying this too much.” “A little.”

Rain filled the silence between them. Doha leaned against the repair counter, arms folded loosely, the broken umbrella lying between them like the remains of an excuse.

Then he asked: “Do you want to leave?”

Jisoo looked toward the door. Rain battered the glass. Her car was still not here. Her manager had not called. She had a hundred practical reasons to stay. All of them were true. None of them were the answer.

She looked back at Doha. His expression was calm, but not unaffected. That mattered. Because for once, he looked like he was waiting for an answer he actually needed. Jisoo could have made a joke.

She could have said the weather was bad. She could have blamed the broken umbrella, the delayed van, the flooded street, the fact that leaving now would be inefficient. Instead, she let the towel slip slightly from one shoulder and answered honestly.

“No.”

Doha’s gaze softened. The rain kept falling. The rule had no umbrella left to hide behind now. Jisoo stepped closer first. Doha did not move immediately. Still giving her room. Still letting her choose. That made the warmth in her chest turn sharper.

“You are very annoying,” she said quietly. His mouth curved faintly. “That wasn’t a question.” “I know.” “Was it an honest answer?” “Yes.”

Jisoo reached for the front of his shirt and pulled him down before he could say anything else. The kiss landed softer than she expected.

Not a hint of hesitation or uncertainty. Just controlled enough to give either of them the chance to stop. Neither of them did.

Doha’s hand settled at her waist, warm through the damp fabric of her coat, while Jisoo tilted her face slightly higher and kissed him again. Slower this time. Less like an answer. More like the first honest question neither of them needed to say out loud.

The broken umbrella lay forgotten on the counter beside them.

Rain blurred the windows and for once, Jisoo didn’t think about leaving first.

The rain continued its rhythmic assault on the storefront, a relentless drumming that turned the rest of Seoul into a blurred, watercolor smear of neon and grey. Inside Noon Rain Repairs, the world had shrunk to the size of a few square meters of polished wood and warm, amber light.

The kiss was not a tentative beginning. It was an arrival.

Jisoo’s hands were still slightly damp, her fingers curling into the fabric of Doha’s shirt, pulling him closer as if trying to erase the very air between them. He tasted of the coffee he’d been drinking and something uniquely him—clean, like cedarwood and the metallic tang of the tools he spent his days wielding. His hand remained firm at her waist, the heat of his palm seeping through the towel draped over her shoulders, anchoring her.

The broken umbrella lay on the counter just inches away, its ribs twisted and its canopy collapsed. It looked pathetic, a skeletal ruin of the object that had dictated their movements for weeks. The rule was dead. The shield was gone.

Jisoo pulled back just an inch, her breath hitching, her lips swollen and glistening. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. For the first time, she didn't look for an exit. She didn't calculate the social cost of the moment. She just looked.

"You're staring," Doha murmured, his voice a low vibration that she felt in her chest. "I'm observing," she countered, though the usual dry edge in her voice had softened into something breathy. "It's an observational conclusion."

Doha’s lips quirked. "And what is the conclusion?"

Jisoo didn't answer with words. Instead, she shifted her grip, her hands sliding from his shoulders down to the buttons of his shirt. Her movements were deliberate, devoid of the hesitation she usually applied to her life. She began to undo them, one by one, her fingers brushing against the warm skin of his chest.

Doha let out a sharp, shallow exhale, his grip on her waist tightening. He didn't stop her, but as she reached the third button, he tilted his head, his nose brushing against hers.

"Jisoo," he whispered.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now," she teased, though her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "That would be a very dishonest development." "Not cold feet," he said, his voice thickening. He paused, his eyes flickering to the shop around them—the jars of screws, the hanging umbrellas, the open workbench. "The shop is... still a shop. My apartment is just upstairs."

Jisoo stopped, her fingers resting against his heartbeat. She blinked, her expression returning to that familiar, affected neutrality, though her cheeks were flushed a deep, tell-tale crimson.

"Is that a request for me to move locations?" she asked. "It's a practical suggestion," Doha replied, his gaze steady. "Unless you prefer the workbench."

Jisoo let out a soft, huffing laugh. She stepped back just enough to look him up and down, her eyes shimmering with mischief.

"You're so responsible," she murmured. "It's almost irritating."

She reached out, grabbing his hand and interlacing her fingers with his, her grip tight and commanding.

"Lead the way, Mr. Repairman."

The staircase was narrow, a steep climb of dark wood that creaked beneath their weight. They didn't make it to the top in silence. Doha stopped halfway, pinning her against the wall with the weight of his body, his mouth finding hers again with a sudden, hungry intensity. The kiss was different here—less about discovery and more about demand. Jisoo groaned into his mouth, her legs instinctively winding around his hip, her coat sliding further off her shoulders.

The friction of their clothes, the scent of the rain still clinging to her skin, and the claustrophobic warmth of the stairwell created a pressure cooker of anticipation. Every time they paused, it was only to catch a breath or to exchange a look that said everything they had spent weeks pretending not to feel.

When they finally reached the top, Doha pushed open a door that led into a space that felt like an extension of the man himself. The apartment was small and lived-in, smelling of old paper, tea, and a hint of oil. A low futon sat in the center of the room, surrounded by stacks of books and a box of spare umbrella parts that looked like they had been forgotten in a moment of inspiration. A single lamp cast a soft, golden glow over the room, and the rain hammered against the skylight above, creating a private sanctuary of sound.

Doha stepped inside and closed the door, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet room.

The energy shifted. The frantic heat of the shop and the stairs settled into something deeper, more deliberate. The silence stretched, not as a void, but as a space for them to finally be honest.

Jisoo stood in the center of the room, the towel finally slipping from her shoulders to pool on the floor. She looked around the small apartment, then back at Doha. She felt exposed, not just physically, but emotionally. The control she prized so much felt flimsy, a paper umbrella in a hurricane.

Doha didn't move toward her immediately. He stood by the door, his eyes tracing the line of her silhouette. He was giving her the room to choose, the same way he had given her the room to return the umbrella.

"You can still leave," he said softly. "The storm is bad, but the door is right there."

Jisoo stared at him. A small, genuine smile touched her lips.

"That sounds like a question," she whispered. "It's not a question," Doha replied. "It's an option."

Jisoo took a step toward him, then another, until she was standing within the circle of his warmth. She reached up, her fingers grazing the nape of his neck.

"I've already decided I dislike leaving first," she said.

Doha’s expression softened, the quiet mischief replaced by an intense, raw sincerity. "Are you sure?"

Jisoo paused. She could have made a joke. She could have deflected with a comment about the weather. But she looked into his eyes and felt the weight of the last few weeks—the stolen umbrellas, the honest answers, the slow realization that she didn't want to be alone anymore.

"Yes," she said, her voice plain and steady. "I'm sure."

That was the final seal. Doha reached for her, his arms wrapping around her with a strength that nearly knocked the breath from her. He kissed her with a desperation he had previously kept under lock and key, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, rhythmic exchange of saliva and heat.

Jisoo responded with equal fervor, her hands working frantically to rid them of the remaining barriers. The damp coat hit the floor, followed by her dress, the fabric sliding away to reveal the pale, elegant curves of her body.

Doha stepped back for a heartbeat, his breath hitching. In the warm light of the lamp, Jisoo looked like a piece of art—all long lines and soft edges. Her skin glowed like porcelain, and as her breasts lifted with her heavy breathing, he saw the delicate, vivid pink of her nipples, peaked and hardening in the cool air of the room.

"You're..." Doha started, his voice cracking. "Observational conclusion?" Jisoo teased, though her voice trembled.

"Beautiful," he answered simply.

He moved back to her, his hands exploring her with a reverence that made Jisoo’s toes curl. He traced the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, and the dip of her spine, his touch light but intentional. He kissed her way down, his lips grazing her collarbone, the valley between her breasts, and the soft skin of her stomach.

Jisoo arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips. "Doha..."

He didn't stop. He descended further, his hands sliding down to her thighs, parting them gently. He knelt before her, his gaze lifting to hers for one last silent check. Jisoo nodded, her fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer.

When his tongue first made contact with her clit, Jisoo’s entire body jolted. He was patient, using the same meticulous care he applied to his repairs. He started with slow, swirling laps, tasting the salt and sweetness of her, before increasing the pressure. His tongue flicked with precision, finding the exact rhythm that made her breath come in short, jagged gasps.

At the same time, his fingers slid inside her, stretching her gently, mimicking the motion of his tongue. The combination was overwhelming. Jisoo felt the tension building in her lower belly, a coil of heat that tightened with every flick of his tongue.

"Doha, please... I can't..." she whimpered, her hips beginning to buck against him.

He didn't let up. He sucked the sensitive bud of her clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that sent sparks exploding behind her eyelids. Jisoo’s fingers tightened in his hair, her voice rising in a series of melodic, broken moans. The world narrowed down to the sensation of his mouth and the sliding of his fingers.

Then, the coil snapped.

Jisoo cried out, her body shuddering in a violent, crashing orgasm. She felt the waves of pleasure radiate from her core to her fingertips, leaving her limp and breathless. Doha didn't pull away immediately; he stayed there, kissing the inside of her thighs, letting her come down from the peak.

As her breathing slowed, Jisoo felt a surge of desire that wasn't just about her own pleasure. She wanted him. She wanted to feel him the way he had made her feel.

She pushed herself up, guiding him back onto the futon. With a level of determination that was quintessentially Jisoo, she began to undress him. When he was finally bare, she marveled at the sight of him—strong, lean, and fully aroused.

She moved down his body, her lips trailing fire across his skin. When she reached him, she looked up at him with a playful, challenging glint in her eyes.

"My turn for an honest answer," she whispered.

She took him into her mouth, her lips sliding over the crown of his cock with a slow, deliberate suction. She used her tongue to swirl around the head, tasting the pre-cum, before sliding deeper. She was not practiced, perhaps, but she was attentive, watching his face to see what he liked.

Doha let out a low, guttural groan, his hips twitching involuntarily. "Jisoo... wait..."

She didn't wait. She increased the intensity, her throat tightening around him, her hand gripping the base of his shaft to add more pressure. She focused on the sensation of him filling her mouth, the heat of him, the way his breath hitched every time her tongue brushed the underside of the head.

"I'm... I'm close," Doha warned, his voice strained.

Instead of slowing down, Jisoo leaned into it. She used her hand to stroke him faster while her mouth created a tight, warm seal. She wanted this. She wanted to feel the moment he broke.

Doha let out a choked sound, his back arching off the futon as he came. He released a massive, hot load into her mouth, the volume surprising her. Jisoo didn't flinch; she swallowed every drop, her throat working in a rhythmic, elegant motion until he was spent.

She pulled back, wiping her lip with the back of her hand, a small, triumphant smile on her face.

"That," she murmured, "was a very honest response."

Doha looked at her, his eyes glazed with pleasure and disbelief. He reached for her, pulling her up onto the futon so she was straddling his lap. The air between them was electric, the tension returning even stronger than before.

He entered her in one smooth, deep thrust.

Jisoo gasped, her head falling back as she felt him fill her completely. It wasn't like the fingers; it was a fullness that felt right, a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

"You feel... incredible," she moaned, her voice strained. "Doha, keep... keep kissing me."

He complied, his lips meeting hers in a passionate, messy kiss while his hips began to move. The rhythm was slow at first, a steady grinding that emphasized the friction of their bodies. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, sending jolts of electricity through Jisoo’s nerves.

Doha’s hands were never still. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing her pink nipples, while his other hand reached down to stimulate her clit, ensuring that she was riding the wave of pleasure alongside him.

"Is this... okay?" he whispered against her lips. "Don't ask," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Just... don't stop."

The pace quickened. The sound of their bodies interacting—the wet, squelching shlick of skin against skin—filled the room, competing with the sound of the rain. Jisoo was vocal, her moans turning into short, sharp cries of pleasure. She felt herself climbing again, the tension building in her core.

"I'm close... again," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Doha didn't slow down. He drove into her with a sudden, fierce intensity, his movements becoming more urgent. As Jisoo hit her second orgasm, her internal muscles clamping tight around him, Doha felt his own control slip.

He groaned, his voice a low roar in his throat. Just as he reached the peak, he gripped her hips and pulled back, sliding out of her at the last second. He came across her stomach and thighs, the white heat of his release splattering against her skin.

They both collapsed against each other, hearts racing, skin slick with sweat and lubrication.

But the fire hadn't fully died.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and soft kisses, Doha shifted, pulling her back on top of him. He entered her again, but this time, the energy was different. It was softer, more intimate, but underscored by a desperate need for connection.

They moved together in a synchronized dance, the friction building slowly. Doha continued to use his hands, massaging her breasts, kissing her neck, whispering things that were almost confessions.

As they approached the second climax, Jisoo felt a shift. She didn't want him to pull away this time. She wanted the fullness, the permanence of the act.

She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, locking him inside her.

"Don't pull out," she whispered, her voice urgent. "I want... I want to feel you inside."

Doha’s eyes widened, his breath hitching. The request was the most honest thing she had said all night. He didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his thrusts becoming deeper, more primal.

He felt her walls contracting, the rhythmic pulses of her third orgasm beginning to take hold. The sensation of her gripping him, the heat of her interior, and the sight of her flushed face drove him over the edge.

Doha let out a long, shuddering groan as he came deep inside her. He felt the hot surge of his seed filling her, a physical manifestation of the bond they had built through a broken umbrella and a series of honest answers.

At the exact moment he released, Jisoo peaked again, her body shaking in unison with his. They clung to each other, the world outside the room disappearing, leaving only the sensation of being one.

—

The afterglow was a slow, warm descent.

Doha didn't leave her immediately. He stayed inside her for a long time, his forehead resting against hers, their breathing gradually syncing. Eventually, he withdrew and pulled her into his arms, wrapping a large, oversized blanket around them both.

They lay in the dim light, the rain finally slowing to a gentle drizzle. The room was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock and the distant sound of a car splashing through a puddle downstairs.

Jisoo rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. She felt a strange sense of peace, a lack of the need to manage or control the narrative.

"You're very quiet," Doha noted, his voice soft. "I'm processing," she replied, though there was no dryness in her tone. "It's a lot of data to analyze."

Doha laughed, a low, warm sound. He kissed the top of her head. "And what is the conclusion?"

Jisoo shifted, looking up at him. "The conclusion is that you're surprisingly efficient at your job." "I repair things," he murmured. "It's what I do." "Is that what this was? A repair?" Doha looked at her, his eyes sincere. "No. I don't think anything was broken. I think it was just... waiting to be opened."

Jisoo didn't respond with a joke. She just closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him.

—

The next morning, the world was bright and scrubbed clean. The sun filtered through the skylight, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Jisoo woke up wrapped in one of Doha’s shirts, the fabric smelling of him. She felt a lingering warmth in her limbs, a softness in her heart that she found slightly alarming but entirely welcome.

She wandered downstairs to the shop, her bare feet padding on the wooden floor. Doha was already there, standing behind the counter. He had not opened the shop yet. The sign still read ‘CLOSED’.

On the counter sat the broken umbrella, now carefully disassembled, its ribs laid out like a surgical patient. Beside it was a steaming mug of tea.

Jisoo leaned against the counter, watching him work. He looked calm, steady, and entirely too pleased with himself.

"Good morning," he said, not looking up from the rib he was straightening. "Good morning," she replied.

Doha paused and pushed the mug of tea toward her. "I made this. It's a blend of something I found in the back of the cupboard."

Jisoo took a sip. Her face immediately twisted into a grimace. It tasted like boiled grass and old socks. Doha looked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well?"

Jisoo set the mug down with a deliberate click. She looked at the broken umbrella, then at the man who had spent the last few weeks dismantling her defenses.

"Do you regret staying?" he asked, his voice quiet, devoid of the usual game. Jisoo looked at the terrible tea, then at Doha's expectant face. She smiled—a real, uncalculated smile.

"No," she answered honestly. "But your tea is terrible."

Doha laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet shop, and for the first time in her life, Jisoo didn't feel the need to leave the conversation first.

—

The umbrella took nine days to repair. Doha said it was because the bent rib needed replacing. Jisoo suspected he was lying.

She returned to Noon Rain Repairs three times during those nine days. Once because she was nearby after a fitting. Once because Lisa asked whether the haunted umbrella had been exorcised yet and Jisoo felt professionally obligated to investigate. Once because it was raining.

That last reason was technically valid.

Unfortunately, she had brought a different umbrella that day. Doha noticed immediately.

“That one isn’t mine.” Jisoo placed it on the counter. “Observation or jealousy?” “Structural concern.” “It works.” “It looks morally weak.” “It kept me dry.” “Low standards.”

She stared at him. He looked back calmly. The shop felt different after that morning. Not awkward— that would have been easier. Awkwardness had rules. Awkwardness gave people something to step around. This was worse. This was familiar.

Doha would reach past her for thread, and she would remember his hands at her waist.

Jisoo would pick up a jar of umbrella tips and pretend to inspect them while remembering the small apartment upstairs and rain against the skylight. Nothing between them had become loud. That was the dangerous part. Everything simply felt more honest now.

—

On the ninth day, Doha finally set the repaired umbrella on the counter between them. It looked almost new. The wooden handle had been polished again. The canopy was smooth, black, and neatly stretched. The ribs folded properly when he closed it, no longer bent into the humiliating shape it had taken during the storm.

Jisoo picked it up and opened it once inside the shop. It snapped into place cleanly. She inspected it with great seriousness.

“You saved its life.” “It was structurally fixable.” “Emotionally?” “Still dramatic.” “That does sound like me.” Doha smiled faintly. “I wasn’t going to say it.” “You thought it.” “I respect your privacy.” “You do not.” “No,” he admitted. “Not always.”

Jisoo looked at him over the top of the umbrella. There it was again. That quiet honesty. No rule. No question. No debt.

Just an answer given freely.

She closed the umbrella slowly. “So,” she said “What happens now?” Doha leaned one hip lightly against the counter. “You take it back.”

“And the rule?” His gaze stayed on hers. “Only if you still need one.” That settled strangely in her chest. Not heavy. Just noticeable. Jisoo looked down at the repaired umbrella in her hand.

For weeks, it had been a reason. A ridiculous one, but still a reason. Return it. Borrow it. Answer. Leave. Come back.

A structure.

Now Doha was quietly removing the structure and asking if she still wanted what had grown inside it. Annoying man. Emotionally competent men were a public hazard. Jisoo lifted her eyes again.

“That sounds suspiciously mature.” “I apologize.” “You should.” “Do you still need one?”

It was almost a question. Almost. Jisoo tightened her grip around the wooden handle.

“No.”

Doha’s expression softened slightly.

“Good.” “I didn’t say I was done answering.”

His smile changed. It was a small, slow, and warm smle.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

—

After that, Jisoo and Doha started seeing each other. Not publicly. Not officially. Not in any way Jisoo would ever describe out loud unless someone had evidence, witnesses, and possibly a search warrant.

But deliberately.

That was the important part. She still came to Noon Rain Repairs after schedules, sometimes with the umbrella, sometimes without it.

Doha still pretended not to notice when she arrived on days the forecast was aggressively clear.

The repaired umbrella eventually stopped feeling like an object being returned and started feeling like something that simply moved between their lives. Some nights, it rested beside Jisoo’s apartment door. Other nights, it leaned against the counter in Doha’s shop.

Once, inexplicably, it ended up in Jennie’s living room after a dinner Jisoo refused to explain properly, which caused Lisa to send fourteen messages in a row about haunted umbrella custody rights.

The girls found out slowly, then all at once.

Lisa noticed first because Lisa noticed everything inconvenient. Jennie understood first because Jennie rarely needed people to finish their sentences. Rosé was the first to ask if Jisoo was happy, which Jisoo found deeply unfair because questions asked kindly were harder to insult.

Jisoo did not announce Doha like a confession. He simply began appearing in the edges of her life. Coffee after late shoots. A repaired bag strap after a fitting. A quiet walk to her car when the street outside looked too crowded. A short nod to Jennie when she visited the shop with Jisoo and pretended very badly that she was only interested in umbrella craftsmanship.

Lisa, naturally, made it worse.

“So,” she said one evening, looking around Noon Rain Repairs with far too much satisfaction “This is the haunted umbrella man.”

Doha glanced toward Jisoo. Jisoo stared at Lisa “Say that louder,” Jisoo said, “and I will tell everyone about your emergency ramen phase.”

Lisa gasped. “That was private.” “So is this.”

Jennie, standing near a row of hanging umbrellas, looked between them once and smiled like she had already solved a mystery nobody else knew existed.

Rosé touched the wooden handle of one repaired umbrella and said softly, “This place feels like you.”

Jisoo frowned “Old?” “Careful,” Rosé said.

Doha looked down at the repair he was working on. Jisoo looked away first. Unfortunately, she was smiling. That was how it happened. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Doha did not enter her life like a man trying to become important. He became important by being there often enough that absence started feeling noticeable.

He learned which schedules left her quiet. He learned not to ask for details when her day had been full of too many people. He learned that Jisoo did not like being managed, but she accepted being remembered.

Jisoo learned things too.

That Doha forgot to eat when he was focused. That he kept broken umbrella handles because he believed the wood could still be reused. That he pretended not to be sentimental while repairing things people had already given up on. That he never once made her feel like loving her meant surviving her fame.

That mattered more than she expected. Because there were difficult days. There were cameras outside restaurants. Managers who asked careful questions. Schedules that changed suddenly. Messages Jisoo ignored because answering them would mean explaining something she was still learning how to hold properly.

Doha never asked to be paraded around. He also never made himself disappear. He simply adjusted. Not in a passive way, in a steady one.

If they had to arrive separately, he did not act wounded.

If she could only see him for twenty minutes between schedules, he brought coffee and did not make the time feel smaller by complaining about it.

If someone recognized her while they were walking, he stepped half a pace away without making it feel like retreat.

And when they were alone again, he came back to her side like nothing had been lost.

That was when Jisoo began to understand the shape of it. This was not new-relationship impulse. It was not the storm, or the broken umbrella, or the kind of desire that confused itself for fate because rain made everything prettier.

It was the way his umbrella looked normal beside her door. The way his sweater on her chair no longer felt misplaced. The way the other members teased her about him and she found herself annoyed, not because they were wrong, but because they were enjoying being right.

It was the way Jisoo kept making room for him and never felt like she was losing space. That was the dangerous realization. The permanent one.

—

It came on a clear night. No rain. No wind. No dramatic weather behaving symbolically for once and the forecast was very clear about that.

Jisoo had finished a long shoot earlier than expected, which felt suspicious enough on its own. She came home with takeout, changed into loose clothes, removed her makeup halfway, then sat on the floor near the couch with her phone in one hand and a dumpling in the other.

The apartment was quiet. Comfortably quiet. Not empty.

That was new.

Nothing had changed visibly. Her furniture was still hers. Her schedule still waited on the table. Her shoes were still arranged the way she liked them near the entryway.

But Doha’s umbrella rested beside the door. One of his books sat on her coffee table. A gray sweater he claimed was not his but absolutely was hung over the back of one chair.

Jisoo stared at all of it while chewing slowly. Then she realized the thought had already formed before she could stop it. I could live like this. She froze. The dumpling remained halfway to her mouth “…Ridiculous,” she told the room.

The room did not argue.

Which was also suspicious. Her phone buzzed.

Doha: I left my sweater there, didn’t I? Jisoo: No. Doha: That was fast. Jisoo: I am efficient. Doha: I can see it in the photo you just sent by accident.

Jisoo looked down.

She had, somehow, sent him a blurry photo of the floor, the edge of the couch, and the very obvious sleeve of his sweater.

Jisoo closed her eyes.

Jisoo: Your sweater broke into my apartment. Doha: Should I come retrieve the criminal?

She stared at the message. The easy answer was yes. The dishonest answer was no. The honest answer sat somewhere deeper. Jisoo looked toward the umbrella by the door. Then back at the phone.

Jisoo: It’s not raining. Doha: I know. Jisoo: Then why would you come?

For a full minute, he didn’t answer. When he finally did, the message was simple.

Doha: Because you opened the door before.

Jisoo stared at it long enough for the screen to dim. Jisoo: That is not a practical reason. Doha: No. Jisoo: Bring the ugly tea you like. Doha: So I’m invited?

Jisoo looked around her apartment again. At his sweater. At his umbrella. At the quiet that no longer felt like defense.

Jisoo: Yes.

—

Doha arrived thirty-seven minutes later with tea, his allegedly criminal sweater still hanging over Jisoo’s chair, and the repaired umbrella in one hand despite the sky being completely clear.

Jisoo opened the door and looked at it first. Then at him.

“It’s not raining.” “I know.” “Then why did you bring it?”

Doha glanced at the umbrella, then back at her.

“Habit.” “That is a suspicious answer.” “It is.”

Jisoo stepped aside anyway. He entered her apartment like he always did now: carefully at first, then naturally, leaving his shoes beside hers, setting the food on the counter, placing the umbrella near the door where it had started to belong.

That was the problem.

Everything about him had started to belong. Dinner was ordinary. That made it worse. Lisa sent three messages accusing Jisoo of hiding umbrella crimes. Jennie somehow knew Doha was there without being told. Rosé asked if they had eaten properly. Jisoo answered none of them. Doha noticed.

“Trouble?” “My members are emotionally invasive.” “Are they wrong?” “Yes.”

He waited. Jisoo glared.

“You are very brave inside my apartment.” “I’ve repaired your umbrella twice. I fear very little now.” “That umbrella betrayed me first.” “It was under pressure.” “So was I.” “And yet you came back.”

The words were casual. Softly spoken. But they settled between them with more weight than either of them expected. Jisoo looked toward the umbrella by the door. Then at the apartment around them.

Her apartment. Her quiet. Her space. No rain outside. No rule forcing honesty. No excuse left. Just Doha, standing inside the life she had somehow made room for.

“I think about it,” she said.

Doha looked at her.

“About what?”

Jisoo’s fingers tightened lightly around the edge of the counter. She could still turn it into a joke. She could say something about umbrella custody, or Lisa’s crimes against privacy, or the legal risks of allowing repairmen into apartments. Instead, she gave the answer before she could protect it.

“I keep picturing you still being here.”

Doha went still. Not startled. Not afraid. Just quiet in a way that told her he understood exactly what she meant. Jisoo looked at him directly.

“I don’t mean dating.”

His expression softened slowly.

“I know.” “I mean…” She exhaled through her nose, annoyed at herself for needing language. “Longer than convenient.”

Doha set the takeout container down.

“Permanent?”

Jisoo frowned faintly.

“That word is dramatic.” “It is.” “I dislike it.” “Do you?”

She looked at him. Then, with the kind of honesty that still felt like stepping into weather:

“No.”

Doha crossed the small distance between them, not rushing, not assuming, but moving like something inside him had finally been answered too.

“I think about it too,” he said. Jisoo’s throat tightened “You answered very fast.” “It wasn’t fast,” Doha said. “I just stopped pretending I hadn’t already decided.”

That was deeply unfair and emotionally irresponsible. Jisoo looked away, but there was nowhere to put the feeling now. Doha’s hand found hers on the counter.

“I don’t want the famous parts,” he said quietly. “I don’t want the easy parts either.” “There are easy parts?” “Sometimes.” “Name one.” “You steal my food with no shame. That’s easy to predict.”

Despite herself, she laughed. Doha smiled, but his voice stayed soft.

“I want the life after all of it. After the cameras. After the rain. After the jokes. The part where you come home and stop explaining yourself.”

Jisoo looked back at him.

“And if that becomes difficult?” “It will.” “That was not comforting.” “It was honest.”

She hated how much that worked on her. Doha’s thumb brushed once over her knuckles.

“I don’t need easy,” he said. “I need real.”

Jisoo stood very still. Then slowly, she reached for the front of his shirt. Not pulling yet. Just holding.

“You are very inconvenient.”

His mouth curved faintly.

“Honest answer?” “Yes.” “Good.”

Jisoo drew him closer. This time, when she kissed him, there was no storm outside and no broken umbrella waiting downstairs. No rule nor a borrowed reason. Only the clear night beyond her apartment window. Only Doha’s hand settling carefully at her waist.

Only the certainty that she wanted this man in every version of the life she was still learning how to choose.

The silence that followed the admission of permanence was not a void; it was a bridge. For the first time in her life, Jisoo didn't feel the urge to retract a statement or shield her heart with a well-timed joke. She looked at Doha, and the man she had known as a mysterious rule-maker, a quiet repairman, and a steady companion now looked like the only fixed point in her spinning world.

The kiss that followed was different from the one in the shop. It wasn't the breaking of a dam or the desperation of a storm. It was an arrival. It was slow, deep, and heavy with the weight of a thousand unsaid things. Jisoo leaned into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, not to pull him down in a rush, but to hold him there, as if anchoring herself to the reality of him.

Doha’s hands settled on her waist, his thumbs grazing the skin just beneath the hem of her shirt. He breathed her in—the scent of her expensive perfume mixed with the lingering smell of the takeout they had just shared. He pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against hers, his eyes searching hers with a tenderness that made her chest ache.

"You're sure about this?" he whispered, his voice a low, resonant vibration. "Not just the permanence. This. Now."

Jisoo let out a soft, huffing laugh, though her eyes remained locked on his. "I've already told you I dislike leaving first, Doha. Why would I start wanting to leave now?" She didn't wait for him to answer. Jisoo stepped back, her gaze never leaving his, and reached for the buttons of his shirt. Her movements were decisive, her fingers steady. She undid the first button, then the second, pushing the fabric aside to reveal the warm, lean expanse of his chest. She felt the heat radiating from him, the steady, rapid thrum of his heart beneath her palm.

"I think," Jisoo murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry, velvet tone, "that we've spent far too much time talking about rules. I'm tired of rules."

Doha’s breath hitched. He didn't stop her; instead, he mirrored her actions, his hands moving to the hem of her top. He lifted the fabric slowly, his eyes tracing the line of her stomach, the dip of her waist, and the elegant curve of her breasts as she stepped out of the garment. In the soft, amber light of her living room, Jisoo looked like a masterpiece of porcelain and grace, her skin glowing with a quiet radiance.

"You are breathtaking," Doha said, his voice thickening. "Observational conclusion?" she teased, though her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. "A fact," he replied.

He leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive hollow of her throat. Jisoo arched her back, a soft moan escaping her as his tongue traced a path toward her collarbone. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, a familiar heat that had been simmering for weeks, now boiling over. She reached for the belt of his trousers, her fingers working with a focused urgency.

They didn't make it to the bedroom immediately. The friction of their bodies, the raw need for contact, pushed them against the wall near the counter. Clothes were discarded in a passionate blur—a discarded sweater here, a fallen pair of socks there—until there was nothing left but skin and the clear, silent night outside the window.

When Doha finally pressed her against the cool surface of the wall, the contrast of the cold plaster and his searing heat made Jisoo gasp. He lifted her, her legs instinctively winding around his hips, locking him in. He kissed her with a hunger that was balanced by a profound reverence, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, rhythmic dance of desire.

"I want you," she whispered against his lips, her voice strained. "Right here. Now."

Doha groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her entire body. He shifted his grip, guiding himself to the entrance of her heat. He paused for a heartbeat, his eyes searching hers one last time.

"Tell me," he murmured. "Stay," she answered, the word a command and a plea all at once. "Stay inside me."

He entered her in one smooth, deep thrust. Jisoo’s head fell back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt him fill her completely. It wasn't the frantic surrender of their first time; it was a homecoming. The fullness was overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the permanence they had just promised each other.

"Oh... Doha," she whimpered, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He began to move, his rhythm slow and deliberate. Every thrust was a conversation, a steady build of pressure and pleasure that echoed the slow burn of their relationship. The sound of their bodies interacting—the wet, rhythmic squelch of skin meeting skin—filled the quiet apartment. Jisoo was vocal, her moans turning into melodic cries that encouraged him to go deeper, to push further.

"More," she gasped, her hips bucking against him to meet every stroke. "Please, don't stop. I love the way you feel... I love everything about this."

Doha’s breathing was heavy, his movements becoming more urgent as the tension coiled tighter in his lower belly. He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. He saw the desire, the trust, and the absolute certainty in her eyes.

"Jisoo," he whispered, his voice raw.

He drove into her one last time, his body stiffening as he reached the peak. A low roar escaped his throat as he came, the hot, pulsing surge of his release filling her deeply. Jisoo cried out, her own orgasm crashing over her in waves of shimmering heat, her internal muscles clamping tight around him in a desperate, loving grip.

They stayed like that for several minutes, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, the only sound the rhythmic drumming of their hearts. Slowly, Doha lowered her to her feet, though he didn't let go. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and finally her lips, a soft, lingering contact.

"Let's move to the bed," he whispered. "I don't think I can get enough of you tonight." Jisoo smiled, a genuine, sleepy expression of contentment. "For once, I agree with your practical suggestion."

The bedroom was a sanctuary of soft linens and dim light. As they tumbled onto the mattress, the energy shifted from the urgent heat of the wall to something more intimate and expansive. They explored each other with a slow, methodical passion, as if they had all the time in the world.

Jisoo took the lead, pushing him back onto the pillows and straddling his lap. She loved the power of it—the way she could look down at him and see the absolute devotion in his eyes. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against his chest, her hair falling like a silk curtain around them.

"You're so beautiful," Doha murmured, his hands reaching up to cup her face.

Jisoo paused, her gaze softening. The silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward. It was the kind of silence that only exists between two people who no longer have anything to hide.

"Jisoo," he whispered, his voice was full of sincerity, completely devoid of doubt "I love you."

The words hung in the air, crystalline and pure. Jisoo's expression shifted, a look of profound emotion crossing her face. She pulled him closer for a deep, searing kiss, and when he pulled away, her voice was a trembling but steady, a certain vow.

"I love you too, Doha. More than I know how to put into words."

The confession acted like a catalyst. The intimacy that followed was more intense, more connected. Jisoo moved above him, her movements fluid and elegant, her body arching as she guided him back inside her. The friction was exquisite, the heat building a slow, agonizing tension that made her toes curl.

"Kiss me," she pleaded, leaning down to capture his lips. "Keep kissing me while you... while you do that."

Doha complied, his tongue tangling with hers while his hips surged upward, meeting her descent with a powerful, rhythmic force. He reached down, his fingers finding the sensitive bud of her clit, adding a layer of stimulation that sent Jisoo spiraling. She was loud now, her voice filling the room with breathless declarations of pleasure, her nails leaving faint red crescents in the skin of his arms.

"Yes... right there... oh god, Doha, don't stop!"

The build-up was slower this time, a steady climb toward a peak that felt inevitable. As Jisoo felt the first tremors of her second orgasm, Doha’s own control snapped. He gripped her hips, pulling her down hard against him as he released a second, massive load deep inside her. The sensation of him filling her again triggered a violent, shuddering climax for Jisoo, her body shaking in unison with his.

They collapsed into each other, skin slick with sweat, their breathing synchronized. They lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets, the air in the room thick with the scent of sex and love.

"I think," Jisoo murmured, her voice a breathy whisper, "that your 'observational conclusions' are becoming very accurate."

Doha chuckled, the sound vibrating against her chest. He rolled her over, pinning her gently to the mattress, his eyes dark with a lingering desire. "I'm not finished observing you yet."

This time when their bodies were intertwined again was the most intimate of all. There was no urgency, only a deep, pulsing need for connection. They moved together in a slow, synchronized dance, a side-lying position that allowed them to stay face-to-face, their breaths mingling. Every thrust was shallow and teasing, building a tension that felt like a physical weight.

Jisoo wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him close, her lips grazing his ear. "I want to feel every bit of you," she whispered. "I want to know that you're really here. That you're staying."

"I'm not going anywhere," Doha promised, his voice a low growl.

He increased the pace, the friction becoming a searing heat that threatened to consume them both. The sound of their bodies—the wet, rhythmic shlicking of their union—was the only music they needed. Jisoo felt the tension building again, a coil of electricity tightening in her core. She could feel him reaching his limit, his movements becoming more primal, more urgent.

As they hit the final peak together, Doha let out a long, shuddering groan, his body locking as he came for the third time, pouring everything he had into her. Jisoo screamed his name, her body arching in a final, explosive orgasm that left her feeling completely undone, completely open, and completely loved.

The aftermath of their lovemaking was a slow, warm descent into peace. Doha didn't pull away immediately; he stayed inside her, his forehead resting against hers, their breathing gradually syncing. Eventually, he withdrew and pulled her into his arms, wrapping a large, plush duvet around them both.

They lay in the dim light, the clear night outside the window acting as a silent witness to their union. Jisoo rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady, calming thrum of his heart. She felt a strange sense of weightlessness, as if the armor she had worn for years had finally been dismantled, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but this.

"You're very quiet," Doha noted, his voice soft and drowsy.

"I'm just... happy," Jisoo replied, the honesty coming effortlessly now. "I don't think I've ever felt this quiet inside my own head."

Doha kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "That's because you don't have to fight for your space anymore, Jisoo. I've already made room for you."

Jisoo smiled, closing her eyes as she snuggled closer to him. "I love you, Doha."

"I love you too, my beautiful, stubborn Jisoo. Now go to sleep."

She did, falling into a deep, dreamless slumber with a smile on her lips, anchored by the warmth of the man who had turned a stolen umbrella into a lifetime of honesty.

The next morning arrived with a gentle, golden light that filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room in soft hues of amber and cream. Jisoo woke up slowly, the feeling of Doha’s arm draped across her waist the first thing she registered. She didn't move for a long time, simply savoring the comfort of the moment.

The apartment felt different today. It was still her space, but it no longer felt like a fortress. It felt like a home.

She eventually slipped out of bed, wearing one of Doha’s oversized t-shirts that reached mid-thigh, the fabric smelling faintly of cedar and him. She wandered into the kitchen, finding Doha already there. He was leaning against the counter, wearing only his lounge pants, staring at the tea kettle with a look of intense concentration.

"Are you attempting to make that grass-tea again?" she asked, her voice still husky from sleep. Doha looked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Actually, I bought a new blend. I thought I'd try to improve my rating."

Jisoo walked up to him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his bare back. "I don't care if the tea is terrible, as long as you're the one making it."

Doha turned in her arms, pulling her close for a soft, morning kiss. "That is a very dangerous level of affection, Jisoo. I might start thinking you actually like me."

"Observational conclusion," she whispered, leaning back to look at him. "You're stuck with me, Mr. Repairman."

They spent the day in a state of blissful, domestic inertia. They ordered breakfast, lounged on the couch with a book they both pretended to read, and talked about everything and nothing. There were no schedules, no cameras, no rules. Just the two of them in the quiet of a clear day.

As the afternoon waned, Jisoo’s phone, which had been resting on the coffee table, began to vibrate incessantly. She glanced at the screen and sighed, though the smile remained on her face.

The BLACKPINK Group Chat was exploding.

Lisa: THIS IS ME WAITING FOR THE UPDATE. Lisa:

Jisoo looked at the messages, then looked up at Doha, who was watching her with an amused expression "Your members are very persistent," he noted.

Jisoo picked up the phone, her fingers dancing across the screen.

Jisoo: I am alive.

The reply came almost instantly.

Lisa: SHE LIVES. Jennie: Good. Then we’re coming over. Rosé: We’re bringing food and coffee. Lisa: Please be dressed.

Jisoo stared at the screen. Doha, unfortunately, read it over her shoulder. His mouth twitched.

“Don’t laugh,” she warned. “I’m not.” “You are internally laughing.” “That’s harder to prove.”

Another message appeared.

Lisa: Also, if haunted umbrella man is there, tell him we’re emotionally prepared. Jennie: We are not. Rosé: I’m happy to meet him properly. Lisa: I’m happy to interrogate him properly.

Jisoo closed her eyes. Doha leaned closer, voice warm with amusement. “Haunted umbrella man?”

“You have branding now.” “That sounds serious.” “It is. Lisa is hard to rebrand.”

The phone buzzed again.

Lisa: Are you pregnant? Jisoo: Don’t make me send Dispatch your relationship details. Lisa: SHE THREATENED DISPATCH. Jennie: That means she’s serious. Rosé: Lisa, maybe stop asking pregnancy questions before coffee. Lisa: Fine. Wedding questions after coffee.

Jisoo dropped the phone face down onto the blanket. Doha had fully given up hiding his laughter now.

“You are enjoying this too much,” she said. “They love you.” “They are menaces.” “They’re coming over?” “Apparently.” “Should I be scared?”

Jisoo looked at him. Then at the phone. Then back at him “Yes”. That only made him laugh harder.

For a few more seconds, before the chaos arrived at her door, Jisoo let herself stay exactly where she was. Wrapped in the afternoon sun. In his shirt. In her apartment. With Doha beside her and the repaired umbrella leaning quietly near the door like it had always belonged there.

That was the strangest part. Not the confession. Not even the fact that Lisa had somehow escalated from coffee to pregnancy in under five messages. It was the umbrella.

The same umbrella she had stolen by accident. The same umbrella that had dragged her into an annoying repair shop with an annoying man who asked annoying questions. The same umbrella that had once felt like a rule.

Now it just looked like home.

Jisoo glanced toward it, then toward Doha. He noticed immediately. Of course he did.

“What?” “Nothing.” “That was your first lie today.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are very brave before coffee.” “I’ve survived Lisa in group chat. I fear very little now.” “You haven’t survived Lisa in person.” “That is less comforting.”

The doorbell rang before she could answer. Once. Then twice. Then three times in a rhythm so deliberately obnoxious that Jisoo knew exactly who was responsible.

“Lisa,” she said flatly.

From the other side of the door, a muffled voice yelled, “WE BROUGHT COFFEE AND EMOTIONAL SUPPORT.”

Jennie’s voice followed, calmer but no less amused. “And apologies in advance.” Rosé added, “Mostly coffee.”

Jisoo closed her eyes. Doha stood from the couch, still smiling.

“I should probably get dressed properly.” “You should have done that five minutes ago.” “I was distracted.” “That is not a legal defense.” “It might work in umbrella court.” “There is no umbrella court.” “There should be.”

The doorbell rang again.

Lisa shouted, “IF YOU TWO ARE STILL AT IT LIKE BUNNIES, SAY SOMETHING NOW.”

Jisoo walked toward the door with murder in her posture and affection in her eyes.

“Lisa,” she called through the door, “if you say one more thing before I open this, I’m telling everyone about the ramen incident.”

Silence.

Then Lisa, much quieter “That was private.”

“So is this.”

Doha laughed softly behind her. Jisoo looked back at him once. He stood in her living room wearing the shirt he had finally managed to button correctly, his hair still slightly messy, his expression calm despite the obvious incoming disaster. He looked nervous. Not about her. About them. About being folded into the loud, ridiculous, loving part of her life that refused to stay politely outside the door.

Jisoo softened before she could stop herself. “You’ll survive,” she said. “Honest answer?”

She reached for his hand.

“Yes.”

Then she opened the door.

Lisa entered first, because of course she did, holding iced coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Her eyes immediately flicked from Jisoo’s shirt, to Doha’s face, to the umbrella by the door. Her smile became dangerous “Oh.” Jisoo pointed at her. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything.” “You said ‘oh.’” “That is a vowel.”

Jennie stepped in behind her, graceful as ever, taking one look at the apartment before smiling with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had already guessed correctly weeks ago.

“Good morning, Doha.” Doha bowed slightly. “Good morning.” Lisa leaned toward Jennie. “She said his name normally. That’s serious.”

Rosé entered last, carrying a box of pastries and looking between Jisoo and Doha with warm, slightly teary affection that Jisoo immediately found threatening. “No,” Jisoo said.

Rosé blinked. “I didn’t say anything.” “You looked sentimental.” “I’m allowed.” “You’re not.”

Rosé smiled and hugged her anyway. Jisoo tolerated it for exactly three seconds before patting her back stiffly. Lisa, meanwhile, had already spotted the umbrella. She pointed at it like she had discovered evidence at a crime scene “There it is.”

Doha looked at Jisoo. Jisoo sighed. “The haunted umbrella.” Lisa turned to him immediately. “So. Are you a wizard?” Doha considered this seriously “No.”

“Suspicious answer.” “He does that,” Jisoo said.

Jennie set the coffee on the table and glanced toward the umbrella “It’s repaired.” Doha nodded “Completely.” Lisa gasped “So the curse is lifted?”

“The only curse here is your personality,” Jisoo replied.

Rosé looked at the umbrella, then at the way Jisoo’s hand had found Doha’s without her seeming to notice. Her expression softened again. Jisoo caught it instantly “Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything.” “You’re emotionally narrating.” Rosé laughed. “Maybe a little.”

They settled into the living room with coffee, pastries, and exactly the kind of noise Jisoo usually pretended to hate more than she actually did. Lisa interrogated Doha about umbrella repair like she was conducting a national security briefing.

Jennie asked three calm questions that somehow revealed more than Lisa’s entire interrogation.

Rosé mostly watched Jisoo. That was worse. Because Rosé noticed the quiet things. The way Jisoo passed Doha coffee without asking. The way Doha shifted slightly so Lisa’s dramatic gestures wouldn’t knock over the cup beside Jisoo. The way Jisoo rolled her eyes at him, but leaned closer anyway. Eventually, Lisa pointed between them with a half-eaten pastry “So when is the wedding?”

Jisoo set her coffee down very slowly “Lisa.” “What? I waited until after coffee.” Jennie lifted her cup. “Technically true.” Rosé smiled into her drink “She did follow the rule.”

Jisoo stared at all three of them. Betrayal everywhere. Doha, traitorously, looked amused. Jisoo turned to him “You are not helping.”

“I wasn’t asked a question.” Lisa snapped her fingers. “Okay, then I’m asking. Doha, when is the wedding?”

Jisoo’s head turned slowly back toward Lisa “Don’t make me send Dispatch your relationship details.” Lisa clutched her chest “Again with Dispatch.” Jennie laughed quietly. Rosé hid her smile behind her coffee. Doha glanced at Jisoo. For a second, beneath all the teasing, something quieter passed between them.

The kind they had already spoken aloud when the apartment was still quiet and the morning had not yet been invaded by three women carrying caffeine and emotional violence. Jisoo looked away first, but her hand stayed in his.

Lisa saw it. Her expression softened for half a second before the menace returned.

“Okay,” she said. “Fine. I’ll stop asking.” “Thank you.” “For now.” “Lisa.” “I’m being respectful.” “You are being threatened.” “Same effect.”

The room dissolved into laughter. Jisoo sighed like she was suffering, she was not. Doha squeezed her hand once beneath the table, small and steady. She squeezed back. Outside, the sky stayed clear.

No rain.

No storm.

No rule.

No excuse.

Just coffee on the table, her members filling her apartment with noise, Doha sitting beside her like he belonged there, and the repaired umbrella resting quietly near the door. Jisoo looked at it once. Then at him.

Then at the three women she loved, who were already arguing about whether “haunted umbrella husband” sounded better than “repair shop boyfriend.”

Her life was still complicated. It would always be complicated. There would still be cameras, schedules, careful exits, and questions she did not feel like answering.

But for once, the thought did not make her want to step back.

Because Doha was not another thing she had to explain. He was the person she wanted beside her when the explaining finally stopped. Lisa waved a hand in front of her face.

“Yah. You’re smiling.” Jisoo immediately stopped “No.” Jennie tilted her head “You were.” Rosé nodded “You really were.”

Doha looked at her, mouth curved faintly. Jisoo narrowed her eyes at all of them.

“I hate this room.” Lisa grinned “This is your apartment, you know.”

I woke up before my alarm, stared at the ceiling for three full minutes, and tried to remember what part of yesterday had been real. TWICE had visited the Top Floor. ITZY had signed the NDAs. Jihyo had revealed the TWICE arrangement with John. Mina and I had almost been accused of planning a polite corporate takeover. Ryujin had demonstrated things with couch cushions. Yuna had narrated her first time like a coming-of-age film with legal protection. Nayeon had asked John to punish her in front of everyone. I had smoked. Yeji had kissed me in front of the room. Then told me that was the last kiss I would get if I didn’t stop smoking.

Then I had apparently survived dinner, tattoo accusations, almost-wife allegations, and an impending temporary tattoo appointment that now involved Yeji choosing placement and font.

I closed my eyes “Outstanding.”

Beside me, Yeji shifted. Not fully awake yet. But awake enough “You’re thinking too loudly.” I turned my head. She was lying on her side, hair loose against the pillow, eyes still half-closed but already judging me with terrifying accuracy “I am silently suffering.”

“You do that loudly.” “That feels unfair.” “You earned unfair.”

I smiled despite myself. She opened one eye “Don’t look cute. I’m still mad.”

“That implies I look cute.”

“Benjie.” I immediately stopped smiling. Mostly. Yeji sighed and sat up, pulling the blanket around herself. The morning light softened her face, but not enough to hide the fact that she was already preparing herself for the day.

Leader mode. Girlfriend mode. Wife voice in reserve. Terrifying combination “We need a gameplan,” she said. I pushed myself up against the headboard “For JYP?”

“For everything.”

That was worse because it was correct. She counted on her fingers “JYP. The retreat cover. Mina and the money. John and Jihyo’s role. The tattoo appointment. Yuna’s vacation plan. Ryujin not committing crimes. Chaeryeong and Lia shopping. And you not buying another establishment because someone annoys you.” I looked at her “That last one feels targeted.”

“It is.” “Good to know.”

Yeji reached for her phone and checked the time “We leave in two hours.”

“For JYP.”

“For JYP first,” she said. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. “Then Frankie.” I had made the mistake of telling her the tattoo artist’s name last night. Now she said it like someone had entered a witness protection list “It’s temporary,” I reminded her.

“And I choose placement.” “You choose placement.” “And font.” “And no portrait.”

“No portrait.” “And no wedding date.” “For now.”

She turned her whole head toward me. I looked away “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” She threw a pillow at me. I caught it. That was when the bedroom door opened without permission. Ryujin leaned in “Are you decent?” Yeji clutched the blanket higher “Ryujin!” Ryujin looked at her. Then at me. Then at the pillow in my hands.

“Emotionally, no. Physically, probably.” “Get out,” Yeji said. “I’m here for the morning briefing.” “There is no morning briefing in our bedroom.” “Our?”

The silence changed. Ryujin’s smile widened. Yeji closed her eyes “Leave.” Ryujin pointed into the room “She said our.”

“I heard it,” Yuna called from the hallway. Lia’s voice followed, tired and resigned “Everyone heard it.” Chaeryeong added softly, “I was trying not to.” I looked at Yeji. Yeji looked at me. Her face turned pink before she pulled the blanket over her head. Ryujin grinned.

“Great. Breakfast in ten. Your wife has assignments.” “I am not his wife!” Yeji shouted from under the blanket. “Yet!” Yuna shouted back.

Ryujin closed the door before Yeji could throw the second pillow. I sat very still. Under the blanket, Yeji said, “Do not laugh.”

“I would never.” “You’re smiling.” “I am emotionally licensed to be happy.”

The blanket lowered just enough for one eye to glare at me.

“I hate that sentence.” “You loved it last night.” “I tolerated it under duress.” “Marriage duress?”

The pillow hit me directly in the face.

Breakfast was less a meal and more a tactical deployment. Yuna had taken over one side of the kitchen island with a notebook, a tablet, two pens, and the expression of a woman who had been given responsibility and planned to make it everyone else’s problem. Chaeryeong was checking the pantry. Lia was making a list on her phone. Ryujin was eating cereal directly from the box again, which meant civilization had already failed. Yeji sat beside me, still radiating mild anger, while pretending she was not leaning close enough for her knee to brush mine.

I accepted this as progress. Yuna tapped her pen against the notebook “Okay. Vacation pitch.”

“No,” Lia said immediately. Yuna frowned “You haven’t heard it.” “You started with a title voice.” “It needs a title.” “It needs JYP approval first.” Yuna waved a hand “Details.” “They are not details,” Chaeryeong said from inside the pantry. Yuna ignored that “I am preparing the vacation activities pitch for everyone. If we’re getting a week—” “If,” I said. Yuna looked at me “When.” “That is not better.” “It is more confident.” “It is more dangerous.”

Ryujin lowered the cereal box “What if JYP says no?” Yuna looked personally offended “Then Ben and Mina accidentally become a problem again.” Yeji turned toward her “Yuna.”

“What? I said accidentally.” Lia looked at me over her cup “Your influence is terrible.” “I have been saying that.”

Chaeryeong came out of the pantry with a haunted expression “Momo sunbaenim ate everything.” Ryujin nodded solemnly “Biblical.” Chaeryeong looked genuinely distressed “I stocked for three days.” “She is TWICE’s final boss,” Yuna said. “Momo is not a final boss,” Lia said. “She ate like one,” Ryujin replied. Chaeryeong looked at me “I need to restock.”

“Use my card.” Yeji turned toward me immediately. I lifted both hands “Not buying the grocery store. Just groceries.” She watched me for a second. Then nodded “For now.” I sent a quick message to my accountant. Before I could put the phone down, it buzzed. I read the reply and sighed. Lia noticed “What?” “My accountant says he is happy to oblige as long as the shopping request is from Chaeryeong.”

Yuna slowly looked up from her notebook “Excuse me?” I read the message aloud “‘If it is Ms. Chaeryeong, absolutely. Please tell her she may purchase whatever pantry supplies she needs. If it is Ms. Yuna, I require itemized pre-approval after the spa incident.’”

The kitchen erupted. Yuna’s mouth dropped open “That was one time.” Lia looked at her “It was not one time.”

“It was one spa arc.” Ryujin pointed at her “You traumatized the man.” “I improved his exposure to luxury wellness.” “You submitted a reimbursement request that had aromatherapy candles categorized as emotional infrastructure.” Yuna lifted her chin “They were.”

Chaeryeong looked between us “Should I itemize?”

“No,” I said. “Buy everything you need.” My phone buzzed again. I glanced down “He added a smiley face for you.” Chaeryeong blinked “For me?”

“Yes.”

Yuna gasped “He never sends me smiley faces.” Lia sipped her drink “That is because you send him invoices that make him question morality.” Yuna pointed at her “You’re also going shopping.” Lia nodded “For vacation needs.” I forwarded her accountant access too. A second later, my phone buzzed again. I read it “‘Approved for Ms. Lia. Sensible purchases expected.’” Yuna slapped the table “This is discrimination.”

“It is pattern recognition,” I said. Ryujin leaned over “What does he say about me?” I stared at her “You are not shopping.” She looked offended “Why?”

“Because your assignment is to try not to do any damage that can’t be undone.” Ryujin froze. Then slowly smiled “That leaves a lot of room.”

“No, it does not.” “It does if you’re creative.” “Ryujin.”

Yeji finally spoke, calm and dangerous. “Do not make me assign you to JYP aegyo TikTok preparation.” Ryujin sat down immediately “Understood.” Yuna whispered, “Wife authority.” Yeji pointed at her without looking “I heard that.” Yuna went back to writing. I stood and adjusted my watch “Yeji is coming with me to JYP.” Everyone looked up. Ryujin grinned “For emotional support?”

“Yes.” Yeji blinked. I continued, “I need my wife around for emotional support during this coup.” The room froze. Yeji turned bright red “Ben.” Ryujin screamed. Yuna nearly fell off her chair. Lia closed her eyes like she had been spiritually defeated. Chaeryeong looked down, smiling despite herself. I corrected smoothly “Jokingly.”

“That correction came too late,” Lia said. Ryujin pointed at Yeji “She reacted before the correction.” Yuna nodded “She liked it.” “I did not like it,” Yeji said.

I looked at her. She looked at me. I smiled. She kicked my ankle under the table, then her hand found mine anyway.

We left before Ryujin could make it worse. Unfortunately, the day had already decided worse was the theme. JYP’s office felt different when there were five of us walking in. Jihyo first, because she had the folder. John beside her, because suffering was apparently his full-time position. Mina behind them, quiet and composed, carrying no visible threat but somehow radiating legal consequences. Then Yeji and me.

JYP was already seated when we entered. He looked from Jihyo to John. Then Mina. Then Yeji. Then to me.  His expression settled into the weary calm of a man watching a storm arrive with paperwork “Why do I feel,” he said slowly, “that this meeting will cost me money?” John muttered, “Because you’re learning.”

Jihyo elbowed him lightly. I bowed “Thank you for seeing us.” JYP looked at me “Benjamin, when you speak politely, I become extremely more concerned.”

“That feels unfair.”

“It is experience.” Mina took a seat without being asked. JYP looked at her. Then at me. Then at Jihyo’s folder. His eyes narrowed “You brought both of them…” Jihyo smiled “I brought structure.” JYP did not smile back “You brought financial equivalent of a small country.” Mina blinked. I blinked. John whispered, “He’s not wrong.” JYP pointed at him.“Do not help them.”

Jihyo opened the folder “We are proposing a senior-junior wellness retreat.” JYP stared at the folder “For TWICE and ITZY.”

“Yes.” “For how long?”

I answered before anyone else could “One week.” Mina said nothing. Yeji sat beside me, straight-backed and composed, looking every bit like the leader who had walked into meetings like this for years and survived worse rooms than this one. JYP looked at the proposal. Then at me. “One week?”

“Yes.” “And the purpose?”

Jihyo took over “Recovery, mentorship, privacy, and controlled decompression after Waterbomb. Publicly, it becomes a senior-junior wellness retreat. TWICE and ITZY. Company-approved. Clean narrative. No speculation.”

JYP listened. He did not interrupt, that somehow felt worse.

Jihyo continued “Schedules would need adjustment. Staff compensation would need coverage. Transportation, security, lodging, privacy, and contingency logistics would all be handled externally.”

“Externally,” JYP repeated. I nodded “I’ll cover ITZY.” Mina nodded “I’ll cover TWICE.”

JYP closed his eyes. John leaned toward him “That reaction is normal.” JYP opened his eyes again “How much?” I slid the estimate forward. Mina placed a second document beside it. JYP looked at the numbers, then he looked at us. Then looked at the estimates again. His face did not change. But his soul did. “You are both insane.”

Mina’s expression remained calm “The numbers are conservative.”

“That makes it worse”. I nodded “It does, actually.” JYP looked at me “You are agreeing with me?”

“On accounting language, yes”. JYP leaned back “I have concerns.”

“Expected,” Jihyo said.

“Good. Then expect many.” He lifted one finger. “First. Moving schedules for one week is already difficult.”

“Yes,” Jihyo said. “Second. Moving both TWICE and ITZY creates speculation.” “We have a cover plan.” “Third. A private location reduces risk but does not remove risk.” “Agreed,” Mina said. “Fourth.” His eyes moved to me. “I do not like how Ben solves everything by means financial flashbanging.”

Yeji’s posture shifted. I looked down. JYP noticed. His voice softened by one degree “I am not saying the care is wrong. I am saying the method is dangerous.”

“I know,” I said. “Do you?”

Yeji answered before I could “He does.” Everyone looked at her. She sat straight. Calm. Leader-like “He knows. That is why he did not come alone.”

That landed. On JYP. On me. On everyone. Yeji continued “ITZY can keep working. We can keep performing. We can keep smiling and doing schedules. But that does not mean we are okay.” Jihyo’s expression softened. Mina watched Yeji quietly. JYP’s face changed.

Not much, but enough. Yeji took a breath “The Top Floor helped. Ben helped. But it is still attached to everything. The building. The schedule. The pressure. Staff. Reports. Calls. We need space away from all of it before we start treating containment like recovery.”

Silence.

Then JYP looked at me “You said that?”

“No,” I said quietly. “Lia did.” His eyes shifted “Smart girl.”

“Yes”. JYP looked at the folder again. Then at Mina, towards me, then at Jihyo. For a moment, nobody spoke. He tapped one finger against the desk. Once. Twice. Then he said “No”. John whispered, “Here we go.” Yeji’s hand tightened slightly on her knee. Mina was reaching for something in her bag, I leaned forward “Sir—”

“One week is not enough.” The room completely stopped. Jihyo blinked. John’s head snapped toward JYP. Mina’s hand was still in her bag, and her expression did not change but her eyes sharpened. I stared at him.

JYP leaned back in his chair like a man who had decided the best way to survive a storm was to control where it landed “I will give you two.” Nobody moved. John was the first to fail “Wait. That worked?” JYP pointed at him “Do not make me regret this faster.” Jihyo recovered first “Two weeks?”

JYP nodded “If this is recovery, one week will become a countdown. The first three days will be spent adjusting, the last two preparing to return, and everyone will pretend the middle was enough. Two weeks gives them time to settle. It also gives the company one clean explanation instead of repeated schedule reshuffling.”

I stared. Mina nodded slowly “Efficient.” JYP pointed at her “And that brings me to the conditions.” John whispered, “Peace treaty.”

JYP ignored him. “First. You cover all costs.” “Done,” I said. “Split,” Mina added. JYP’s eye twitched.

“Second. Staff compensation, schedule adjustment fees, security, lodging, transportation, medical standby, privacy measures, and contingency costs will be covered before anyone leaves, and anything else that comes up regarding you ‘retreat’ in any form.” “Done,” I said. “Split,” Mina said again. JYP rubbed his forehead.

“Third. Legal documentation.” Jihyo lifted her pen “Expected.” “No,” JYP said. “Not only for the retreat.” The room shifted. His eyes moved to Mina. Then to me.

 “Both of you will sign an agreement that neither of you, alone, together, directly, indirectly, emotionally, financially, strategically, through shell entities, friends, family offices, investment vehicles, private holding companies, anonymous proxies, or any other creative nightmare you can invent, will attempt to acquire, influence, pressure, restructure, destabilize, or otherwise interfere with JYPE.”

Silence. Absolute. John slowly turned toward me. I looked at Mina. Mina looked at me. JYP slapped one palm lightly on the desk “Do not look at each other like that.”

John whispered, “Oh my God.” Jihyo covered her mouth. Not to hide shock. To hide laughter. Yeji stared at me “Ben.” I looked at her “I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.” “That is not illegal.”

JYP pointed at me “It will be if I ask legal.” Mina tilted her head “Restructuring is not inherently destabilizing.” John stood halfway “No.” Mina looked at him “What?”

“You are proving why he needs the clause”. JYP nodded “She is.” Mina paused. Then folded her hands again “Reasonable.” I looked at her “Reasonable?” She looked back “Under the circumstances.”

John pointed between us “See? This is exactly what terrifies everyone. You two just negotiated not buying the company like normal people discuss not ordering dessert.”

JYP looked exhausted “Fourth. If anyone asks, this retreat is company-approved. Not Ben-approved. Not Mina-approved. Company-approved.” Jihyo nodded “That protects the narrative.”

“Fifth. No public-facing signs of anything that makes me need a medical team before noon.” John muttered, “That is broad.” “It needs to be.”

JYP looked at each of us “Two weeks. Costs covered. Legal agreement. Company-approved narrative. No corporate interference. No public scandal.” He paused “Do we understand?”

Jihyo nodded “Yes.” Mina nodded “Yes.” I nodded “Yes.” John nodded “With fear.” Yeji nodded “With supervision.”

JYP looked at her for a second. Then, for the first time, smiled faintly “Good. Someone has to.”

The meeting ended with more signatures than I liked. Mina signed the anti-interference clause without hesitation. I signed after reading every line, mostly because JYP watched me like I might discover a loophole mid-stroke. Which was offensive— not entirely inaccurate. But offensive.

John read over my shoulder and whispered “No shell companies.” “I can read.” “No emotional acquisitions.” “That is not a legal term.” “It is in spirit.”

Jihyo gathered the signed copies. Mina looked quietly satisfied. Yeji looked relieved. JYP looked like a man who had bought himself two weeks of peace by selling his legal department’s soul. As we stood, he looked at me one last time “Ben.”

“Yes, sir?” “No buying restaurants.”

Yeji’s head snapped toward me. I stared at JYP. John slowly turned. Jihyo closed her eyes. Mina blinked “How did you know about that?” JYP leaned back “I have instincts.” John whispered, “He’s evolving.” I bowed “No restaurants.” Yeji folded her arms.

“Or buildings.” “No buildings.” “Or companies.” “No companies.”

JYP looked between us. Then sighed “Good luck.” I frowned “With the retreat?” His eyes moved to Yeji “With you.”

We left before Yeji could agree too enthusiastically. In the hallway, John exhaled like he had been holding his breath since 2023 “Two weeks.” Jihyo looked at the folder “Two weeks.” Mina adjusted her bag “Efficient outcome.” John pointed at her “You are banned from saying efficient for the rest of the day.” Mina pouted at John “Why?”

“Because every time you say it, someone signs away corporate sovereignty.”

I looked at Jihyo “I did offer for you to come with us.” Jihyo looked up “To the tattoo appointment?”

“Yes.” John immediately stiffened. Jihyo’s smile turned slow “No.” John relaxed. Then she added “If I went, I would end up making John get one too.” John stopped breathing. Nayeon was not even there, but somehow I felt her approval in the universe. Jihyo continued calmly “All nine names.” John looked at her “You would not.” Jihyo looked back “I absolutely would.” He stared at her. Then looked at me “Help.”

I lifted both hands “No. If Jihyo decided that, you would have no way out.” John looked horrified because he knew it was true. Mina looked thoughtful “All nine names would require planning.” John pointed at her “Stop contributing feedback to the tattoos.” Jihyo smiled sweetly “Relax. I’m not going.”

“That does not make me feel safe.” “It should not.”

We separated at the parking level. Jihyo and Mina headed back toward the company wing to begin the official retreat paperwork. John, Yeji, and I headed for the tattoo shop. Or as John called it “Evidence creation.”

Frankie’s studio was private by design. No walk-ins. No visible signage. No social media tags unless he approved them himself. The kind of place that looked like nothing from the outside and too expensive from the inside. John still looked ready to scan the walls for cameras “This is insane,” he said as we entered “It is temporary ink.”

“You keep saying that like the problem is the ink.” Yeji was beside me, sunglasses on, cap low, mask in place. She looked like an idol trying not to be recognized. Which was accurate. She also looked like an angry girlfriend trying to pretend she was not excited— also accurate.

Frankie looked up from the counter. He was broad, tattooed up to his neck, with silver rings on three fingers and the expression of a man who had seen too much to be surprised by normal things. Then he saw Yeji. He stopped. Looked at me. Looked at Yeji, then back to me “Boss.”

“Frankie”. He blinked once. “When you said Yeji, you meant Yeji—Yeji.” Yeji stiffened. John’s soul visibly exited his body. I nodded “Yes.” Frankie stared for half a second longer. Then sighed “Honestly? Baffled. Not surprised.” John turned toward me “That is not comforting.” Frankie looked at John “You must be John.” John’s eyes widened “Why do you know that?”

“Boss said a tired manager might come in sweating through his spine.” I looked away. John turned to me “You described me like a medical warning.”

“The Boss’ description was accurate”. Frankie lifted both hands before John could spiral “Before anyone panics, not a word leaves this room.” His tone changed. Less joking. More certain “I don’t post clients. I don’t talk clients. I don’t hint clients. I don’t leak clients. Especially not his.” He nodded toward me “I still remember what he did for me with that investment broker.” Yeji looked at me. John stiffened.

Frankie continued while setting out the temporary ink materials “Guy thought because he had money and connections, he could walk out on my bill. Boss asked for a name. Next thing I knew, the man who was at the top of the food chain in his line of work was now bussing tables for tips.”

John went pale “You kept tabs?” Frankie smiled “Of course I kept tabs.” Yeji slowly turned toward me “Benjie.” I sighed “Please do not start here.” Frankie looked between us. Then grinned “Oh, that’s the voice.” John pointed at him “You hear it too?”

“Man, I tattooed him through worse ideas than this. I know when his woman is the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.” Yeji turned pink “I am not—”

“His wife?” Frankie guessed. The room froze, Yeji stared, John made a helpless sound. I closed my eyes “Frankie.”

“What? Lucky guess.” “It was not a lucky guess.”

Frankie looked at Yeji “Girlfriend?” Yeji lifted her chin “Girlfriend.” Frankie nodded seriously “Understood. Girlfriend with wife privileges.” John whispered, “I hate how fast everyone gets there.”

Frankie slid a paper across the counter “If it gives you peace of mind, I’ll sign whatever. NDA. Confidentiality. Blood oath— well not literally, unless the boss is paying extra.” John grabbed the paper “Yes. Thank you.” I looked offended “You do not need that.” John was already reading “I absolutely need that.”

Frankie looked at me “With respect, boss, the people around you look like they rarely experience peace of mind.”

“That is unfair.” Yeji looked at me. John looked at me. Frankie looked at me. I sighed “Somewhat unfair.” Frankie laughed “That’s why I like you, boss. You have more money than a small country and yet you’re pretty much down to earth.”

John slid the confidentiality paper back “Sign.” Frankie signed without hesitation. Then slid it back “Better?” John clutched it like scripture “A little.” Frankie turned toward Yeji “Alright. Temporary chest piece. Original draft was ‘Ben + Yeji.’” Yeji immediately shook her head “No.”

Frankie nodded “Good. It was corny as hell.” I looked at him “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on the side of decent composition.” Yeji stepped closer to the stencil samples “It should be ‘Yeji + Ben’, that sounds and looks better.” I looked at her. John looked at her. Frankie looked at her, Yeji froze “What?” I smiled “Nothing.”

“You are smiling.” Yeji pointed out. “I am emotionally licensed.” “You are not.”

Frankie leaned over the page “Yeji + Ben balances better.” Yeji nodded, suddenly focused “And this font is too sharp.” Frankie blinked “Oh.”

John whispered, “She’s actually doing it.” Yeji ignored him “This one is better. Still readable but softer.” Frankie nodded “Good eye.” Her confidence grew “And little hearts.”

I slowly turned toward her “Little hearts?” She pointed at the paper like a woman commanding an army “Not big ones. Small. Around the names. Maybe one between.” Frankie looked at me, I looked at Yeji. Her cheeks were pink, but her eyes were serious. I shrugged “Whatever the wife wants, man.”

Yeji snapped toward me “Girlfriend.” Frankie lifted both hands “Whatever the girlfriend with wife privileges wants.” John muttered, “This is a disease.”

Yeji glared at both of us “I am choosing design quality.”

“Of course,” I said. “And preventing disaster.” “Obviously.” “And the hearts are ironic.”

Frankie looked at the hearts “They are not ironic.”

“They are artistically necessary,” Yeji corrected. Frankie smiled “I am not going to debate that.” then he glanced at me “So we’re using the gun, right?”

I paused “What?” Frankie lifted the machine from his station with a grin that immediately made me distrust him “Temporary ink through the gun. All the pain of a real tattoo, none of the permanence— it also makes the temporary ink last longer.” John slowly turned toward Frankie. For the first time all day, he looked hopeful “That is an option?”

Frankie nodded “Sure.” Yeji looked at the machine. Then at me. Then back at the machine “I like that option.” I stared at her “B-babe…”

“You wanted drama.” “I wanted temporary romance.” “You can have temporary romance with consequences.”

John pointed at Frankie “I like him now.”

“You hated this place thirty seconds ago.” “I have evolved.”

Frankie looked at me with no sympathy whatsoever “Boss, you did say whatever the wife wants, the wife gets.” Yeji lifted one finger “Girlfriend.” Frankie nodded. “Whatever the girlfriend with wife privileges wants, the girlfriend with wife privileges gets.” I stared at him “You just met her, Frankie...” Frankie shrugged with a grin “Composition has consequences, and I’m just following instructions”

John sat in the corner with the confidentiality paper in hand, looking like he had just found religion “This is the safest I have felt all day.”

“That is deeply offensive,” I said. Yeji crossed her arms “Shirt off.”

I looked at her. She looked back. Not smiling. But almost “Placement review,” she said.

“Of course.” Frankie prepared the stencil. Temporary. Harmless. Ridiculous. And now apparently painful because everyone I loved had betrayed me in under three minutes. Yeji watched every adjustment. Font. Spacing. Heart placement. Whether the plus sign looked too childish. Whether it should be slightly tilted. Whether the names should sit centered or angled over my chest.

Finally, Frankie held up the finished temporary stencil. Yeji studied it. Then nodded once “That one.” I looked at the design. Yeji + Ben. Small hearts. Soft font. Over the left side of my chest. Not too high. Not too obvious under normal clothes, exactly where she wanted it.

“Approved?” Frankie asked. Yeji crossed her arms “For temporary.” I smiled faintly “For now.” She turned toward me “Do not start.” Frankie applied the stencil. Then the machine started buzzing. I looked at him “You are enjoying this.”

Frankie smiled “A lil’ bit.” The needle touched skin. I exhaled through my nose. John leaned forward. “How is it?” I glared at him “I can feel the love.”

“That does not answer the question.” “It answers enough.”

Yeji stood beside me, watching with far too much satisfaction for someone who claimed this was only damage control “You okay?” she asked. I looked at her “Yes.”

“Good.” “That sounded affectionate.” “It was.”

I smiled. Then the needle moved over a more sensitive patch. My smile died but Yeji’s smile grew. That was when I realized I was in love with a dangerous woman. Frankie worked quickly, but not quickly enough for my dignity. Temporary ink was nothing compared to the hours I had spent under real needles, but the room treated it like I was signing a marriage contract on my skin— which, given the past twelve hours, was not entirely inaccurate.

When Frankie finished, he stepped back. “There.” Yeji went quiet. John lowered his eyes from the ceiling. Even he stopped joking. The temporary tattoo sat over my chest.

Yeji + Ben.

Small hearts. Ridiculous. Soft. What was supposed to be mine, now hers too. Temporary… for now. Yeji stared at it for a little too long. Then looked away “It’s stupid.”

I smiled “You like it.” “I hate it.” “You like it.” “Benjie.”

Frankie nodded “She likes it.” John pointed at him “Do not join him.” Frankie shrugged “I know happy panic when I see it.” Yeji covered her face “I hate everyone today.” I pulled my shirt back on slowly enough that she noticed. Her eyes narrowed “You did that on purpose.”

“Yes.” “At least you are honest.”

John stood “Great. We have evidence, paperwork, temporary body art, pain compliance, and no leaks. Can we leave before he buys the building?” Frankie looked at me “You want to buy the building?”

“No,” Yeji said immediately. I looked at her “I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought of something.” “That is not illegal.” “It will be if I ask JYP.”

John pointed at her “Good. Use that.” Frankie walked us to the private exit. Before we left, he looked at Yeji “For what it’s worth, I really won’t say anything.” Yeji’s expression softened “Thank you.” Frankie nodded. Then looked at me “And boss?”

“What?” “If the permanent one happens after the wedding, please let her choose the font again.”

Yeji made a strangled sound, John pushed the door open “We’re leaving.” I smiled “You can ink it in front of the crowd during the wedding, Frankie.”

“Benjie!”

We left the studio with John muttering about confidentiality, Yeji pretending not to look at my chest every few seconds, and me feeling strangely lighter than I probably deserved. Outside, John stopped beside the car “Tomorrow we are turning JYP’s private approval into an operational nightmare.”

“We got approval.” “We got private approval. Now we need schedule coordination, staff instructions, cover story consistency, security routing, and whatever additional clause JYP invents because you keep revealing new problems.”

Yeji looked at me “No new problems.” I nodded “No new problems.” My phone buzzed. All three of us looked down. Yuna had sent a message to the group chat.

YUNA: Vacation plan draft ready. Do we think “Healing Retreat” sounds too boring? I have alternatives. RYUJIN: Call it Hostile Wellness. LIA: Absolutely not. CHAERYEONG: I restocked the pantry. Please do not invite Momo unnie again without warning. NAYEON: I vote Hostile Wellness.

John stared at the phone “When did Nayeon get into this chat?” I looked at Yeji. Yeji looked at me. Neither of us answered, John closed his eyes “I hate all of you.”

Yeji looked at my chest again. Just once. Then looked away. I smiled. She pointed at me “Do not look excited.” Too late. Tomorrow, we would begin turning the retreat from permission into reality.

Two weeks, TWICE and ITZY. JYP-approved. Legally protected against hostile rich-people nonsense. Publicly wholesome. Privately impossible. And tonight, apparently, I had survived the temporary tattoo appointment… Mostly.

Yeji slid into the car beside me and muttered “Show me again when we get home.” I looked at her. She stared out the window, cheeks pink “For placement review.”

John made a sound from the front seat like his soul had finally quit. I smiled “Of course, you can look at it anytime you want.” Because apparently, the easier problem had still found a way to ruin us.

By the time we returned to the Top Floor, the place had somehow become a headquarters.

Not officially. Officially, nothing was happening yet. Officially, the retreat still needed final schedule coordination, staff routing, transport assignments, cover story alignment, and whatever corporate language Jihyo planned to use to make “two groups of idols disappearing into privacy with two managers and too much money” sound like wellness.

Unofficially, Yuna had already taken over the main table. There were papers everywhere.

A tablet. Three pens. A color-coded list. A separate page titled POSSIBLE ACTIVITIES, with the word “Hostile Wellness” crossed out so aggressively it had almost torn through the paper. Ryujin was lying sideways on the couch, looking suspiciously proud of herself. Lia sat near the kitchen with shopping bags at her feet, calm in the way people became after surviving war. Chaeryeong was restocking the pantry with the solemn focus of someone rebuilding civilization after Momo.

TWICE had arrived again in clusters. Jihyo and Mina were already seated with the documents. Nayeon was too comfortable. Sana was too delighted. Dahyun was too ready.

Momo was already looking toward the pantry. Chaeryeong noticed and froze “No,” she said softly. Momo blinked. Chaeryeong immediately bowed her head “I mean… not yet.” Momo nodded, accepting the terms of war.

John stepped out of the elevator behind us and stopped “No.”

Jihyo looked up “What?” “This is a meeting.” “Yes.” “With everyone.” “Yes.” “After the day we’ve had.” “Yes.”

John looked at me “You did this.” “I did not.” “You created the conditions.” “That is different.”

Mina looked at the folder “It is structurally similar.” John pointed at her “You are still banned from helping.” Mina blinked “I was clarifying.”

“That is helping.” Yeji walked in beside me and immediately straightened. Leader mode returned as naturally as breathing. No hand-holding. No softness. No obvious girlfriend anything. Not because she was hiding from them anymore. Because this was the final meeting. And Yeji respected the difference. Unfortunately, the room did not.

Ryujin’s eyes moved from Yeji to me. Then to my shirt. Then back to my face. Slowly. Dangerously. I knew that look. I should have stopped there. I should have sat down quietly, let Jihyo take over, and avoided giving the room any reason to remember what had happened at Frankie’s studio. Instead, I chose violence. Not loudly. Not obviously. Just a tad bit enough.

I reached up, adjusted the collar of my shirt— acting like I was trying to fix something in my clothing, and let the fabric shift half an inch lower than necessary. Only for a second. Only enough. A small curve of temporary ink appeared near the left side of my chest. Not the whole thing. Not the hearts. Not even the full name. Just the beginning “Yej—"

Ryujin sat up so fast the couch cushion nearly slid with her. Yuna stopped writing. Nayeon’s mouth opened. Sana gasped. Dahyun’s imaginary microphone appeared out of pure instinct. Yeji turned toward me slowly. Very slowly. I looked straight ahead. Like an innocent man. John stared at me.

“You did not.” “I adjusted my shirt, can’t a man try to adjust for comfort?” “You exposed evidence.” “I adjusted my shirt.”

Ryujin pointed at me like she'd just solved a murder case “He did it.” Yuna slapped both hands over her mouth “He actually did it.” Nayeon stood halfway out of her seat “No, no, no. Show us the rest.”

“No,” Yeji said immediately.

Sana leaned forward “Yes.”

“No.” “Please?” “No.”

Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: partial tattoo reveal causes immediate public demand for full disclosure.”

“I am not disclosing anything,” Yeji said. Mina glanced up from her folder “Technically, it is not your tattoo.” Yeji turned toward her “Mina…” “It is a factual statement.”

John stood there for another second, staring at me. Then his face changed. Not surprise— decision “Oh,” he said quietly. I looked at him “No… You did not?” He reached into his pocket “Yes.”

“JOHN.”

He pulled out his phone. I pointed at him “Don’t you fucking dare.” Yeji looked between us “What?” John was already connecting his phone to the television “I have documentation.”

The room froze. Then every head turned toward him. Yuna whispered, “Documentation?” Ryujin slowly rose from the couch like a spirit summoned by gossip “You recorded it?” John looked at me, completely shameless “For identity protection.”

“That is not why you recorded it.” “It began as identity protection.” “And then?”

John tapped his phone, the television came alive. Frankie’s studio appeared on the screen. There I was. Shirt off. Sitting under the lights. Frankie standing over me with the machine. Yeji beside me, arms folded, looking terrifyingly focused. The entire room went silent for exactly half a second.

Then the Top Floor detonated.

“OH MY GOD,” Yuna screamed. Ryujin grabbed a pillow and nearly threw it at the screen. Nayeon clapped once. Sana covered her mouth, delighted. Dahyun’s imaginary microphone returned with renewed purpose “Breaking news: private evidence enters public record.” Yeji turned scarlet “John!” John lifted both hands “You chose the hearts. They deserve context.”

“I chose them privately!” Nayeon gasped “She chose the hearts?” Ryujin spun toward Yeji “There are hearts?” Yuna looked ready to ascend “There are actual hearts?”

The video continued.

Frankie’s voice came through the speakers “Whatever the girlfriend with wife privileges wants.”

The room exploded again.

Yeji covered her face with both hands “I hate this.” Sana leaned toward Nayeon “Girlfriend with wife privileges.” Nayeon nodded solemnly “Accurate title.”

“I am not his wife,” Yeji said through her hands. Dahyun lifted the imaginary microphone “Sources confirm wife privileges remain under dispute.” Jihyo pressed her fingers to her forehead “I cannot believe this is the meeting.” Mina studied the screen with surprising seriousness “The stencil placement is tasteful.”

“Mina,” John said. “What? It is.”

Onscreen, Frankie lifted the machine “So we’re using the gun, right?” The room paused. Then my voice came through the TV “What?” Frankie grinned onscreen “Temporary ink through the gun. All the pain of a real tattoo, none of the permanence.”

Ryujin fell backward onto the couch. Yuna screamed again. Nayeon pointed at the screen “He suffered for it?” John turned toward everyone “He did.” I stared at him “You sound proud.”

“I am.”

Onscreen, Yeji said “I like that option.” The room turned toward her. Yeji lowered her hands just enough to glare at the floor “It was fair.”

“It was betrayal,” I said. “It was consequences.”

The video showed the needle touching skin. I exhaled through my nose onscreen. John, from the video, asked “How is it?” My recorded self glared “I can feel the love.”

The room lost whatever composure it had left.

Even Lia was laughing now. Quietly but visibly. Chaeryeong smiled behind one hand “That is actually kind of cute.” That somehow embarrassed Yeji more than the screaming “It was supposed to be damage control,” she mumbled. Ryujin pointed at the screen as Frankie finished “There. Pause it. Pause it there.”

John paused the video. The final shot froze on the temporary tattoo

“Yeji + Ben”

Small hearts. Soft font. Over the left side of my chest. Ridiculous. Embarrassingly sincere, and very, very visible.

Silence. For one full second.

Then “She picked the hearts!” Ryujin shouted. “I knew it,” Nayeon said. Sana clasped her hands “That is disgustingly cute.” Dahyun lifted the imaginary microphone “Breaking news: tattoo confirmed. Hearts confirmed. Victims include everyone present.” Momo nodded toward the screen “Frankie is good.” Mina nodded “The line work is excellent.”

“Mina,” John said again. “It is.”

Chaeryeong looked between me and Yeji. Then smiled softly “It’s actually really pretty.” Yeji’s shoulders dropped. Just a little “Thank you,” she mumbled. Ryujin immediately pointed at her “She likes it.”

“I picked it.” “You love it”. Yeji buried her face in both hands again. Yuna grabbed her notebook and began writing furiously. Lia saw it “Do not add tattoo evidence to the meeting minutes.”

Yuna paused. Then slowly crossed something out. John disconnected his phone from the TV and looked at me with the expression of a man who had done a public service. I stared at him.

“You betrayed me.” “You weaponized your chest first.” “You streamed my suffering.” “For transparency.” “This was not a government inquiry.”

Dahyun lifted a finger “It became one.” Jihyo finally opened the folder with enough force to silence most of the room “Meeting,” she said.

The room settled. Not because the chaos was finished. Because Jihyo had decided it was. That was different. She looked around the table “JYP approved the retreat.” Everyone froze for the second time. This time, it was not because of my chest. Yuna lowered her pen “The week?” Jihyo looked at me. I looked at Yeji. Yeji exhaled. Then said it “Two weeks.”

For half a second, nobody moved. Then the Top Floor detonated again.

Yuna screamed first. Ryujin shot upright. Sana clapped. Nayeon grabbed Dahyun’s arm. Momo looked pleased for reasons that were probably food-related. Chaeyoung laughed under her breath. Tzuyu smiled faintly. Chaeryeong stood frozen beside the pantry, holding a bag of rice like it had become emotionally significant. Lia closed her eyes and smiled. Just a little. Like relief had found her before she could stop it. Yuna pointed both pens at me “I knew it.”

“You knew nothing.” “I manifested it.” “You did not.” “She kind of did,” Ryujin said. “No,” Lia said. “Emotionally, yes.”

Jihyo tapped the folder “Two weeks with conditions.” That sobered the room enough. Not completely. Enough.

Mina spoke next, calm and precise.

“Costs are split. ITZY under Ben, TWICE under me. Staff compensation, transport, private lodging, security, medical standby, and contingency coverage are included.”

John leaned back “And because Ben and Mina scared JYP enough— they signed a legal promise not to buy, influence, restructure, destabilize, pressure, or creatively interfere with JYPE.”

Ryujin slowly turned toward me “You had to sign a no-coup paper?” I looked away “It was more nuanced than that.” Mina nodded “Barely.” Nayeon’s eyes widened “A no-coup paper.” Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again.

“Breaking news: wellness retreat approved after anti-takeover peace treaty.”

Jihyo pointed at her “Do not make that the title.” Yuna immediately wrote something. Lia leaned over “Yuna.” Yuna covered the page “It is not the title.”

“It is absolutely the title.”

Yeji glanced at me “No loopholes?” I looked offended. She waited. John waited. Jihyo waited. Mina looked mildly curious. I sighed.

“Ironclad, no active loopholes. I should have my lawyers check that.”

The room groaned. Yeji stared at me “Ben.”

“I am joking.” “Are you?” “Yes.”

Mina looked at me “Mostly.”

“Mina.” “What? Accuracy matters.”

John rubbed his face with both hands “I am begging one wealthy person in this room to be normal.” Mina and I said nothing. John lowered his hands “That was the worst possible response.”

Jihyo returned to the plan before the room could spiral again “We leave tomorrow morning. The official announcement goes out as an internal senior-junior wellness retreat. No public location. No livestreams. No staff posting. No casual hints. No accidental spoilers.”

Her eyes went to Nayeon. Nayeon gasped “Why me?”

“Because I know you.” “That is profiling.” “That is leadership.”

Dahyun raised one finger “What about creative hints?”

“No.” “Symbolic hints?” “No.” “What if the caption is just a cloud emoji?” “No.”

Sana smiled “What if it is two cloud emojis?” Jihyo closed the folder “No weather-related crimes.” Ryujin whispered to Yuna “She’s good.” Yuna nodded “Terrifying.”

Mina took over the logistics “The vans will meet in the private parking level. TWICE and ITZY will separate for departure routes, then converge outside the city. Phones stay normal until we reach the first checkpoint. After that, private devices only.”

Chaeryeong raised a hand slightly “Food?” Momo also raised a hand. Jihyo looked between them “Food has been accounted for.” Chaeryeong relaxed. Momo looked satisfied. Lia looked at Yuna’s activity sheet “What is ‘voluntary emotional sunrise session’?”

Yuna looked proud “It’s a wholesome bonding activity.” Ryujin leaned over “It says mandatory in parentheses.” “That was a draft note.”

Lia kept reading “And why does one item just say ‘Ben trial by water’?” Yuna took the paper back “Still workshopping.” Yeji turned toward me “No.”

“I didn’t even do anything.” “You looked interested.” “I did not.”

Ryujin grinned “He looked afraid.” “Good,” Yeji said.

The meeting moved faster after that. Mostly because Jihyo refused to let anyone rename the retreat. Yuna presented three activity categories: healing, bonding, and “things that would be funnier if Ben was involved.” Lia deleted the third category. Ryujin brought it back under a new title. Chaeryeong volunteered to help with meals and immediately became Momo’s favorite person again.

Nayeon suggested group games. John said no. Nayeon asked what kind. John said that was not what he meant. Sana asked if the retreat had couple activities. Jihyo told her to define couple. Sana smiled. Jihyo withdrew the question.

Eventually, the meeting ended not because everything was solved, but because everyone was too excited to be useful. That was enough. For now.

Jihyo stood, folder under one arm “Tomorrow morning. Parking level. Do not be late.” Mina looked at me “And do not buy anything overnight.” I frowned “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you hear limits as suggestions,” John said. Yeji nodded “He does.” I looked at her. She smiled sweetly. It was not sweet. Jihyo started herding TWICE toward the elevator. Nayeon paused beside Yeji “So.”

Yeji looked at her suspiciously “What?” Nayeon pointed subtly at my chest “Did you choose the hearts?” Yeji’s face went red. Sana appeared behind Nayeon instantly “She chose the hearts?” Yeji closed her eyes “They were artistically necessary.”

Ryujin screamed from the couch “I knew it.” Yuna wrote something down again. Lia took the pen away. John looked at me “You see what you did?”

I adjusted my collar back into place “Leadership requires sacrifice.” “That was not leadership.” “It created morale.” “It created paperwork.” “Same thing today.”

John looked like he wanted to argue. Then realized I might be right. That hurt him more. The elevator doors closed on TWICE’s laughter. ITZY stayed behind for a while after. Not talking much. Just moving. Packing lists. Charging devices. Laundry. Small questions. Soft excitement. The kind that grew when nobody wanted to scare it by naming it too loudly.

Two weeks. It had sounded impossible yesterday. Now it was a departure time.

The next morning, the private parking level looked like the beginning of a secret operation badly disguised as company logistics. Two vans idled near the far end. Black. Tinted. Clean enough to look official and suspicious at the same time. Security stood in quiet positions near the exits.

Staff loaded bags with the mechanical precision of people who had been told not to ask questions and paid enough to obey.

TWICE arrived first.

Of course they did not arrive quietly. Nayeon stepped out of the elevator mid-sentence. Sana was laughing. Dahyun was carrying a small camera case that Jihyo immediately confiscated. “It is not for posting,” Dahyun said. “No.”

“It is for memories.” “No.” “It is off.” “No.”

Dahyun sighed and handed it over “Cruel.” Momo had a snack bag. Chaeryeong saw it and visibly relaxed. Jeongyeon noticed. “You brought backup food?” Chaeryeong nodded. Momo smiled at her like they had achieved peace between nations. Mina arrived last among TWICE, checking something on her phone. John saw her and immediately said “No more efficiency.” Mina blinked “I was checking route timing.”

“That sounds efficient.” “It is.”

John looked toward the ceiling “I am surrounded.”

ITZY gathered near the second van. Yuna had her vacation notebook tucked under one arm. Ryujin wore sunglasses indoors and refused to explain why. Lia looked comfortable enough to be dangerous. Chaeryeong had somehow packed snacks for both vans. Yeji stood beside me, arms folded, pretending not to be excited.

I noticed. Of course I noticed. She noticed me noticing.

“Do not say anything.” “I was not going to.” “You were.” “I was going to say you look happy.”

Her face softened despite herself. Then she looked away “I am.” That was enough to make the noise around us fade for half a second. Then Ryujin appeared beside us “Gross.”

Yeji sighed “You were not invited into this moment.” “I live here emotionally.” Yuna joined from the other side “Are we doing seating arrangements?”

John immediately straightened “No.” Nayeon smiled “Yes.”

Jihyo stepped between them with the authority of someone who had prevented wars before breakfast “Assigned vans. Assigned routes. Assigned silence until the first checkpoint.”

Ryujin lifted a hand “What about emotional noise?” “No.” Yuna lowered her notebook “What about activity planning?” “No.” Dahyun raised her hand “What about documenting no one talking?” Jihyo stared at her, Dahyun lowered her hand. “No.”

Mina glanced toward me “Did you remember the anti-interference clause?” I stared at her “Why would I need to remember it in a parking lot?” John pointed at me “Because you might see a toll booth and buy the highway.” Yeji turned to me immediately “You are not buying a highway.”

“I was not planning to buy a highway.” Yuna whispered, “Planning.” Lia nodded “He said planning.” Ryujin grinned “So spontaneous highway acquisition is still possible.”

“Everyone get in the vans,” Jihyo said. The command worked. Mostly. Bags were loaded. Doors opened. TWICE separated into their assigned vehicle with John, Jihyo, and Mina coordinating like this was normal. ITZY moved toward ours.

Before Yeji stepped in, she looked at me. Her eyes dropped once. Very briefly. To my chest. Then back up “Is it covered?” “Yes.” “Fully?” “Mostly.” “Benjie.” “It is covered.”

Ryujin, already inside the van, leaned toward the open door “What’s covered?” “Nothing,” Yeji and I said at the same time. Yuna gasped “Tattoo.” Lia closed her eyes “Too early.” Chaeryeong climbed in quietly, smiling to herself.

John shouted from the other van “If I see even one letter during travel, I am filing a report.” Nayeon’s voice followed “Make sure it’s Yej—” the rest of her sentence vanished when Jihyo shut the van door.

Yeji looked at me. I looked at her. For once, I behaved. I buttoned the top of my overshirt. She smiled. Small. Proud “Good boy.”

From inside the van, Ryujin screamed “I heard that.” Yuna laughed. Lia sighed. Chaeryeong made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh too. I looked at Yeji. She looked back, cheeks pink but chin lifted. Then she stepped into the van. I followed. The door slid shut.

For a moment, the world became tinted glass, low engine vibration, quiet breathing, and the strange realization that we had actually made it this far. Two weeks. TWICE and ITZY. Company-approved. Legally anti-takeover protected. Publicly wholesome. Privately impossible.

The van started moving. Yeji’s hand found mine between the seats. No one said anything. Not at first. Then Yuna whispered from the back “So… Hostile Wellness?”

“No,” Lia said immediately. Ryujin whispered, “Temporary title.” Chaeryeong whispered, “Maybe something gentler?”

I looked out the window as the parking level lights slid past one by one. For the first time in days, we were not walking into a meeting. Not a confrontation. Not a secret. We were leaving. And maybe, if the universe was feeling generous, we would come back a little less broken than when we left.

Then Ryujin leaned forward and whispered “Ben.” I closed my eyes “What?” “Can we see the tattoo at the first checkpoint?”

The result was less “prepared” and more “crime scene sanitized by guilty people.” Ryujin had hidden anything she personally considered embarrassing. Unfortunately, Ryujin’s definition of embarrassing was deeply unreliable. Yuna had spent twenty minutes asking if certain things counted as evidence. Lia had told her that if she had to ask, the answer was yes. Chaeryeong had focused on food, because apparently she was the only person here with survival instincts. Yeji had tried to keep everyone calm. I had tried to help, nobody believed me.

“You are pacing,” Lia said from the kitchen island. “I am assessing the room.” “You have assessed the room nine times.” “Then the room should feel grateful.”

Ryujin leaned against the counter with a bottle of water in hand “You know, for someone who owns this entire floor, you look like a man waiting for his landlord to inspect the apartment.”

“TWICE is coming here.” “Yes.” “All of TWICE.” “Yes.” “And you think that is normal.”

Ryujin took a sip of water “No. I think it is funny.” Yuna appeared from the hallway holding a throw pillow “Where do we put this?” I looked at it “On the couch.” She looked down, then back at me “But what if Sana unnie touches it and somehow knows?”

“Knows what?” “I don’t know. That’s the danger.”

Lia closed her eyes “Please put the pillow down.” Yuna placed it on the couch very carefully, as if the fabric had legal consequences. Chaeryeong walked in with another tray of snacks “Do you think this is enough?” I looked at the table. There were already enough snacks to sustain a small diplomatic summit “Yes.” Chaeryeong frowned “But Momo sunbaenim is coming.” I paused “Good point, get double— no triple the amount.” Chaeryeong immediately turned back toward the kitchen. Ryujin pointed after her “See? That’s leadership.” Yeji looked toward the elevator doors “She’s not wrong.” I rubbed my forehead “Outstanding. We are preparing for TWICE like a siege.”

The elevator chimed again. This time, the doors opened and the siege arrived.

Jihyo stepped out first. She entered like a person who had already read the room, judged the room, and decided she could manage the room before her second foot crossed the threshold.

John followed behind her carrying a folder, looking like a man who had been warned about danger and still walked into it for love, employment, or stupidity. Possibly all three.

Mina came next. Calm. Elegant. Quiet. Her eyes moved across the Top Floor once, then again. Not like someone admiring luxury. Like someone evaluating asset value, security lines, privacy vulnerabilities, and whether the lighting choices were tasteful enough to survive wealth. That honestly made me uncomfortable.

Then came Nayeon. Smiling. Which meant one thing… incoming damage.

Sana appeared behind her, already looking around with delighted curiosity.

Jeongyeon followed with the dry expression of someone expecting nonsense and being disappointed only by how quickly it began.

Momo entered and immediately looked toward the food.

Chaeyoung’s eyes widened as she took in the lounge.

Dahyun looked like she was already preparing commentary.

Tzuyu stepped in last, quiet and composed, then looked through the glass wall toward the city view.

For a moment, everyone simply stood there TWICE looking at the Top Floor. ITZY looking at TWICE. John looking like he wanted hazard pay. Me looking for exits in a floor I owned. Then Nayeon smiled wider “So this is where you’ve been hiding them.” I sighed “Good afternoon to you too.”

Sana moved past her with sparkling eyes “This is so pretty.” Dahyun looked around slowly “Pretty? This is not pretty. This is expensive with emotional intent.” Ryujin pointed at her.

“I like her.” “I like me too,” Dahyun replied immediately. Yuna leaned toward Lia and whispered, “I fear her.” “You should,” Lia whispered back.

Jihyo looked at the lounge, then the kitchen, then the hallway “The entire place is bigger than I expected.” John snorted. “You expected modesty from Ben? I looked at him “You live with TWICE.”

“That is unrelated.” Mina finally spoke “It’s well-designed.” Everyone turned toward her. Her tone was calm, almost neutral but somehow, it felt like passing an exam. I nodded once “Thank you.”

Ryujin leaned toward Yuna “Rich people just communicated in furniture language.” Yuna whispered back, “I think that was intimacy.”

“It was not,” I said. Mina sipped from the bottled water Chaeryeong had handed her without anyone noticing “It was not.” Ryujin pointed between us “That’s what rich people would say.” John rubbed both hands over his face “We have been here for THIRTY seconds.” Momo, meanwhile, had reached the snacks. Chaeryeong appeared beside her almost instantly “I made more, just in case.” Momo looked at her. Then at the food. Then back at her “You are very thoughtful.” Chaeryeong turned pink.

Ryujin whispered, “Chaeryeong has secured Momo.” “Good,” Lia said. “That may save us later.” Yeji stepped forward, leader smile firmly in place “Welcome to the Top Floor.”

Jihyo smiled at her “Thank you for having us.” Nayeon’s eyes moved from Yeji to me. Then back to Yeji. Then to my hand, which Yeji was not holding. Her smile sharpened “So this is a wellness space?”

“Yes,” Yeji said carefully. Nayeon looked around “With private rooms?” Yeji’s expression did not change. Ryujin choked on her water. Yuna immediately stared at the ceiling. Lia closed her eyes. I looked at John. John looked at me. We both understood that the first shot had been fired. Jihyo turned toward Nayeon.

“Nayeon.” “What? I’m asking about the facilities.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms “You are asking about the facilities like a criminal.” Dahyun lifted one finger “For accuracy, some criminals have more subtlety.” Nayeon looked delighted “I missed this.” “You were with them this morning,” John muttered. “And I missed this version.” Sana looped an arm through Nayeon’s “Can we have a tour?”

The question sounded innocent. It was not. But refusing would be worse so I glanced at Yeji. Yeji looked back at me.

Her expression said, You caused this. Mine said, I know.

So we gave TWICE the tour. The lounge went first. Then the kitchen. Then the gym. Then the recovery room. Then the massage room, which Ryujin tried very hard to walk past too quickly. Unfortunately, Sana noticed “Oh?” she said. Ryujin froze. Yuna made a tiny delighted sound. Lia muttered, “Here we go.” Sana looked from Ryujin to me. Then smiled “Useful room?” Ryujin turned toward her with impressive speed “For recovery.”

“Of course.” “Physical recovery.” “Of course.” Nayeon leaned in from behind Sana “Why are we saying of course like that?” “Because Ryujin is lying badly,” Dahyun said. Ryujin pointed at her “You are dangerous.” Dahyun smiled “So I have been told.”

Yeji cleared her throat “This room is mainly for stretching, therapy, and post-practice recovery.” Jihyo looked at the equipment “Actually, this is impressive.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Mina looked at the room. Then at me. “Imported?”

“Mostly.” “Custom?” “Some.” “Hmm, you have good taste.”

Ryujin whispered to Yuna, “They’re doing it again.” Yuna nodded solemnly “Furniture language.”

Mina glanced at both of them. They immediately stopped whispering.

John leaned toward me “I enjoy when other people experience Mina’s quiet intimidation.” “It is not intimidation,” Mina said from across the room. John closed his eyes “See?”

The tour continued. The more TWICE saw, the more the jokes sharpened. The private dining area became “Ben’s idol bunker”. The lounge became “the world’s most expensive emotional support room”. The city-facing balcony became “where rich people stare dramatically after making bad decisions” I did not deny that one.

Then Nayeon saw the private suite hallway. She stopped. Looked at the hallway. Looked at Yeji, then at me. Her entire face lit up.

“Oh.” “No,” I said immediately. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.”

She turned to Jihyo “He built Yeji a honeymoon suite.”

Yeji’s face went red instantly “I— That’s not—” Ryujin appeared behind her “It is emotionally a honeymoon suite.” Yuna nodded “With witnesses.” Lia sighed “Why are we adding witnesses?” Dahyun placed a hand over her heart “For the documentary.” “No documentary,” Jihyo said.

Chaeyoung looked around “Honestly, this whole place does feel like a secret married-life set.” Yeji made a small helpless sound. I stared at the wall. John patted my shoulder “Congratulations.”

“I hate you.” “No, you don’t.”

Mina looked toward Yeji, then me. Her expression remained unreadable. But her voice was soft “It suits you.” That quieted the hallway more than the jokes had. Yeji looked at Mina. Then nodded “Thank you.”

For half a second, the room breathed. Then Sana smiled “Still honeymoon suite.” Yeji covered her face. The tour ended in the main lounge. Everyone settled into scattered seats across couches, armchairs, and stools. TWICE took over the space with a kind of terrifying ease. ITZY looked both overwhelmed and fascinated. Jihyo waited until everyone had drinks. Then she placed her cup down.

The sound was soft. But it changed the room. I noticed first. Then Yeji, John, and Mina. Jihyo looked across the room “This visit is not only social.” There it was. I leaned back slightly. John avoided my eyes. Ryujin looked between us “Oh no.” Yuna straightened, Lia’s expression sharpened, Chaeryeong went still. Jihyo continued “If TWICE and ITZY are going to be involved in the retreat Ben proposed, then everyone in this room needs to understand the risk of being honest.”

I frowned “Jihyo.” she looked at me “You called me.”

“I called for advice.” “And received structure.” “That is not the same thing.” “It is better.” John muttered, “She has you there.”

I glared at him, the Jihyo lifted the folder John had been holding. My blood went cold.

“No…” Ryujin’s eyes widened “What is that?” “Paperwork,” John said gravely. Yuna gasped “Ben predicted her.” “I feared her,” I corrected. Jihyo opened the folder “These are NDAs.”

The air shifted. Not badly, but seriously. ITZY looked at the papers. Then at TWICE. Then at me. Yeji’s posture went still. She knew enough to understand why.

Lia was already watching the wording from where she sat. Chaeryeong’s hands folded in her lap. Yuna’s playfulness dimmed. Ryujin leaned forward, quieter now. Jihyo noticed the change and softened her voice “This is not to silence you.” She looked at each of them “It is so everyone can speak honestly without endangering anyone else”. That mattered and the room held onto it.

Jihyo continued “TWICE knows the general shape of what has been happening with Ben and ITZY. Ben and Yeji know the general shape of what has been happening with John and TWICE. But general shapes are not enough if both groups are about to share space privately for a week or more.” Yuna glanced at me. Lia glanced at Yeji. Chaeryeong looked down at the papers.

Ryujin exhaled “So this is mutual.” “Yes,” Jihyo said. Nayeon leaned back, less teasing now “We are not here to expose you.” Sana nodded “Or judge you.” Jeongyeon added, “We are here because secrets are dangerous when people keep tripping over them.” Dahyun lifted her hand slightly “And because Jihyo said we were coming.” Jihyo looked at her. Dahyun smiled “Respectfully.” Mina spoke quietly from her chair “Protection first. Explanation after.”

That settled the room more than anything else. Yeji reached for the first copy. She did not rush. She’s already done this before to understand, then signed. Simple. Steady, leader first.

Ryujin watched her. Then picked up a pen “This covers emotional crimes too?” John looked at her “What?”

“Just asking.” Jihyo did not blink “Unfortunately, no.” “Shame.” Ryujin signed.

Yuna took hers next. She scanned the page, lips pressed together in concentration. Then signed with more care than her jokes would have suggested.

Lia read hers fully. Twice. Then she looked up. “This protects both sides equally?” Jihyo nodded “It does.” Lia signed.

Chaeryeong held hers the longest. Not because she was resisting, but because she was careful. She looked at Jihyo. “If someone becomes uncomfortable later?” Jihyo’s face softened “Then they can say so. The NDA protects information. It does not force participation.” Chaeryeong nodded. Then signed.

The pens sounded louder than it should have when everyone finally set them down.

Jihyo gathered the papers. John placed them back in the folder and suddenly, the room felt different. Not safer exactly. Just more honest. Jihyo looked toward me briefly. I did not like that look. It was the look of a woman about to push the next domino. She turned back to ITZY “Now we can speak properly.”

Nayeon sat up. Sana’s hand found Jihyo’s arm for a second. Jeongyeon leaned back, watching ITZY carefully. Momo stopped eating. Dahyun’s expression settled. Chaeyoung looked thoughtful. Tzuyu’s gaze moved toward John. Mina held her tea with both hands. Jihyo spoke first.

“TWICE has an arrangement with John.” No one interrupted. That alone said everything. Jihyo continued. “It started messy. Not because anyone wanted to hurt each other, but because care became complicated before any of us had language for it.”

My eyes shifted toward Yeji. She was listening closely. So were the others. Jihyo glanced at John. He did not look away “There are boundaries,” she said. “There is consent. There is rotation. There are rules we built because without them, someone would eventually feel forgotten, or guilty, or responsible for too much.”

Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted “Rotation?” Nayeon smiled faintly “There it is.” Ryujin looked at her “So you have a schedule?” John closed his eyes. Ryujin leaned forward “Like an actual romantic calendar?” Dahyun coughed into her hand. Yuna whispered, “She means horny calendar, we told her to be polite.” “Yuna,” Yeji said weakly. “What? She did.”

Jihyo sighed, but her mouth twitched “In less… Ryujin terms, yes. We have a system.” Lia’s question came quietly “And everyone agreed?”

“Yes,” Jihyo said with no hesitation “That is the only reason it works.” Chaeryeong looked toward John “How do you handle it?” John exhaled “Badly at first.” Nayeon snorted “Still badly sometimes.” John pointed at her “Thank you for the support.”

“You’re welcome.” Jihyo continued before they could spiral “John does not belong to a schedule. The schedule exists so none of us hurt each other by accident.” That landed. Especially with Yeji and me. Yuna leaned forward “So nobody feels left out?” The question was too soft to be a joke. Nayeon’s smile gentled “Sometimes feelings still happen.” Sana nodded “But it helps when nobody has to guess where they stand.” Tzuyu spoke quietly. “And when no one is punished for needing reassurance.”

The room went still. Yuna looked down. Ryujin stopped moving. Lia’s fingers tightened around her cup. Chaeryeong looked at the floor. Yeji’s hand shifted beside mine. Jihyo looked at ITZY with the calm of someone who knew exactly where the sentence had landed “That is why I wanted this conversation before the retreat,” she said. “Not because you need to copy us.” Her eyes moved to Ryujin. Then to Yuna. Then to Lia. Then to Chaeryeong. Then to Yeji. And finally, to me “Do not copy us just because we survived our version.”

“Build what fits you.” “But build it honestly.”

That sentence settled into the room like a rule nobody had to write down. Ryujin leaned back. “So TWICE built rules first,” she looked at all of us “And we built emotional chaos first.” Dahyun nodded. “That is a very accurate meeting summary.” Lia sighed “Unfortunately.”

Yuna glanced to both me and Yeji “So we are not broken.” The sentence was almost too quiet. Jihyo looked at her “No. God no.” Mina spoke next “You are unfinished.”

Yuna blinked. Mina’s expression remained calm. “There is a difference.”

For some reason, that hit harder. Yuna nodded slowly. Chaeryeong looked at Mina too. So did Lia. Ben and Mina communicating in wealth language had been strange. But Mina communicating in quiet precision was worse. It landed cleanly.

Jihyo let the silence stay for a while. Then John, because he was John, ruined it with mercy. “For the record, the rotation system also prevents Nayeon from starting coups.” Nayeon gasped “Excuse you?” Jeongyeon looked at ITZY “He’s not wrong.” Sana nodded “Sometimes coups are romantic.” Dahyun lifted a hand “Depends on the branding.” Tzuyu nodded seriously “Some coups need better scheduling.” John stared at all of them “This is exactly why we needed rules.”

Ryujin smiled “I respect this group deeply.” “I fear them,” Lia said. “Both,” Chaeryeong whispered.

The room laughed. Not because everything was simple now. Because for the first time, the impossible thing had been said out loud and nobody had shattered. That mattered. Then Jihyo turned the conversation toward the retreat “We still need to make this approvable.” Everyone groaned at the same time. Jihyo ignored it. “Publicly, this becomes a senior-junior wellness retreat. TWICE and ITZY. Recovery, mentorship, bonding, privacy.” Dahyun lifted a hand “Can the official name be less boring?”

“No.” “Cruel.”

John leaned forward “It gives JYP a clean reason to approve schedule movement.” “And it prevents speculation,” Lia said. “Exactly,” Jihyo replied.

I nodded “I’ll cover the retreat.” The room went silent. Not because they were surprised. Because everyone had been waiting for me to say something financially irresponsible. Jihyo looked at me like she had expected it. John looked tired because he had expected it too. Yeji looked like she wanted to argue but knew the argument would be pointless. Mina, however, simply lifted her tea “Half…” I looked at her “Excuse me?”

“Half,” Mina repeated calmly. “You cover ITZY. I cover TWICE.” “That is unnecessary.” “So is most of what you do.”

The room went quiet. Ryujin slowly leaned toward Yuna. “Are rich people allowed to talk to each other like that?” Yuna whispered back, “I think this is flirting in tax brackets.” “It is not flirting,” I said. Mina sipped her tea “It is accounting and logistics.” John rubbed both hands over his face “I hate when wealthy people argue. It sounds like two countries negotiating borders.” Nayeon leaned forward with interest “Wait. Is this how rich people fight?” Dahyun nodded thoughtfully “It’s quieter than expected.” “Usually we pay people to fight to the death for us as we watch” I added in as a joke. Mina cut me off “Shush, we don’t discuss that outside the walls, Ben.”

And honestly, I don’t know what scares me more, Mina making a joke or if that wasn’t a joke at all. I wasn’t going to poke that bear ever again, though.  Chaeyoung looked at me, then Mina.

“Are we witnessing the beginning of a secret takeover of JYPE?” Mina blinked “Secret?” I frowned “Takeover?” John pointed at both of us “That response was somehow worse.” Ryujin slowly sat up “Hold on. You both objected to different parts.” Yuna’s eyes widened “Oh my God.” Lia closed her eyes “Please do not encourage this.” Ryujin ignored her completely “Mina unnie objected to it being secret. Ben objected to it being called a takeover.” Dahyun gasped softly “That means they’ve considered a non-secret non-takeover.”

I stared at her.

“That is not what that means.” Mina took a calm sip of tea “A takeover implies disruption.”

The room went silent. John’s head slowly turned toward her. Mina continued, serene. “Poor management creates disruption. Good management creates continuity.” I looked at her. “That is true.” John stood halfway from his seat “No.” I frowned “What?”

“You agreed too fast.” “Because she is correct.”

Mina nodded once “Under better management, costs would be cleaner, staff retention would improve, artist wellness would have actual infrastructure, and food quality would apparently become a measurable morale factor.” Momo nodded seriously “It would.” Chaeryeong whispered, “It really would.” I leaned back, considering it despite myself “Scheduling inefficiencies would need work too.” Jihyo slowly turned toward me “Ben.”

“What?”

Mina looked at me. “Security structure as well.” “Obviously.” “Privacy leaks.” “First quarter priority.” “Artist recovery spaces.” “Non-negotiable.”

The room went so quiet that even Ryujin looked concerned. John pointed between us with both hands “This is what I mean. This is terrifying. You two are planning corporate reform like normal people discuss lunch.” Yuna leaned toward Ryujin “This is flirting in tax brackets again.”

“It is not flirting,” I said. Mina said, “It is governance.” John looked physically unwell “That is worse.”

Nayeon raised her hand “As a future beneficiary of improved snack policy, I support the polite coup.” “It is not a coup,” Mina said. I added, “It would be an acquisition of operational influence.” Jihyo closed her eyes “You are both making it worse.” Dahyun looked delighted “Can the documentary be called Hostile Wellness?” “No documentary,” Jihyo and I said at the same time. Chaeyoung pointed at us “That sounded like management alignment.”

John stood fully “Nope. Private meeting. Now. Before the two economic superpowers draft a five-year plan on a napkin.” The room exploded. Jihyo stood as well, already composed “Ben. Yeji. John. Mina. With me.” Ryujin raised her hand “Why not me?” Mina looked at her “Because this part involves money.” Ryujin lowered her hand immediately “Valid.” Yuna raised her hand “What about me?” Jihyo smiled “You would make it worse.” Yuna nodded “Also valid.”

Lia leaned back “I will stay here and monitor the damage.” Dahyun smiled at her “That implies you can stop it.” Lia looked at TWICE. Then at ITZY. Then sighed “I cannot.” Yeji squeezed my hand once before standing. Her touch said what her face did not… survive.

We moved into the smaller conference room near the back of the Top Floor. The door closed behind us. The private meeting was exactly as exhausting as I expected, maybe worse. Jihyo laid out the cover story. John handled scheduling optics. Mina handled privacy logistics with terrifying calm. Yeji explained why ITZY needed the space in a way that made the whole room go quiet. Not because she dramatized it. Because she did not “They can keep working,” Yeji said. “We all can. That doesn’t mean we’re okay.” That one sentence made Jihyo stop writing. John looked down. Mina’s expression softened by half a degree. I looked at Yeji. And for a moment, I remembered again why she was the one I came home to. Then the meeting became numbers.

Schedule movement. Staff compensation. Security shifts. Media cover. Travel routes. Possible venues. Medical access. Emergency exits. Vehicle swaps. Privacy clauses. JYP objections. JYP counter-objections. JYP emotional grievance fees.

That last one was John’s idea. Jihyo told him not to call it that. Mina suggested “disruption compensation.” John said that sounded less fun. I agreed with Mina. John called me a traitor. It was productive. Unfortunately. By the time the private meeting ended, my brain felt like it had been folded into a spreadsheet.

Vacation logistics. JYP approval. Schedule compensation. Security rotation. Privacy clauses. Mina and I politely arguing over money while John looked like he wanted to walk into the sea.

It should have been the dangerous part of the afternoon. It was not.

The dangerous part was the silence that greeted us when we stepped back into the main lounge. Not true silence. Way worse. The kind of silence that followed laughter too quickly. John stopped beside me. His eyes moved across the room. Nayeon was smiling. Ryujin was smiling. Yuna was sitting with her knees pulled up on the sofa, looking entirely too proud of herself. Sana looked delighted. Dahyun looked like she had just witnessed the greatest variety show segment of her career. Lia was staring into the middle distance like she had survived information she did not ask for. Chaeryeong looked like someone had gently handed her a grenade and called it friendship.

John inhaled slowly “They talked.” “Obviously.” “About us?”

I looked at Ryujin. Ryujin smiled wider. I looked at Nayeon. Nayeon smiled wider than that. “We’re dead,” I said. John nodded “Historically, yes.”

Jihyo stepped in behind us, took one look at the room, and immediately closed her eyes “What did you do?” Nayeon pointed at herself innocently “Why are you looking at me?”

“Because I know you.” “That is profiling.” “That is experience.”

Ryujin leaned back on the couch, arms folded behind her head “In our defense, nobody told us we were not allowed to compare notes.” Lia turned toward her “We absolutely did not need to compare notes. Sana lifted a hand “I disagree. This was very educational.” Chaeryeong’s voice came faintly from the edge of the sofa “I learned things I did not know could be discussed during daylight.” Yuna nodded solemnly “I also learned things.” I looked at her “You contributed things.” Yuna blinked at me with perfect innocence “It only happened yesterday. I still have fresh perspective.” Yeji made a small sound beside me. Mina, calm as ever, looked from Yuna to Ryujin to Nayeon. Then she took one careful sip of tea “I see we left the wrong people unsupervised.” John pointed at her “Thank you.” Nayeon gasped “Excuse me. We were bonding.”

“You were exchanging classified trauma,” John said. “Classified?” Ryujin repeated. “We signed the NDA.” Yuna immediately pointed at her “She’s right.” Dahyun nodded with frightening seriousness “Legally, the gossip was protected.” I stared at the ceiling “Fantastic. Wonderful. The law betrayed us.”

Nayeon crossed one leg over the other, looking far too pleased “Honestly, Ben, you should be proud. ITZY speaks very highly of your dedication.” Ryujin nodded “Very dedicated.” Yuna nodded too “Extremely committed.” Lia covered her face. Chaeryeong whispered, “Why are we like this?” Sana leaned toward her. “You get used to it.”

“No, she won’t,” Mina said quietly. John looked at Nayeon “What did you tell them?” Nayeon smiled “Only what was relevant.” “That means everything.” “Not everything.” Jihyo opened one eye “Nayeon.” Nayeon sighed dramatically “Fine. Some highlights.” John took one step back “No.” Ryujin’s eyes lit up “Oh, highlights is a good word.”

That was when I noticed the couch cushions. One had been flipped forward. Another had been pushed against the armrest. A third was somehow on the floor. I looked at Ryujin. She smiled.

“No.” “What?” she asked sweetly. “You demonstrated.” Ryujin’s smile widened “I clarified.” Lia made a pained sound “She clarified too much.” Chaeryeong nodded faintly, still staring at the floor “I understand angles now.” I closed my eyes “Outstanding.” Yuna lifted one hand “For the record, my contribution was tasteful.” Yeji turned toward her “Yuna.” “It was! I told it like a story.” Ryujin snorted “She narrated it like a coming-of-age drama with suspiciously detailed pacing.” Yuna looked offended “It was my first time. I’m allowed to have narrative structure.”

Sana clasped her hands together “It was actually very moving.” Dahyun nodded “And then immediately not moving.” Nayeon leaned toward John “TWICE also provided balance.” John stared at her “What does that mean?”

“It means we shared too.” His face went blank “All of you?” Jeongyeon shrugged “It seemed fair.” Momo nodded “They had questions.” Tzuyu added calmly, “Some of them were practical.” John looked at Jihyo. Jihyo did not meet his eyes. John’s jaw dropped “You too?” Jihyo cleared her throat “I couldn’t control damage I wasn’t there for.” Nayeon nodded solemnly “Leader duties.”

John looked like he had just been betrayed by democracy.

Ryujin’s eyes sparkled “Oh, highlights is definitely the right word.” I pointed at her “You.” Ryujin pointed at herself. “Me?” “You are so doing aegyo TikToks with JYP.”

The room exploded. Ryujin’s mouth dropped open, Yuna screamed into a pillow, Dahyun slapped the arm of the couch, Sana nearly fell sideways into Momo, Lia looked horrified and amused at the same time, Chaeryeong covered her mouth with both hands, Yeji turned to me with wide eyes “Ben.”

“What? She knew the risk.” Ryujin stood halfway from the couch. “That is a cruel and unjust punishment.” “It is character development.” “It is psychological warfare.” “It is content.”

John, however, did not laugh. He turned toward me slowly, horror spreading across his face like I had just introduced a new category of violence into the world “Wait.” I looked at him “What?”

“You can assign idol punishment content?”

“No”. Ryujin pointed at me “He absolutely can.” John’s eyes widened “Jihyo.” Jihyo did not look at him “Do not drag me into this.” John turned to Nayeon “Nayeon.” Nayeon smiled sweetly “Yes, manager-nim?”

“You are not getting ideas.” Her smile changed. Not brighter. Worse, it was sharper “Oh?” she said, tilting her head. “Does that mean you’ll punish me later tonight for being a bad girl?” The room froze.

I felt my soul leave my body in solidarity with John’s. John stopped breathing. Jihyo’s eyes snapped open. Mina looked into her tea like it had personally disappointed her. Chaeryeong made a tiny sound. Lia whispered, “Oh my God.” Ryujin slowly sat back down, reverent. Yuna looked like she had just found a new religion. Nayeon only shrugged, perfectly shameless “What?” she said. “They signed the NDAs. I don’t have to perform anymore.”

John covered his face with both hands “I miss five minutes ago.” “No, you don’t,” Nayeon said. “I do.” “You love me.” “That is unrelated to my suffering.” Jihyo pointed at Nayeon without looking at her “You are why we need paperwork.” Nayeon smiled “And yet everyone always thanks me later.” Dahyun raised a finger “She has a point.” “No, she does not,” John and I said at the same time.

That made the room laugh harder. The laughter should have made everything lighter. It did. For a while. But as the room kept moving around me, as TWICE and ITZY laughed together like the impossible had somehow become social, I felt something quiet inside me tighten.

First it was my space. Then it was ITZY’s shelter. Then it became Yeji’s sanctuary. Then Ryujin’s trouble. Then Lia’s waiting room. Then Yuna’s doorway. Then Chaeryeong’s quiet truth.

Now TWICE was here. John was here. Jihyo had paperwork. Mina had the audacity to match my money. Nayeon had no shame. And everyone was laughing like this was survivable. Maybe it was and maybe that was the problem. I stepped away before I realized I had moved. Not dramatically. Not enough for the room to stop. Just one step after the other. Past the lounge. Past the hallway. Toward the open balcony where the city air came colder through the glass door.

The noise faded behind me. For the first time all day, no one followed immediately. Good. I needed the silence. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. The air hit my face sharp enough to feel real. For a while, I only stood there. Then I reached into my pocket. The cigarette was not supposed to be there. Which was a lie. Old habits did not disappear just because life became expensive and complicated. They waited like bad friends.

I lit it with my back to the city and took one slow drag. The smoke burned in a way I had not missed and missed anyway. I exhaled toward the skyline.

“Didn’t know you still did that.”

I did not turn around. John closed the balcony door behind him. He stood beside me, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city. For a while, he said nothing. That was how I knew he was worried.

John made jokes when he was annoyed. He made insults when he was scared. Silence meant he was trying to be careful.

“I don’t,” I said. He glanced at the cigarette “Convincing.” I looked down at it “Today is an exception.” “Today has been an exception since you slept with Yeji.” I snorted “Don’t get meta with me, jackass.” “I am emotionally exhausted. I’ll get whatever the hell I want.”

We stood in the cold for a few seconds. Behind the glass, the room glowed warm. The girls moved like silhouettes through the light. TWICE and ITZY. Two impossible systems orbiting two very tired men. John followed my gaze.

“Do you regret it?”

I knew what he meant. Not the cigarette. Not the money. Not the vacation. All of it.

Me and ITZY, Yeji, Ryujin, Yuna, Lia’s careful truth, Chaeryeong’s quiet waiting, Waterbomb, The Top Floor, The phone call, The door I had opened.

I took another drag, slower this time “No.” John looked at me. I exhaled “It is insane.” “That wasn’t the question.” “It is complicated.” “Still not the question.” “It might ruin me.” “That one is closer.”

I smiled faintly. Then looked back through the glass. Yeji was laughing at something Sana had said. Yuna was leaning toward Dahyun. Ryujin and Nayeon looked like a national security threat. Lia was speaking quietly with Jeongyeon. Chaeryeong was offering Momo more food. Mina sat near Jihyo, calmer than a meditating monk.

And somehow, in the middle of all of it, the Top Floor looked less like containment. More like proof.

“No,” I said finally. “I don’t regret it.” John’s shoulder relaxed by half an inch. I noticed. Of course I noticed. He always hated that. “Crazy as it is,” I continued, “I’m thankful.” John immediately grimaced “Disgusting.” I looked at him “What?” “Male emotional honesty in private. Horrible. Vile. We need to move on.” I laughed once “There he is.” John cleared his throat “Speaking of moving on, I’ve been thinking about something important.” “If this is another emotional grievance fee—” “TWICE recreational fund.”

I stared at him. The cigarette paused halfway to my mouth “What?” “TWICE recreational fund.” “No.” “You didn’t even let me finish.” “I heard enough.” “ITZY has one.” “ITZY has one because it’s out my own pocket.” “Exactly. Precedent.” “You are literally the manager of Mina— she’s wealthier than me.” “For now.” My eyes narrowed, his instinct was always on point. “There it is.” I looked away. “What?” “That little rich-person prophecy you have.” “I do not have a prophecy.” “You absolutely do. Every time someone mentions Mina being richer, you sound like a villain waiting for compound interest.” “That is unfair.” “Because it is accurate.” I sighed “It would take time.” John stared at me “Oh my God.” “What?” “You’ve calculated it.” “I have not.” “You absolutely have.” “It’s a rough estimate.”

John threw both hands up.

“I knew it.” I took another drag, trying not to smile “It would take longer now.” “Because of market conditions?” “Because Ryujin and Yuna have apparently made it their personal mission to financially ruin me.”

John looked through the glass at them. Ryujin was laughing so hard she had fallen sideways into the couch. Yuna looked far too pleased about something. John nodded slowly.

“They’ll do it.” “They can try.” “Proud of them.” “Traitor.”

He grinned. The city stretched below us. The cigarette burned shorter between my fingers. John’s smile faded slightly “You know Yeji will notice.”

“I know.” “You going to lie?” “No.” “Good.” “Are you going to tell Jihyo about Nayeon?”

John’s face immediately tightened “That is unrelated.” “She asked to be punished.” He closed his eyes “I heard.” “In front of everyone.” “I was there.”

I laughed under my breath. For a moment, the balcony was just cold air, smoke, city lights, and the strange relief of standing next to the only person who had known me before all of this became impossible.

Then the door slid open. Yeji stepped outside. Her eyes moved from John to me. Then to the cigarette. She did not scold me. That was worse. John immediately straightened.

“I was supervising.” Yeji looked at him. “Were you?” “No.” “Thank you for your honesty.” John nodded once. “I will go be useless inside.”

He opened the door, slipped past her, then paused just long enough to mutter to me “Good luck, emotionally married man.” I flipped him off without looking and he vanished inside.

Yeji closed the door behind him. For a moment, she only stood there with me. The city wind moved softly through her hair. Her expression was not angry. Not disappointed. Just quiet.

That was harder. I looked at the cigarette. Then put it out against the ashtray near the railing before she said anything. Yeji watched the motion.

“Was it that bad?” I leaned against the balcony rail “No.” She stepped closer “That means yes.” “It means crowded.” Her gaze softened “Too much?” I looked through the glass again. At everyone inside. At the impossible warmth of the room. “Not bad too much,” I said. “Just… real too much.”

Yeji followed my gaze. She understood. Of course she did. Her hand found mine. Cold fingers sliding between mine without hesitation. In full view of the room “Come back inside,” she said. I looked down at her hand. Then at her.

“You know they can see.” Yeji’s cheeks colored faintly. But she did not let go. “I know.” That answer did something to me. “Yeji.”

She stepped closer. Not hiding behind the balcony wall. Not looking over her shoulder. Not checking if ITZY could see. Or TWICE or John or Jihyo.

She only looked at me “I said I’m not pretending anymore.” The warmth in my chest hurt. Behind the glass, I saw movement. People noticing. Heads turning. The room becoming still. Yeji noticed too. She still did not let go.

Then, with the entire impossible room watching, she rose slightly on her toes and kissed me. Not sudden. Not accidental. Not stolen in the middle of chaos.

Deliberate, soft, and certain. The kind of kiss that did not ask the room for permission. The kind that made a private truth public without turning it into a performance. When she pulled back, her face was red. But her hand stayed in mine.

I smiled “Public now?” She looked embarrassed. Then stubborn “Public enough.”

I laughed quietly and that made her smile. Then her eyes moved toward the ashtray. The smile faded by half an inch. Not gone, just sharpened.

“Also,” she said softly, “that is the last time I kiss you after you smoke.” I blinked. Behind the glass, I could feel the entire room watching us fail to be subtle. “You waited until after the kiss to say that?” “Yes.” “That feels strategically unfair.” “It was.”

I looked at her. Yeji did not look angry. That was what made it land harder. She looked worried. Steady. Mine.

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t scare me,” she said. The city wind moved between us. I looked toward the ashtray. Then back at her “I’ll try.”

Her fingers tightened around mine “Try how?” I exhaled slowly “I’ll try to quit.” Her eyes searched my face. I added, quieter, “At least… not around you. Not around ITZY. Not where any of you have to watch me use it to survive the room.”

Yeji studied me for a long moment. Long enough that I felt fourteen different versions of myself being judged. Then she nodded once.

“For now.” “For now?” “For now,” she repeated. “Because eventually I’m going to ask for more.” I smiled faintly. “Of course you are.” Her cheeks colored again, but her voice stayed firm. “Be a good boy.” I closed my eyes. “You cannot weaponize that after an anti-smoking ultimatum.” “I just did.”

Behind the glass, Ryujin visibly reacted despite not hearing a word. That somehow made it worse. I squeezed Yeji’s hand.

“I’ll try,” I said again. “Promise.”

This time, she accepted it. Not because it was enough forever. Because it was honest enough for now. We stepped back inside together. The room was silent. Not shocked like before. Not scandalized. Just caught.

Like everyone had witnessed something they already knew, but had never seen that clearly. Jihyo looked at Yeji first, then at me. Something in her expression softened “There it is,” she said quietly. Nobody asked what she meant.

Nayeon, unfortunately, recovered first. She turned slowly toward John. “See?” John froze “No.” Nayeon pointed toward Yeji and me “That was romantic.” John stared at her “I was gone for five minutes.”

Sana leaned forward “Manager-nim, where is our dramatic eye contact?” John looked betrayed “Sana.” Dahyun lifted an imaginary microphone “Breaking news: TWICE files formal complaint regarding lack of cinematic boyfriend moments.” John pointed at her “You are supposed to be on my side.” “I am reporting fairly.” Momo tilted her head “John-oppa is romantic sometimes.” John looked relieved “Thank you.” Momo continued “When he remembers.”

The room exploded. John turned slowly toward her. “Momo.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms “He shows love through damage control and panic.” Chaeyoung nodded “And snacks.” Mina, still calm, added “And calendar reminders.” John stared at her. “Mina.” She blinked “What? It is true.” Tzuyu looked at me and Yeji, then at John “Ben looks like a romance drama.” John’s eyes narrowed. Tzuyu continued calmly “John looks like a man surviving a group project.”

I made the mistake of laughing.

John turned toward me “This is your fault.” I lifted my free hand “I said nothing.” “You stood there romantically.” “I was being emotionally supported.” “Exactly. Publicly. Recklessly. With eye contact.” Nayeon pointed at John “So learn from him.” “I refuse to be mentored by a man who just smoked outside because eleven women compared bedroom notes.” I nodded “Fair.”

Yeji’s hand tightened around mine. Not warning. Laughing silently. Jihyo looked at John “You could still be more romantic.” John’s face fell “You too?” Jihyo smiled “Especially me.”

Nayeon clapped once “Leader has spoken.” Sana nodded “We need cinematic boyfriend moments.” Dahyun raised her hand “I would like mine under the rain.” Chaeyoung added, “And better lighting.” Momo said, “And food.” Jeongyeon looked at her “That’s just dinner.” Momo nodded “Romantic dinner.” Mina looked at John “I would accept quiet submissiveness.” John stared at her “That sounds attainable.”

Nayeon leaned in “Did you just say 'yes' to dominatrix?” John’s mouth opened then closed. Then he pointed at Ben “You see what you caused?”

I looked at him. Then at Yeji. Then at the room full of women now laughing across two impossible worlds. TWICE and ITZY. John and Ben. Jihyo with her paperwork. Mina with her half of the world. Yeji holding my hand where everyone could see. I exhaled slowly. For once, I did not feel like running from the noise. “Well,” I said, “at least now we know the retreat will be peaceful.”

Everyone looked at me. Then they all started laughing. Not because it was true. Because it absolutely was not.

Dinner happened because Chaeryeong and Momo had formed an alliance. No one said it out loud. No one needed to. By the time the sun lowered behind the city, the Top Floor no longer looked like a secret meeting space. It looked like a private dining room that had somehow been conquered by fourteen female idols, two managers, and then one financial superpower currently helping Chaeryeong decide whether the plating looked balanced.

Mina was very serious about symmetry. Chaeryeong was very serious about feeding people. Momo was very serious about the food. Together, they were terrifying. The rest of the room had slowly loosened. TWICE had stopped acting like guests. ITZY had stopped acting like hosts. John had stopped pretending he had any authority left.

I had given up on dignity somewhere between Nayeon asking if the retreat had honeymoon packages and Ryujin explaining that all wellness retreats should include “stress relief benefits.” Jihyo had told both of them to stop. Neither stopped.

Then I made the mistake of leaving the room to change. It should not have mattered. Formal managerial attire had started to feel suffocating after the meeting, the note-comparison disaster, the balcony cigarette, Yeji’s kiss, and the fact that Park Jihyo had essentially turned my recovery plan into a multinational idol event. So I changed into something simple.

Black fitted shirt. Dark trousers. Watch. No jacket. Comfortable enough to breathe. Presentable enough that JYP could appear on the elevator without me looking like I had completely abandoned professional standards.

Apparently, that was not the effect it had.

When I stepped back into the lounge, conversations died in waves. First ITZY. Then TWICE. Then John. Even Momo paused mid-bite. I stopped walking “What?” Ryujin slowly lowered her chopsticks “Oh.”

“No.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.” Yuna leaned forward with wide eyes “Manager-nim.” “That tone is now illegal.” “You look like you’re here to collect protection money.” Lia covered her mouth. Chaeryeong blinked at me from beside the dining table, eyes dropping briefly to the tattooed lines visible along my arms. Then back up “Respectfully,” she said, “Yuna is not completely wrong.”

Nayeon tilted her head. “I thought he was a secretly insane rich manager.” Dahyun lifted a hand “Correction. Without the formal clothes, he is giving secretly insane rich mafia manager.” Sana smiled brightly “But handsome.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms “That does not make it better.” Chaeyoung squinted at my arms “How many tattoos do you have?” “Enough.” “That is a suspicious number.” Tzuyu looked at me calmly “You look like someone parents warn their children about.” John pointed at her “That one is accurate.” Mina, from the table, only looked at me once “The shirt is well-fitted.”

Everyone turned toward her. Mina blinked “What?”

Ryujin whispered, “Furniture language evolved into shirt language.” Yuna nodded “Rich people are escalating.”

I looked at Jihyo. She was studying the exposed ink around my wrists and forearms with a thoughtful frown “I only saw some of the ones on the wrist last time.”

“That was the point of sleeves.” Nayeon leaned toward Jihyo “He hides his tattoos at work?” Jihyo looked at her “He is a manager.” Nayeon looked back at me “He looks like a final boss.” Dahyun nodded “Final Boss: Wellness Retreat Funding Phase.” John sighed “I hate that I can visualize the title card.”

Yeji had not said anything. That was the problem. She was staring at my arm. Not the old ink. Not the ones she already knew. One specific spot near my inner forearm, still fresh enough that the edges had not fully settled. Her expression changed. Small. Dangerous.

My body immediately recognized the threat. Not fear… worse. Girlfriend hostility.

“Benjie.” The room went silent. Ryujin’s head snapped toward me. Yuna’s eyes widened. Lia whispered, “Oh no.” John leaned back “She used the cute name. You’re dead.”

I looked at Yeji carefully “Yes, babe?” Her eyes lifted to mine “When did you get that?” I looked down at the tattoo. Then back at her “Recently.” “That is not a date.” “It is a category.” “Benjie.”

I closed my eyes. The second answer was worse.

“After Waterbomb.”

The room went still again. Not comedic this time. Not yet.

Yeji’s jaw tightened “You got a tattoo after Waterbomb and didn’t tell me?” “It was impulsive.” “That is not helping.” “I know.”

“First, you threaten that fan like a mafia boss. Then you scare everyone in ITZY half to death. Then you financially flashbang our company’s founder with a cheque worth more than most executives see in a year. Then I find out you started smoking again.”

Her voice rose with every sentence. Not loud enough to be screaming. It was worse. Controlled. Precise. Full of unyielding fury.

“And now,” she said, pointing at my arm, “I find out you got another tattoo without telling me?”

Ryujin whispered, “Wife voice.” John nodded “Oh, absolutely a wife voice.” Yeji immediately turned pink “I am not—” Nayeon pointed at her “That was a wife voice.” Sana nodded “Very wife.” Jeongyeon added, “Concerned wife.” Dahyun lifted an imaginary microphone “Breaking news: Hwang Yeji discovers husband has poor impulse control.” “I am not his wife,” Yeji said, face burning. Yuna smiled “Not yet.”

The room detonated.

Yeji looked like she wanted to throw a napkin at her I cleared my throat “In my defense—” Yeji turned back to me “You do not have one.”

“Correct, I do not.” Lia nodded “Growth.” I looked at Yeji and tried the only strategy I had left. A terrible one “I can make it up to you.” Her eyes narrowed “How?” “I’ll get your portrait tattooed next.”

Silence. Immediate. Catastrophic. John slowly turned toward me “Why would you say that?” Ryujin looked like she had seen heaven open. Yuna gasped. Lia closed her eyes. Chaeryeong made a tiny sound. Nayeon slapped the table “Oh, he’s insane-insane.” Sana clasped her hands “That is romantic.” Jeongyeon looked at her “That is not romantic. That is evidence.” Dahyun nodded “Depending on the artist, it is either love or a future court exhibit.” Chaeyoung leaned forward “Portrait tattoos are risky long term.” Tzuyu nodded calmly “They can age strangely on skin.” Momo looked thoughtful “Maybe not the face.”

Yeji stared at me. Then slowly pointed one finger “No.”

“It was a suggestion.” “It was a bad suggestion.” “You haven’t seen the design.” “I don’t need to see the design.” Ryujin leaned forward, delighted “You have discussed this before?” Yeji looked betrayed by the universe “Unfortunately.” I smiled faintly “In my defense, it was romantic then too.” “It was a bad pitch after we slept together for the first time,” Yeji said, voice dangerously controlled. “It is a bad pitch now. And it will still be a bad pitch after the wedding.”

The room died. Completely. Even John stopped breathing. Yeji realized what she had said one second too late. Her face changed “Oh.”

Nayeon whispered, “AFTER?” Sana whispered, “She mentioned a wedding.” Dahyun slowly raised her imaginary microphone. Jihyo grabbed her wrist without looking “No.” Ryujin looked like she had just discovered a sacred text “Unnie.” Yuna clasped both hands over her mouth “She said after the wedding.” Lia looked at Yeji with gentle devastation “That was very specific.” Chaeryeong nodded faintly “Very specific.” Yeji covered her face “I meant hypothetically.” John pointed at her “No, you said wedding with continuity.” “I did not say continuity.” “You referenced the first time.”

Everyone turned to him.

John paused “I mean emotionally.” I stared at him “That was suspiciously meta.” “I am under stress.” Mina took a sip of water “Regardless, a portrait remains impractical.” “Thank you,” Yeji said through her hands. Mina continued, “A name would age better.”

I stared at her “Mina.” “What? It is true.” Ryujin sat up like a demon had possessed her “Property of Hwang Yeji.” Yeji made a strangled sound. Yuna nearly fell out of her chair laughing. Lia whispered, “Please don’t.” Dahyun snapped her fingers “Yeji’s Dog.”

The room exploded again. I looked at her “Absolutely not.” Ryujin pointed at me “Don’t lie. You would enjoy it.” “That is defamatory.” Yuna grinned “You literally admitted you might bark if treats are involved.”

TWICE froze. Nayeon turned slowly toward John “You never told us that.”

John looked at me “I hate learning things with them.”

Jihyo put a hand over her face “Why is there always more?”

Sana smiled at Yeji “So the leash is real?”

Yeji turned even redder “It is a joke.”

Lia sipped her drink “It began as a joke.”

Chaeryeong, very quietly, added “It has evidence now.”

Yeji looked at her “Chaer.”

Chaeryeong immediately looked down “Sorry.” But she was smiling.

Ryujin leaned back triumphantly “Property of Hwang Yeji is the best option.”

“No,” Yeji said.

“Yeji’s Dog?”

“No.”

“Princess’s Dog?”

“No.”

“Good Boy?”

I looked at Ryujin. “Do not test me. I will make you solo debut and have JYP feature in your title track. I don't care how much it will cost me to make it happen.”

The room froze. Completely. Ryujin stared at me “...You wouldn't.” “I would.” “Ben,” Lia said softly, horrified, “that's not a threat. That's psychological warfare.” Yuna folded in half laughing. Chaeryeong covered her mouth. Nayeon slapped the table again. “Oh my god.” Sana looked genuinely concerned. “Can he do that?” “No,” Jihyo said immediately, then paused “Probably.” “Unnie,” Ryujin whispered, looking betrayed, “whose side are you on?” “Not yours.” John pointed at me. “That is the most specific threat I have ever heard.” Mina nodded thoughtfully “The JYP feature is what makes it cruel.” “Thank you,” I said. “That was not a compliment.” Ryujin narrowed her eyes at me “You are a villain.” “You started this.” “She did,” Yeji said without hesitation. Ryujin gasped. “Unnie!” “You know what you did.”

The room laughed again.

Yeji pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we please return to the tattoo conversation before he starts funding music videos out of spite?” Ryujin immediately pointed at her. “See? Even she thinks you'd do it.” “I wasn’t bluffing,” I said. “Terrifying.” Yuna grinned. “Anyway, back to the important issue. Good Boy?” “No,” Yeji said immediately. Nayeon tapped her chin, far too invested now. “What about something elegant? Like ‘Belongs to Yeji.’” Yuna pointed at me. “That sounded like you were considering it.” “It did not sound like that.” John crossed his arms “You made your wife mad.” Yeji whipped toward him “John.” “What? You did wife voice.” Nayeon nodded “He did make his wife mad.” Sana looked at me “You should apologize to your wife.” Jeongyeon added, “Before she finds out about another tattoo.” Momo nodded “Wives notice things.” Chaeyoung looked at Yeji “Your wife instincts are strong.” Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again. “Domestic dispute resolved through tattoo governance.” Tzuyu looked at me calmly “You should listen to your wife.” Yeji buried her face in both hands “I am not his wife.” Ryujin leaned toward Yuna “Yet.” Yuna nodded “Yet.”

I looked at Yeji. She was embarrassed. Annoyed. Worried. Trying not to smile. Trying not to be touched by any of it. Trying not to show that everyone calling her my wife had landed somewhere she was not ready to admit out loud.

So I walked to her. The room quieted by instinct. Yeji lowered her hands just enough to look at me. I leaned down and kissed her. When I pulled back, I kept my voice low. “I love you.”

Her anger did not vanish. That would have been too easy. But it softened. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes warmed.

“You are not kissing your way out of this.” “I know.” “The ‘I love you’ won’t help.” “I know,” I gave her another peck in the lips regardless “I love you”

“—John, take notes” Tzuyu was giving commentary from behind.

“I love you too,” Yeji finally calmed down a bit “but you are not getting my portrait tattooed. Not now. Not after the wedding. Not after three weddings.”

The room erupted. I smiled “Three weddings?” Yeji froze. Her face went red again. “I meant—” Ryujin slapped the table “She’s negotiating ceremonies now.” Yuna pointed at her “She said three.” Nayeon looked delighted “That is legally and emotionally significant.” Lia closed her eyes “We are never escaping the paperwork theme.”

John leaned toward me “Congratulations. Your wife is negotiating wedding volume.”

Yeji turned toward him “Stop calling me that.”

John smiled “No.”

Before anyone could make it worse, my phone buzzed on the table. Once. Then again. A voice message. I looked down at the screen. Tattoo artist. The timing was so bad that it became impossible.

Ryujin noticed first “What is that?” “Nothing.” Yuna leaned over “It says Frankie the Tattoo Artist.”

The room went silent. Yeji slowly turned toward me “Benjie.” I stared at the phone “I can explain.” John laughed once “No, you cannot.”

Ryujin grabbed the phone before I could stop her. “Ryujin, don’t you dare.” She hit play.

A man’s voice filled the room.

“Ben, confirming your next schedule. Still got you down for the chest piece. Just making sure you’re really serious about that corny-ass couple tattoo. You really want ‘Ben + Yeji’ on your chest? I mean, it’s your money, boss, but I’m asking one more time before we stencil that disaster.”

The voice message ended.

No one moved. No one breathed. Yeji stared at me. TWICE stared at me. ITZY stared at me. John looked like he had just watched me step willingly into traffic.

Then Ryujin screamed. Yuna followed. Nayeon stood from her chair. Sana grabbed Jihyo’s arm. Dahyun dropped her imaginary microphone.

Chaeyoung whispered, “Chest piece?” Momo said, “That is very committed.” Tzuyu looked at Yeji “He is serious.” Mina took a sip of water “Corny, but serious.” Jihyo stared at me “You planned this before tonight?”

I looked at the phone. Then at Yeji. Then at the room. There was no path out. So I stopped looking for one “Yes.”

Yeji’s voice came out small “Ben”. I stepped closer to her and slid one arm around her waist. In front of everyone. Because apparently subtlety had died several minutes ago and I had finally decided to stop attending the funeral “I’m not cancelling it.”

The room exploded again.

Yeji’s hands went to my chest like she meant to push me away, but she did not. She only stared at me, stunned. “You are insane.” “Probably.” “Ben.” “It’s temporary.”

The room froze again.

Yeji blinked “Temporary?” “For now.”

The silence became dangerous. Ryujin slowly turned toward me “Oh, he’s worse than insane.” Yuna’s eyes widened “He planned the emotional damage.” Lia closed her eyes “Of course he did.” John pointed at me “That is not clarification. That is psychological warfare.”

I ignored all of them and kept looking at Yeji “I wanted to see how it looked first.”

Yeji stared “First?” “Before it becomes permanent.” “Permanent?” “Eventually.” “Eventually?”

I nodded, completely committed now because retreat had stopped being an option three sentences ago. “Next to the wedding date.”

The room died. Completely. Even Nayeon stopped breathing. Yeji’s face went blank. Then red. Then blank again.

I continued, because apparently I had chosen death “And the other couple tattoos.” John whispered, “No.” Sana whispered, “Yes.” Dahyun slowly raised her imaginary microphone again. Jihyo caught her wrist without looking “No.” Yeji’s fingers tightened against my shirt “Wedding date?” “Hypothetically.”

“That did not sound hypothetical.” “It sounded planned,” Lia said softly. “It sounded scheduled,” Ryujin added. Yuna pointed at me “He absolutely has a folder.” Mina looked at me “Do you?”

I hesitated. John screamed “THIS FUCKING PSYCHOPATH HAS AN ACTUAL FOLDER.” “I have concepts.” “That is a folder,” Mina said calmly. Nayeon pointed at John “Take notes.” John recoiled “No.” Sana nodded quickly “Take notes.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms “You could at least have concepts.” John looked betrayed “Not you too.” Momo tilted her head “Would all nine of us fit?” John’s soul left his body. Tzuyu looked thoughtful “It depends on placement.” Mina added, “Spacing would be difficult.” John stared at her “Mina.” “What? It would.”

Ryujin raised both hands “If John gets nine names, Ben has to get all five ITZY names too.” I looked at her “Absolutely not.” “For equality.” Yuna nodded “And symmetry.” Mina looked thoughtful “Symmetry matters.” Ryujin was still staring at me like I had personally invented a new disease. “So let me understand this,” she said slowly  “You were not actually getting it permanently.” “Not yet.” “But you were going to let everyone think you were.” “For context.” Lia looked at me “That is not what context means.” “It was emotional research.” Chaeryeong blinked “On Yeji unnie?”

I looked at her. Then at Yeji. Then back at Chaeryeong. “Not my best wording.” “No,” Jihyo said. “It was not.” Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again. “Breaking news: local man conducts unauthorized wife study. Results catastrophic.” Yeji turned red “I am not his wife.” Nayeon pointed at her immediately “You keep saying that like a woman who wants the title officially formatted.”

Yeji’s mouth opened. No sound came out, she looked at me like she wanted to melt into the floor and drag me with her.

“You are unbelievable.” “I was aiming for memorable.” “It would have been memorable for the wrong reasons.”

John pointed at Yeji “That means she imagined it.” Yeji turned on him “Do not involve yourself.” “I am already involved. Your boyfriend is ruining expectations for all of us.”

Nayeon nodded gravely “He is.” Sana looked at John “Where is our playlist?” John stared at her “Our what?” “Our romantic reveal playlist.” “I am not revealing anything.” Dahyun raised her hand “Technically, that is part of the complaint.”

The room made a collective sound of approval. John pointed at her “That was personal.”

“You could benefit from a strategy deck, best buddy” I looked at John “You want help with that?” He turned on me “You stay out of this, Chest Tattoo Romeo.” Ryujin gasped “That is his new title.” Yuna nodded “Final Boss: Chest Tattoo Romeo.”

Chaeryeong, who had been quiet for a while, looked at me with genuine curiosity. “Would the temporary tattoo actually say Ben plus Yeji?” I nodded. “That was the draft.” She frowned. “Wouldn’t Yeji plus Ben look better?”

The room went still.

I looked at her. Yeji looked at her. Mina’s eyes sharpened with immediate interest. Chaeryeong froze “What?” Mina set her cup down “She is right.” John threw his head back “No.” Mina continued. “Visually, Yeji’s name first balances better depending on placement.” I looked down, considering it “That depends on the font weight.” Mina nodded “And spacing.”

Nayeon leaned back, enjoying herself far too much. “Honestly, I respect the insanity. A temporary couple tattoo before the real one after marriage? That is commitment with a trial period.” Sana nodded “Romantic beta testing.” Jeongyeon looked pained “Please don’t call love that.” Dahyun smiled “Too late. Love 2.0 launches after wedding.”

“Metaphorically.” Ryujin smiled. “Ben didn’t say no any of it.” Yeji lowered her hands just enough to glare at her “Ryujin.” “What? I am supporting your household.” “Our what?”

The room inhaled. Yeji realized too late that she had said our.

Yeji tried to glare at me. Failed. Then looked away, cheeks burning. And because I had apparently developed a severe allergy to self-preservation, I leaned closer and murmured “For the record, I would put your name first.” Yeji froze.

The room went silent again.

Ryujin whispered, “Fatality.” Yuna whispered, “That was so smooth I hate him.” Nayeon turned to John “Write that down.” John snapped “I am not writing down tattoo flirting.” Mina looked at him “You should. It was effective.”

Yeji’s fingers tightened against my shirt. She looked up at me, still embarrassed, still mad, still very much losing the fight against her own smile.

“You are not getting anything permanent before we talk about it.” “Agreed.” “And no portrait.” “Ever?” “Ever.” “Even after the wedding?” “Especially after the wedding.”

The room made a noise.

Yeji looked at me, helpless and red and smiling despite herself “You are impossible.” I smiled back “And yet.” She looked away. But she leaned into me a little more. Just enough to lose. Just enough to consider it a win.

By the time dinner finally began to dissolve into goodbyes, the Top Floor looked less like a luxury residence and more like a battlefield that had been won through food, gossip, paperwork, and emotional blackmail. Plates had been cleared.

Momo had praised Chaeryeong’s cooking enough times that Chaeryeong looked like she was trying not to float.

Ryujin and Nayeon had formed a partnership that worried every manager in the room.

Yuna had somehow gotten Sana and Dahyun to promise they would help her “professionally evaluate” the retreat once it happened.

Lia looked tired, but steadier.

Chaeryeong looked overwhelmed, but not unhappy.

TWICE gathered near the elevator in clusters, still talking over one another as if leaving was merely a suggestion. Jihyo checked the folder one more time.

John looked at it like it had personally ruined his day.

Then Nayeon turned back toward me “So.” I immediately disliked her tone “No.” “You don’t know what I’m asking.” “I know the category.” “That is becoming your favorite sentence,” Lia murmured. Nayeon smiled “Are you really going through with the temporary tattoo?”

The room froze.

Not because anyone had forgotten. Because apparently everyone had been waiting for someone brave or shameless enough to bring it back. Yeji’s hand tightened around mine.

I looked at her. She looked back. Still red, pretending she was not invested. “Yes,” I said. The room erupted. Ryujin shouted first “I knew it. He’s committed to the emotional damage.”

Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone. “Breaking news: temporary tattoo confirmed; wife still denying wife status.”

“I am not his wife,” Yeji said automatically. “Yet,” Sana said sweetly. Yeji’s face went red again. I squeezed her hand once “And Yeji’s coming with me.”

That somehow made it worse.

Nayeon gasped “She’s choosing placement?” Yeji turned toward me. “I am?” “You said you were.” “I said several things under emotional distress.”

Yeji looked at me, cheeks still pink “I am not choosing anything ridiculous.” “Agreed, and no portrait.” “Agreed.”

John suddenly pointed at me “Wait. No.” I looked at him. “What now?”

“You are not taking Yeji to some random tattoo artist after all of this.” “It’s not random.” “You are bringing an idol to a tattoo appointment.” “A temporary tattoo appointment.” “That does not make the identity issue disappear.”

Jihyo looked at me “He has a point.” Nayeon leaned toward Sana “John said something responsible.” Sana nodded “We should document it.” John ignored them “How do you know this guy won’t leak anything?”

The room quieted slightly. Not from fear. From curiosity. I shrugged “He’s loyal.” John stared at me “That is not an explanation.”

“It is the most important part.” “Ben.” I sighed “He knows better.” Ryujin’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that sounds threatening.” “It is not threatening.” Yuna smiled “It sounded expensive.” “That is closer,” Mina said quietly. Mina looked at me “You paid him well?” “Yes.” John exhaled “Okay. Fine. That is better.” “And I ruined someone who did not.”

The room stopped. John slowly turned his head back toward me “What?” I looked around.

“In his old shop, he had an investment broker client who refused to pay him properly after a full sleeve. Tried to use status and connections to make the bill disappear.” No one spoke. I continued “The artist complained about it while finishing one of mine. I asked for the name.”

John closed his eyes “Ben.”

“I had pocket change.” Mina’s gaze sharpened slightly. Jihyo lowered the folder. Nayeon whispered, “Pocket change?” I shrugged “So I bought the company.”

Silence. Absolute. Then everyone spoke at once.

“You what?” Yeji said. “Oh my God,” Lia whispered. Ryujin stood up halfway “Boss behavior.” Yuna’s mouth dropped open “You bought a company because someone didn’t pay for a tattoo?” Chaeryeong looked horrified “That is… very intense customer service.”

Sana clasped her hands “That is scary but loyal.” Jeongyeon stared at me “That is not normal loyalty.” Momo frowned “Did the artist get paid?” “Yes.” Momo nodded “Good.” Tzuyu looked at me calmly “Did you fire the person?” “It was the first thing I did.” Tzuyu nodded once “Then he learned.”

John pointed both hands at me “You bought the biggest investment bank in Korea and called it pocket change?” I looked at him. “I did not say biggest.”

“You implied something horrifying.” “I said company.” “You said investment broker.” “That does not mean biggest.” Mina took a slow sip of water “It was one of the bigger ones.” John turned toward her “You knew?” Mina looked at him calmly “Ben is not the only one with resources.”

The room paused. It was the first remotely smug thing Mina had said all night. John stared at Mina “Was that a flex?” Mina blinked once “No.” Mina took another sip of water “If it helps, I only checked because it was unusual.”

Jihyo looked at me with the expression of someone adding five more clauses to the JYP pitch in her head “You bought an investment firm to fire one man?”

“I also restructured it.” John threw his hands up “There it is.” I looked at him “What?” “You cannot say ‘also restructured it’ like you rearranged furniture.” Mina tilted her head “Was it poorly managed?” “Yes.” “Then restructuring was appropriate.” John pointed at her without looking away from me “You are not helping.” Ryujin slowly turned to Yeji “Unnie, your boyfriend is terrifying.” Yeji was still staring at me. “I know.” Yuna leaned closer “And you love him.” Yeji did not deny it fast enough. Nayeon smiled “She really does.” Yeji covered her face “I am trying to be angry.” Lia looked at me “Was the tattoo artist at least grateful?” “He has never leaked anything.” “That is not the same as grateful.” “He sends me holiday discounts.” Chaeyoung blinked “You buy companies for him and he gives you discounts?” “I told him not to.” Dahyun nodded solemnly “That is friendship.” John stared at the ceiling “I am going to develop a medical condition from knowing you.”

Jihyo finally exhaled and tucked the folder under her arm “We are going before I start thinking of more clauses.” TWICE finally began moving toward the elevator for real this time. There were more hugs. More warnings. More jokes about the tattoo. More comments about Yeji being the only person capable of keeping me from accidentally buying another company before breakfast.

“Actually,” Yeji said, pointing at me before anyone could step into the elevator, “stop buying companies, restaurants, buildings, or entire establishments because someone inconveniences you.” I looked offended. “I do not do that.” The entire room stared at me.

“You absolutely do,” Jihyo said. “Frequently,” Mina added. “Historically,” John said. Yeji folded her arms “No more buying things out of spite.” “Out of loyalty,” I corrected. “Out of spite.” “Sometimes both.” “Benjie.” I sighed dramatically “Fine.” She narrowed her eyes “That sounded fake.” “It was a little fake.” “Ben.” I looked at her “What am I supposed to do if a restaurant makes you wait forty-five minutes for your food?”

The room immediately erupted.

“No,” John shouted. “Absolutely not,” Jihyo added. Ryujin doubled over laughing. “He already has a contingency plan.” Yuna pointed at me. “He’s thought about this before.” “I have not.” “You answered too fast,” Lia said. Yeji stared at me “You are not buying a restaurant because my food is late.” “What if you're hungry?” “Ben.” “What if you're sad?” “Ben.” “What if they forget your order twice?” “BEN.” I held up both hands “Okay, okay.”

Nayeon was laughing so hard she had to lean against the elevator wall “This is the most billionaire boyfriend conversation I've ever heard.” Sana clasped her hands “He just wants her fed.”

“That is somehow sweet and terrifying,” Chaeryeong said. Momo nodded “As long as the food arrives eventually.” Tzuyu looked at me thoughtfully “If they forget three times?”

“Do not encourage him,” Yeji said immediately. “I was curious.”

John pointed at Yeji “See? This is why you're the only safeguard we have.” Yeji groaned. “I should not have this responsibility.”

“You accepted it when you started dating him,” Ryujin said. “I did not sign anything.” Mina tilted her head “There may be paperwork somewhere.” “Mina,” John said weakly.

Nayeon pointed at Yeji one last time. “Good luck preventing hostile restaurant acquisitions.” Yeji covered her face “I hate all of you.”

“You love us,” Sana sang. Then the elevator doors began to close. Nayeon stuck her hand out suddenly, stopping them “Wait.” Everyone froze. Yeji looked up warily “What?” Nayeon smiled “Make him put your name first.”

Yeji covered her face, I smiled, John pointed at me from inside the elevator “Do not smile. You are the problem.”

“I am aware.” “You are not aware enough.”

The elevator doors began to close again. Sana waved “Good luck, almost-wife.” Yeji made a strangled sound. Dahyun’s voice slipped through before the doors shut “Breaking news: tomorrow’s JYP pitch now includes tattoo liability.” Then they were gone.

The Top Floor fell quiet. Not empty. Never empty anymore. Just quieter. Yeji stood beside me, arms folded, cheeks still pink “You are exhausting.”

“I love you too.” “That was not what I said.” “It was implied.”

She tried to glare. Failed. Then reached for my hand anyway. I looked at her. She looked back. Still mad. Still mine in the ways she allowed herself to be.

“Temporary,” she said. “Temporary.” “And I choose placement.” “You choose placement.” “And font.” “And font.”

Chaeryeong’s voice came softer, amused despite herself “Do we still need more food tomorrow?” I looked around the Top Floor. I looked at Yeji. She narrowed her eyes. “Do not look excited.” I smiled.

I fixed the front of my shirt, ran a hand through my hair, and stepped into the common area with the careful composure of a man who absolutely did not look like he had just spent the night in Yuna’s room. Unfortunately, Yeji was already there. So were Lia and Ryujin. All three sat around the kitchen island like a tribunal with breakfast privileges. Yeji had coffee. Lia had tea. Ryujin had cereal— directly from the box.

I stopped walking. “No,” I said immediately. Ryujin looked up, spoon still in her mouth. “You don’t even know what we’re going to say.” “I know the category.” Lia took a slow sip of tea. “That sounds like guilt.” “That sounds like self-preservation.”

Yeji did not say anything at first. That was worse. She only looked at me over the rim of her cup, calm and unreadable in that very specific way that meant she had already understood everything and was deciding how merciful she felt.

I looked at her. She looked back. Then I very carefully started turning toward the hallway again. “Nope.” Yeji set her cup down “Ben.” I froze.

Ryujin’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. Lia’s brows lifted slightly. Yeji’s voice stayed soft “Come back.” I closed my eyes. “Yeji.”

“Be a good boy and sit.”

 Silence. Immediate. Catastrophic. Ryujin slowly lowered the cereal box. Lia blinked once. Yeji seemed to realize what she had said only after it had already taken physical form in the room, but to her credit, she did not take it back. I turned around. Looked at her. Looked at Ryujin. Looked at Lia. Then walked back to the kitchen island and sat down on the stool beside Yeji.

Ryujin stared at me “Oh my God.” “Do not.” “She really just—” “Ryujin.” “And you really just—” “Ryujin.”

Lia covered her mouth with one hand, though whether from shock or amusement, I could not tell. Yeji lifted her coffee again with the calm of a woman who had decided to survive by pretending nothing strange had happened.

“That worked too well,” Ryujin whispered. “It did not,” I said. “You sat.” “I chose diplomacy.” “You obeyed.” “I chose survival.”

Lia finally lowered her hand. “That was… informative.”

“Nothing was informed,” I said. Ryujin pointed her spoon at Yeji. “She has him on a leash.”

Yeji turned pink immediately. “I do not.” I looked at Ryujin. “Incorrect.” Yeji slowly turned toward me. I cleared my throat “I meant emotionally.” “That did not help,” Lia said. Ryujin leaned back, delighted “This breakfast is already historic.” I rubbed my forehead “I need coffee.” “You need accountability,” Ryujin corrected. “I need silence.” “You live here,” Lia said calmly. “Be realistic.”

Outstanding. Yeji finally looked at me properly. There was no accusation in her expression. No anger. No hurt. Obvious enough for anyone else to name. Just steadiness. And that somehow made me feel more exposed. “It happened,” I said quietly.

The kitchen went still. Not shocked. Just still. Because no one needed to ask who. Yuna had been quiet last night. Yuna had looked at me differently. Yuna had told me to rest. They already knew. Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted anyway, because naturally she was allergic to silence.

“So.” “No.” “I haven’t asked anything.” “You are about to.” “I was going to be tasteful.” “No, you were not.” “I was going to try.” “No, you were not.”

Lia took another sip of tea “He is correct.” Ryujin looked offended “I am capable of tact.”

Yeji looked at her. Ryujin sighed. “Fine. I am capable of delaying tactless commentary.” “That is closer,” Lia said.

Yeji’s gaze returned to me “She’s asleep?” I nodded. “She was when I left.”

That softened something in her face. Good. That was the first thing that mattered. Lia set her cup down. “Is she okay?”

“Yes.” The answer came out immediately. No hesitation. Lia watched me for another second, then nodded. Ryujin leaned forward, her teasing dimming just slightly around the edges “Okay as in okay, or okay as in you’re doing manager-language damage control?” I looked at her “Okay as in she was safe, comfortable, and resting.” Ryujin’s face shifted, not much, but enough.  “Good,” she said.

Then, because she was Ryujin, she immediately ruined the softness. “So Yuna got the careful version.” I stared at her. “Ryujin.”

“What? I’m not asking for details. I’m categorizing.” Lia closed her eyes “Please don’t.”

Ryujin ignored her completely.

“Yeji gets the emotionally devastating version. Lia gets the quiet slow-burn version. I get the version with workplace violations.”

“Ryujin,” Yeji warned. “And Yuna gets the first-time careful version.”

I looked at her. She smiled sweetly. “I’m just saying the ecosystem is diversifying.” Lia covered her face “I hate that that sentence made sense.” Yeji sighed into her coffee. I stared at the counter.

“I am going to retire.” “You are underpaid,” Lia said. “You cannot afford retirement.” “That is deeply cruel.” “That is technically your contract.”

Ryujin pointed at Lia “She’s on fire today.” “I am tired,” Lia corrected. “There is a difference.”

Yeji’s voice came quieter “Were you gentle with her?” The question was not for me at first. Not fully. It slipped out like something she had been holding beneath everything else. Ryujin stopped moving. Lia looked at Yeji. I looked at her too. Yeji did not take the question back. Her expression remained calm, but there was something beneath it now. Not jealousy exactly. Not fear. Responsibility.

She was not asking because she wanted details. She was asking because it was Yuna. Because Yuna was bold and reckless and proud, but still the youngest. Because Yeji had carried that kind of responsibility longer than any of them liked to admit. I answered immediately.

“Yes.” Yeji held my gaze. I did not look away. “I was careful,” I said. “She didn’t have to prove anything. Not to me. Not to herself.” Something softened in Yeji’s face. That was the only answer that mattered. Lia’s voice gentled. “She was nervous?”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to answer. Because it felt like Yuna’s truth to give. “She was honest,” I said finally. “That mattered more.” Lia understood. Ryujin leaned back, quieter now. “Our Yuna being honest is more terrifying than our Yuna being shameless.”

“That is accurate,” Yeji murmured.

I looked at all three of them. “You knew?” Ryujin scoffed. “Ben.” Lia tilted her head. “She told you to rest last night.” Yeji looked down into her cup. “And she looked at you like she had stopped trying to win.” That landed harder than I expected.

Ryujin nodded.

“She spent a week trying to make you lose control. Then suddenly she was quiet and told you to take care of yourself. That is not subtle.” I exhaled slowly.

“She said she wasn’t asking for Yeji’s place.” The kitchen softened again. Even Ryujin. Especially Ryujin, maybe. Yeji went very still.

“She said that?” “Yes.”

My voice lowered. “I went to her room.” The answer was simple, but not careless. Yeji understood what I meant. I did not take Yuna into the space that belonged to us. I did not blur that line. I did not pretend the room did not matter. Yeji’s gaze softened. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Ryujin looked between us and made a face “God, you two are emotionally married.” Lia nodded “They are.”

Yeji turned slightly pink. I stared at Ryujin “You are eating cereal from a box. You don’t get to judge marriage dynamics.”

“I am spiritually qualified.” “No, you are not.” “I have experience.” “That is not the same thing.”

Before Ryujin could make the conversation worse, there was movement down the hall. All of us turned. Yuna appeared at the edge of the kitchen wearing the same oversized hoodie from last night, hair messy, face still soft from sleep. She stopped when she saw all of us. Then her eyes moved from Yeji, to Lia, to Ryujin, to me. A slow understanding settled over her face.

Then she gasped. Not naturally. Theatrically. “Oh,” she said, pressing one hand lightly against her chest. “So this is where you went.” I stared at her “Yuna.” She looked at me with wide, wounded eyes that did not fool a single person in the room. “You left me sleeping alone after taking my virginity?”

Silence. Immediate. Catastrophic.

Ryujin’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Lia closed her eyes like she had just felt a headache arrive in real time. Yeji made a tiny sound into her coffee. I stared at the ceiling. “Outstanding,” I muttered. “Fantastic. We’re starting there.” Yuna tilted her head, still pretending to be hurt “What? I woke up and you were gone.”

“You were asleep.” “So you admit it.” “That I let you sleep?” “That you abandoned me.” “To get coffee.” “After taking my virginity.”

Ryujin slowly lowered her cereal box “I have never been happier to be awake.” Lia sighed “Yuna.” Yuna’s eyes flicked toward her, bright with mischief now. “What? It’s true.”

Yeji finally set her cup down, her cheeks faintly pink but her expression trying very hard to remain leader-like. “There are gentler ways to say that.” Yuna thought about it for exactly one second. Then smiled. “Ben left my room after a very meaningful personal milestone.”

Ryujin nodded solemnly “Worse.” Lia covered her mouth. I looked at Yuna “I didn’t give them any details, you know.” That changed her expression. Just slightly. The performance softened. The teasing remained, but beneath it, something warmer appeared.

“He didn’t?” she asked. Yeji nodded “More like he refused.” Lia added calmly, “Annoyingly well.” Ryujin looked offended “Heroically annoying.”

Yuna stared at me for one second. Then something in her face softened fully. Not because she was embarrassed. Because she understood what I had protected.

Then, naturally, she ruined it again.

“Oh,” she said, walking toward the kitchen island. “So I have to tell them myself?”

I closed my eyes. Ryujin sat up so fast the cereal nearly spilled. Lia whispered, “Oh no.” Yeji sighed “Yuna.”

Yuna smiled. There she was. Still tired. Still changed. Still dangerous; But smiling again.

“What?” she asked sweetly. “They were curious.” Ryujin pointed at her “See? She understands journalism.” “It is not journalism,” Lia said. “It is if the source volunteers,” Ryujin replied.

Yuna slipped onto the stool beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushed mine. Not accidental, but softer than her usual attacks. Yeji noticed she always does. Yuna looked at her first. That mattered. “He was careful,” Yuna said. The whole room quieted. Just like that. No jokes. Just Yuna, saying the first thing that actually mattered. Yeji’s expression softened “I know.” Yuna blinked. Then looked at me “He told you?”

“He told us that and it was enough,” Lia said gently. Ryujin’s voice came quieter than usual “He refused to be fun.” Yuna smiled faintly “Good.”

That one hit me harder than expected. Then she leaned back slightly, gathering herself. Not because she was shy. Because she was deciding how much of herself she wanted to put in the room. “It was my choice,” Yuna said. “I asked him. I wanted him. And I knew what I was doing.”

 Yeji held her gaze “I believe you.” Yuna’s smile softened “Thank you.”

Then Ryujin raised her hand.

“That was beautiful. Deeply mature. Very important. Now, with respect—” “No,” Yeji said immediately. Ryujin pointed at Yuna. “She said she would tell us herself.” “I said I had to,” Yuna corrected. “That doesn’t mean I’m giving you a documentary.” Ryujin’s mouth dropped open “Betrayal.”

Lia looked toward Yuna, her concern more visible now “Are you actually alright?” Yuna’s expression softened. Yeji continued, careful but direct “We meant physically too. It was your first time, and Ben is…” She stopped. Her eyes flicked briefly toward me. Then away.

Ryujin grinned slowly “Unfairly gifted?” Yeji covered her face. Lia sighed. “Me and Yeji were trying to be tactful.” “That was your first mistake,” Ryujin said.

Yuna looked between all of them. Then, shamelessly:

“Oh he IS ‘unfairly gifted’, and it hurt.”

I immediately stared at the counter. Yeji made a strangled sound. Lia’s eyes widened. Ryujin looked like Christmas had arrived early.

Yuna lifted one shoulder “What? It did.” “Yuna,” Yeji said weakly. “But,” Yuna continued, glancing at me, and this time the smile turned softer, “he was so gentle that I barely remember the pain first.”

The room went quiet again.

Yuna’s voice lowered “I remember how careful he was. How nice it felt when I stopped being scared of it. How he kept checking if I was okay even when I was the one pulling him closer.” She looked down for half a second, fingers brushing lightly against the sleeve of her hoodie.

“I remember him asking if I was alright. Over and over. I remember how slowly he moved until I adjusted. And I remember thinking that I didn’t feel rushed. Or stupid. Or small.” Her eyes lifted back to mine. “Ben made me feel seen, cared for, and wanted at the same time.”

That silenced the room in a way I did not know what to do with. Lia looked at me with a warm, appreciative smile. Ryujin, somehow, did not look remotely embarrassed by any of this. Yeji, on the other hand, was blushing harder than I had ever seen her blush in my life. Lia looked back at Yuna “I’m glad he took care of y—”

“— and then Ben proceeded to have his way with me.”

Silence.

Then Ryujin came back to life like someone had plugged her directly into a power source “THAT’S WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR” “Ryujin,” Lia said, horrified. “What? She said it. I didn’t drag it out of her.” “You were absolutely waiting with a shovel,” Yeji muttered.

Ryujin pointed at Yuna. “And she buried us herself. Respect.” I slowly lifted one hand “Can we maybe not describe this like a crime scene?” Yuna looked at me, eyes bright with mischief “But you were very thorough.”

Lia made a tiny sound and immediately reached for her tea. Yeji stared into her coffee like the surface might open and save her. Ryujin leaned forward “Define thorough.”

“No,” I said. Yuna smiled “Do you want the emotional definition or the physical one?” “Yuna,” Yeji said, voice cracking slightly. “What?” Yuna looked genuinely pleased with herself now. “I’m being honest.” “There are gentler ways to be honest,” I said. Yuna turned toward me “You came inside me three times nonstop.”

Yeji slowly lifted her face from her hands and looked at me with disbelief so sharp it should have required paperwork. Lia’s warmth vanished instantly, replaced by the calm, flat stare of a woman rescinding all emotional credit she had given me ten seconds ago. Ryujin looked hungry— and not for cereal.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again “It is not what all of you are thinking.” Ryujin slapped the counter “It is exactly what I’m thinking.” “You do not even know the context.” “I don’t need context. I have numbers.” Lia looked at me “Ben.” “That tone sounds unfair.” “That tone is extremely fair.” Yeji was still staring at me “Three?” I looked at her “Babe, that is a very hostile question.” “It is a numerical question.” “Numbers can be hostile.” Ryujin pointed at Yeji “She’s jealous.” Yeji immediately turned redder “I am not.” Ryujin’s grin widened “You are.” “I am not jealous.” Lia looked at Yeji “You are a little.” Yeji looked betrayed “Lia.” “I said a little.” Ryujin leaned back, delighted “Leader-nim is jealous because Yuna got quantity.”

Yeji covered her face again “I cannot believe this is happening before coffee.” Yuna rested her chin in one hand and smiled at Yeji “Unnie, you still have quality.”

“That does not help,” Yeji said through her hands. I rubbed my forehead “It really does not.” Ryujin looked at me “Wait. Does Yeji not get quantity?” I stared at her “Ryujin.”

Yeji slowly lowered her hands. Her face was still flushed, but her eyes had narrowed now. Not angry. Worse. Playfully dangerous. “That is a good question.”

I looked at her “Babe... Please… Not like this.” She tilted her head “I am just asking for clarification.” Ryujin pointed between us, delighted “Oh, she’s using your manager voice against you.” Lia sipped her tea “Efficient.”

Yeji looked at me over her cup, cheeks still pink but expression far too composed “I enjoy the quality Ben gives me.” My soul left my body. Ryujin made a strangled sound. Yuna’s eyes widened with immediate interest. Lia closed her eyes. Yeji continued, quieter but very much audible “But apparently I should have negotiated quantity too.”

The sound Ryujin made was not human. Yuna dissolved into laughter against the counter. Lia whispered, “Yeji.” Yeji finally looked away, face burning, but the smallest smile tugged at her mouth like she was proud of herself and horrified by it at the same time.

I stared at her “You cannot say things like that and then pretend to be the responsible one.” Yeji lifted her coffee “I am still the responsible one.” Ryujin nodded solemnly. “With princess demands.”

Yeji immediately lifted her chin “I’m Ben’s girlfriend. I deserve princess demands.” The kitchen froze for half a second. Then Yuna pointed at Yeji “Wait. If you’re the princess, does that make the rest of us consorts?” Ryujin nodded thoughtfully. “I’m fine with that.” Lia looked suspicious already “Ryujin.”

“As long as I get a royal pounding.” The silence that followed was catastrophic. Lia nearly choked on her tea. Yuna doubled over laughing. I closed my eyes “Absolutely not.” Yeji, unfortunately, was no longer interested in being the responsible one. She pointed at Ryujin “You cannot put that in the royal charter.”

“Why not?” Ryujin asked. “I’m negotiating benefits.” Yuna was still laughing “Consort Ryujin has demands too.”

“Princess demands,” Ryujin corrected. Yeji nodded “Fair.” “Yeji,” Lia said in disbelief.

“What?” Yeji's cheeks were pink, but she was smiling now. “If we're apparently building a monarchy, we should establish standards.” I stared at her “Babe, you are encouraging this.”

“I am participating,” Yeji corrected. “That is worse.”

Ryujin slapped the counter “The princess has spoken.” Yuna pointed at me “Manager-nim, your performance review is getting complicated.”

“My performance review is no longer open for discussion.” “That sounds like someone avoiding accountability,” Lia said. “I am being attacked by statistics.” Ryujin raised her spoon “Three is a statistic.” “Ryujin.” “Technically,” Lia said, “she is correct.” I looked at her “You were supposed to be merciful one here.” “I was,” Lia replied. “Then Yuna said three.” Yuna shrugged, still smiling “It was memorable.”

Yeji’s eyes flicked toward me again. I caught it. The embarrassment was still there, but underneath it was amusement. Affection. And maybe, unfortunately for me, curiosity. I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice “Babe, you are enjoying this too much.” Yeji looked at me over the rim of her cup. “Be a good boy and survive breakfast.”

Then, before I could answer, she set her coffee down. The movement was so casual that nobody reacted at first. Not until Yeji leaned over and kissed me. Not a quick peck. Not an accidental brush. An actual kiss. Warm. Certain. Comfortable.

The kitchen froze. Again. When she pulled back, her face was already turning red. But she still looked directly at me “I love you”. For one second, my brain completely stopped functioning. Then I smiled. Leaning forward, I kissed her back “Love you too, Babe.”

The silence somehow became even louder. Ryujin looked physically wounded. Lia's eyes had widened so much she nearly dropped her tea. Yuna stared between us with open disbelief. Yeji immediately grabbed her coffee again like she could hide behind it. It did not work.

Ryujin pointed at us with both hands “No.” Lia nodded “No.” Yuna nodded too “Absolutely not.” Yeji blinked “What?” “You don't get to do that,” Ryujin said. “Do what?” “Be disgustingly cute immediately after discussing Ben's statistical achievements.” “Statistical achievements?” I repeated. “You know exactly what I mean.” “I wish I didn't.” Yuna looked at Yeji “Wait.” Yeji immediately looked suspicious “What?” “That was your first public kiss.”

The realization hit the room all at once. Lia lowered her cup “Oh.” Ryujin's jaw dropped “Oh my God”. Yeji froze. Then slowly turned toward me. Then toward everyone else. Then back toward me. Her face became the exact color of a fire alarm “Oh”. Yuna immediately started laughing “You didn't even realize.”

“I did realize.” “You absolutely didn't.” “I did.” “You kissed him and forgot we existed.” Yeji covered her face “I hate all of you.” “No you don't,” Lia said gently. “No,” Ryujin agreed. “She loves us. Unfortunately.” Yuna pointed at me “And she definitely loves him.”

Yeji made a small embarrassed noise, I smiled into my coffee. Ryujin immediately caught it. “Oh, look at him.” “Don't.” “He's so happy.” “I am drinking coffee.” “You're glowing.” “I am not glowing.” “You're glowing.” Lia looked at me “You are a little.” “Traitor”

Yuna leaned against my shoulder again “Honestly, this is kind of adorable.” Yeji groaned “Please stop helping.” Ryujin pointed between us “No, no. We need to discuss the real issue.” “There is no real issue.” “There is.” She pointed directly at Yeji “The leash.” Yeji nearly choked on her coffee. “Ryujin.” “The leash remains active.” Lia nodded thoughtfully. “The evidence is compelling.” Yuna raised a hand. “I would like to submit today's kiss as Exhibit A.” “I hate this kitchen.” Ryujin looked at me “Ben.” “No.” “Ben.” “No.” “Does she have you on a leash?”

I looked at Yeji. Yeji looked back at me. Still red. Still embarrassed. Still somehow trying to look authoritative. I sighed “Maybe.”

The room exploded. “I KNEW IT,” Ryujin shouted. “Ben,” Lia said, laughing now. Yuna looked delighted. Yeji stared at me “Maybe?” I pointed at her “You literally just told me to be a good boy.” “That is not the same thing.” “It felt pretty similar.” Ryujin slapped the counter “He admits it.” “I admitted nothing.” “You said maybe.” “I said maybe.” “That's an admission.” Yeji shook her head “You're impossible.” I looked at her “You're the one everyone thinks has me on a leash.” Ryujin immediately pointed at Yeji “Because she does.” Yuna nodded “She absolutely does.” Lia smiled into her tea “I don't think Ben is fighting very hard.”

I looked around the room Then shrugged “Maybe because I don't mind.” The screaming started again. Ryujin nearly fell off her stool. Yuna kept laughing over. Lia covered her face. Yeji looked like she wanted the floor to open beneath her. I lifted my coffee. “What?” “You don't mind?” Ryujin repeated. I considered it then nodded “Honestly?” “OH MY GOD.” “Honestly,” I continued, “I might actually like it.”

Yeji made a sound that could only be described as a system failure. Ryujin was crying. Actually crying. Yuna was no longer capable of standing upright. Lia had abandoned all attempts at dignity. I pointed at Ryujin “And for the record, I was serious earlier.”

Ryujin froze “Oh no.” I nodded “If treats are involved, I might bark.”

The kitchen detonated. Yeji buried her face in both hands. Yuna collapsed against the counter. Lia laughed so hard she had to put her tea down. Ryujin looked like she had achieved enlightenment “I've never seen a man surrender this completely.” I raised my coffee “Love is about trust.”

“THAT IS NOT WHAT THAT MEANS” Yeji finally looked up from behind her hands. Her face was still bright red. But she was smiling. And despite all the teasing, all the embarrassment, and all the chaos around us— she looked happy. Which, unfortunately for my dignity, probably proved everyone's point. She does have me on a leash.

Ryujin dropped her spoon into the cereal box “There it is again.” Lia nodded once “The leash is active.” Yeji’s face went completely red. I stared down into my coffee “I am moving countries.” Yuna leaned against my shoulder again, laughing softly now “You’d miss us.”

“That is the problem.” For a few seconds, the room stayed suspended between horror, laughter, and the kind of warmth that only existed because everyone had somehow survived the truth without breaking. Then Yuna looked back at Lia. “So yes,” she said, finally answering the original question with an almost angelic smile. “I’m alright.” Then, after a beat, her smile returned in full. “Actually, I’m more than alright.” Ryujin made a delighted sound “There she is.”

Lia looked relieved despite herself. Yeji watched Yuna for a long moment, then nodded “Good”. Yuna smiled at her “Unnie, you look like you want to scold me and hug me at the same time.”

“I do.” “That’s fair.” Ryujin leaned forward “So since you’re alright—” “No,” I said. Yuna tilted her head “No to what?” “To whatever is about to happen.” Ryujin pointed at me “He’s scared.” Yuna rested her chin lightly on one hand “Do you want to know what surprised me most?” “No,” I said immediately. Ryujin said, “Yes.” Lia said, “Carefully.” Yeji said nothing, which somehow meant all three answers at once. Yuna’s smile sharpened “He finally admitted I’m hot.” Ryujin slapped the counter “I knew that mattered.” “It did,” Yuna said proudly. I looked at her “That was not the most important part of the conversation.” “It was one of the important parts.” “It was emotional support.” “It was practical support,” Yuna corrected.

Lia smiled into her tea “Very Yuna”. Yuna looked at me, eyes bright “He said only an idiot would spend that much time near ITZY’s maknae and not want her”. Ryujin slowly turned toward me. Yeji’s eyes widened. Lia blinked. I stared at Yuna “That was private dialogue.” Yuna smiled “It wasn’t a sex detail.” Ryujin leaned forward like she had received divine prophecy “Dialogue counts.”

“No, it does not.” “It absolutely does,” Ryujin said. “Tone. Context. Setting. Very important.” Yuna tilted her head, pretending to think. “Then I probably shouldn’t mention the part where he said—”

“Yuna.” She grinned. “Fine. I’ll save that for later.” Lia muttered, “There is going to be a later.” Ryujin looked spiritually moved. “This is the best breakfast of my life.” Yeji finally looked at Yuna properly again “You’re really okay?”

The room quieted. Yuna looked back at her. This time, she did not joke immediately. “Yeah,” she said. “I am.” Then, softer “More than okay.” Lia’s face gentled. Ryujin’s teasing softened around the edges. Yeji just smiled.

For exactly two seconds, the room stayed warm. Then Yuna decided sincerity had been allowed to exist long enough. “Although,” she added, turning toward Ryujin, “you were not exaggerating.” Ryujin’s entire face lit up. I stood. “No.” Lia covered her mouth. Yeji’s eyes widened. Yuna smiled at me like she had found the exact lever marked catastrophe “I’m just saying, for a first time, it was a little unfair.” Ryujin pointed at me “I knew it.”

“You know nothing.” “I know enough.” “Ryujin.” “What? I said nothing specific.”

Yuna leaned toward Lia with the solemnity of someone giving a medical report “Let’s just say I understand why he walks around acting like restraint is a public service.” Lia made a sound that was half choke, half laugh. Yeji covered her face. I stared at the ceiling. “Outstanding. Wonderful. Fantastic breakfast.” Ryujin looked like she was about to ascend. “Yuna, I have never been prouder of you.” Yuna smiled. “Thank you.”

“That was not praise,” Yeji said weakly. “It sounded like praise,” Yuna replied. “That is because Ryujin is broken.” Ryujin pointed her spoon at me “Question.” “No.” “If Yuna survived the careful version, does that mean—” “No.” “—she gets promoted?” “Absolutely not.” Yuna’s eyes sharpened “Promoted?” I looked at Ryujin with betrayal. Ryujin smiled “I said what I said.” Yuna turned toward me. “There are levels?” Lia whispered, “Oh God no.”

Yeji lowered her hands from her face with the expression of a woman realizing the room had escaped her leadership authority.

“There are not levels,” I said. Ryujin nodded “There are absolutely levels.” Yuna’s smile widened “Interesting.” “That word has become a threat,” I said.

Yuna leaned closer, still smiling, but her voice dipped softly enough that only I caught the warmth beneath it “You like threats.”

“Not before coffee.” “You like me before coffee.”

The kitchen froze. Ryujin’s spoon stopped midair. Lia looked down into her tea. Yeji looked between us. I looked at Yuna. For once, she did not hide behind the joke. The line had been playful. But the feeling underneath it was not. “Yes,” I said quietly. “I do.”  Yuna’s smile softened. Just for a second. Then Ryujin ruined the moment, naturally.

“Emotionally devastating breakfast.” Lia nodded “With cereal.” Yeji exhaled slowly “We need rules.” Ryujin perked up “Sex rules?” “Room rules,” Yeji corrected immediately. “Coward.” “Leader.” “Same thing sometimes.”

Yuna laughed softly at that, leaning her cheek against her hand as she looked around the island. For once, she did not look like she was trying to win the room, she looked like she was in it. Really in it. Not watching from the outside. Not poking at glass. Not trying to prove she belonged in a conversation everyone else already understood. Just sitting there, shoulder near mine, surrounded by the women who had seen too much, asked too much, laughed too hard, and still looked at her like she had not broken anything by wanting me too.

That seemed to hit her a second later. Her smile softened. Yeji noticed. Of course she did. Lia noticed too, because Lia always noticed quiet shifts before anyone else knew they had happened. Ryujin noticed and, somehow, made the rare heroic choice not to immediately weaponize it. Yuna looked down at her sleeve for half a second. Then she smiled again, smaller this time.

“This feels weird,” she said. Ryujin tilted her head “What does?” Yuna shrugged, trying to make it sound casual “Not being left out.”

The kitchen went quiet. Not painfully. Not dramatically. Just carefully. Like everyone heard the line and instinctively knew not to step on it too quickly. Yeji’s expression softened first. Lia’s fingers stilled around her tea. Ryujin’s spoon lowered by half an inch. I looked at Yuna. She looked back at me. For once, there was no challenge in it. Just honesty, standing there without armor. Then, because she was still Yuna and apparently allergic to sincerity lasting longer than two seconds, she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t make that face. I’m not being sad.” “You were being honest,” Lia said gently. Yuna grimaced “That’s worse.” Ryujin nodded solemnly “Honestly devastating breakfast.” “With cereal,” Lia added automatically. Yuna laughed at that, and the sound loosened the room again.

She leaned back slightly, eyes moving from Yeji to Ryujin to Lia, then finally toward the hallway “Anyway,” she said, almost too casually, “Chaeryeong is really missing out.” The silence that followed was instant. Yeji turned toward her. “What?” Yuna blinked. Then the realization hit her “Oh.” Lia set her tea down very slowly. Ryujin leaned forward. I stopped breathing. Yuna looked between all of them, her smile turning a little apologetic and a little amused at the same time.

“You didn’t know she knew.” Yeji’s voice came carefully “Chaeryeong knew?” Yuna pressed her lips together, then lifted one shoulder “Unnie, respectfully…” She glanced around the room “You were not subtle.” Ryujin stared “None of us?” “No.” Lia closed her eyes “Of course.”

Yuna pointed lightly toward Yeji “You and Ben were obvious in the way people are obvious when they think being quiet makes them invisible.” Yeji’s cheeks warmed.

Yuna pointed toward Ryujin next “You were obvious because you are physically incapable of not looking proud after causing problems.” Ryujin opened her mouth. Closed it. Then nodded “Fair.”

Yuna looked at me “And Ben was obvious because every time someone said my name, he started acting like he was managing a live explosive.” I stared at her “That is inaccurate.”

Lia looked at me “It is not.” Yeji took a sip of coffee “It really is not.” Ryujin grinned “Live explosive Yuna is a good nickname.” Yuna smiled sweetly “I accept.” I rubbed my forehead “Outstanding.”

Yeji set her cup down carefully “How much did Chaeryeong know?” Yuna looked back at her “Enough.”

“That is not an answer.” “It is the safest answer.”

Ryujin pointed between herself and Yuna “You and Chaeryeong talked?”

“Yes.” “About Ben?” “Yes.” “About us?”

Yuna hesitated. That was answer enough. Ryujin’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.” Yuna lifted both hands “Not everything.” Lia’s brows rose “Define not everything.” Yuna looked at me. Then at Yeji. Then at Ryujin. Then back at Lia “Well…”

I immediately stood “Nope.” Lia looked at me “Sit down.” “I suddenly remembered work.” “No, you didn’t,” Yeji said.

I looked at her. She looked back. Softly. Dangerously calm.

“Be a good boy.” The room went silent again. I sat back down. Ryujin whispered, “Leash.” Lia nodded once “Still active.”

Yeji’s face went pink. Yuna laughed, bright and fully awake now. I stared into my coffee and accepted defeat. Ryujin leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “So Chaeryeong knew about Yeji.” Yuna nodded. “And me?” “She had suspicions.” Ryujin looked offended “Suspicions?” Yuna gave her a look “Unnie, you came back from certain rooms looking like you had personally won a war.” Ryujin smiled “Okay, that one is correct, and also fair.” Yeji covered her face again. Lia looked toward the hallway, thoughtful now “And she knew about you?”

Yuna’s expression shifted. Not embarrassed. Not exactly. More like remembering “She knew I wanted to stop being outside it.” That quieted the room again. Yuna looked down at her sleeve, then continued before anyone could interrupt “She didn’t push me. She didn’t tell me to do anything. She just… knew. She said I was only pretending it was about making Ben lose control.”

I looked at her. Yuna glanced at me “She was right.” The words landed softly. Not as a confession. As a conclusion. Yeji watched her carefully. “And you didn’t tell us?” Yuna’s smile turned faintly sheepish

“You were all very busy pretending you were being subtle,” and Yuna continued “Besides it’s not like I could have walked up to Ben and ask him to take away my virginity that casually.” “Might have worked for Ryujin unnie—” “The hell does that even mean?” Ryujin felt betrayed, “Why am I catching strays?” “— but that would have still been too much of a high risk gamble, if I were to say”.

Ryujin snorted. Lia sighed. Yeji closed her eyes for a second. Yuna leaned back in her chair, looking far too pleased for someone who had just detonated the entire morning.

“Relax,” she said sweetly. “Chaeryeong kept your secrets better than you did.”

That landed harder than the joke around it. The room went quiet. Because suddenly, breakfast was no longer only about Yuna and me. It was about the quietest person on the Top Floor knowing more than everyone realized. The person who had watched, listen, and understood. And said nothing because maybe, in her own way, Chaeryeong had been waiting for someone else to stop being left out first. Ryujin slowly smiled.

“Well,” she said, picking up her cereal again. “This just got interesting.” “Ryujin” I looked at her. “What?” “Nothing.” “That sounded suspiciously meta.” “It was spiritually accurate.”

Yuna laughed, Yeji sighed, Lia reached for her tea, and I sat there, already exhausted, as the Top Floor shifted again around a truth none of us had bothered to notice until Yuna said it out loud. Chaeryeong knew.

The realization sat in the middle of the kitchen like an extra person at the table. For once, Ryujin did not immediately attack it. Yuna’s smile had softened into something smaller, almost careful now that the damage had been done. Lia stared into her tea like the answer to everyone’s collective lack of subtlety might be floating somewhere near the surface. Yeji only exhaled, like a leader realizing the meeting she had been avoiding had already started without her permission. I rubbed both hands over my face.

“Outstanding,” I muttered. Ryujin looked at me “What?” “I am starting to miss when the biggest problem on this floor was you threatening aegyo mutiny.” “That problem still exists.” “Wonderful.”

Before anyone could make it worse, a quiet sound came from the hallway. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just the soft shuffle of slippers against the floor. Everyone turned. Chaeryeong stood at the edge of the kitchen with a tray in her hands. Toast. Fruit. A small bowl of eggs. Because apparently, while the rest of us were busy detonating the emotional foundation of the Top Floor, Chaeryeong had been making breakfast. She stopped when she noticed all of us looking at her. Then her gaze moved to Yuna.

Yuna smiled awkwardly. Chaeryeong blinked once. Then sighed. “You told them? Yuna lifted one shoulder “Accidentally.” Ryujin pointed her spoon at her “That was not an accident. That was a controlled demolition.”

“It was emotional honesty.” “It was demolition with feelings.”

Chaeryeong looked between them, then set the tray carefully on the kitchen island. Far too calmly. That worried me more than if she had panicked. Yeji stood first “Chaeryeong.” Her voice had switched gears into leader mode.

Chaeryeong looked at her. Yeji hesitated for half a second, then continued “I’m sorry.” That made Chaeryeong’s expression shift. Not much but enough “For what?”

“For making you carry it alone,” Yeji said.

The room went quiet. That was the right sentence. Everyone felt it. Even Yuna, especially Yuna. Chaeryeong lowered her eyes briefly, her fingers brushing against the edge of the tray “I wasn’t carrying anything.”

“Chaer,” Yeji said softly. Chaeryeong looked up again. Yeji did not push. She only waited. That was probably why Chaeryeong answered. “I knew enough,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I didn’t know everything. I didn’t want to know everything. But I knew enough to understand that something was happening, and everyone was trying very hard to pretend it was not obvious.”

Ryujin slowly lowered her cereal box. Lia looked down. Yuna bit her lower lip. I said nothing. Because there was nothing useful I could say yet. Chaeryeong looked toward Yeji first. “You and Ben were obvious in the quiet way.” Yeji’s cheeks warmed slightly. Then Chaeryeong looked at Ryujin “You were obvious in the loud way.” Ryujin opened her mouth. Chaeryeong added, “It was louder when tried to be silent.” Ryujin closed her mouth. Yuna made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh. Chaeryeong looked at her next “And Yuna…” Yuna straightened. Chaeryeong’s expression softened. “You were obvious because you stopped teasing like it was a game.” Yuna did not answer immediately.

For once. That alone told me how hard the sentence had landed. Then Chaeryeong finally looked at me “And you were obvious because every time something changed, you tried to manage it like a schedule conflict.” Lia made a sound into her tea. Ryujin pointed at me “That is painfully accurate.” I looked at Chaeryeong “I feel attacked.”

“You should,” Lia said calmly. “Traitor.” “You earned it.”

Chaeryeong’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Yeji pulled out the stool beside her “Sit with us.” Chaeryeong glanced at the stool. Then at the tray. Then back at everyone “I was just bringing food.”

“Sit,” Yeji said again, softer this time. Not a command. An invitation. Chaeryeong hesitated at first then sat and somehow, that felt bigger than it should have. The kitchen settled around her. Not comfortably. Yuna leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry too.” Chaeryeong blinked at her. Yuna looked down at her sleeve. “I didn’t mean to throw you into it like that.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean…” Yuna exhaled. “You knew I wanted in before I even said it properly. And I still let everyone find out you knew by accident.” Chaeryeong studied her. Then nodded once “I wasn’t mad.” Yuna looked up. Chaeryeong’s voice softened “I was worried.” That shut Yuna up completely. Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted. Lia’s gaze moved between them. Yeji watched quietly. Chaeryeong continued “You were acting like you were only trying to provoke him. But you weren’t.” Yuna looked away “Yeah.”

“You wanted him to see you.” Yuna’s fingers curled against her sleeve “And last night?” Chaeryeong asked. Yuna looked back at her “He did,” Yuna said softly. Chaeryeong’s expression gentled “Good.” That one word did more than half the morning’s chaos had. It settled something. Not everything.

Ryujin, naturally, began to raise her spoon. Yeji looked at her “No.” Ryujin froze “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to ruin the moment.” “I was going to support it.” “With what?”

Ryujin paused then lowered the spoon “Actually, never mind.” Lia nodded “Growth.” Ryujin pointed at her “Do not document that.” “I already did.”

I exhaled slowly and leaned back against the counter. For the first time that morning, the room felt less like it was chasing a crisis and more like it had finally caught up to itself.

Then Lia set her tea down. “So what are we actually doing?” Everyone looked at her. Lia’s expression stayed calm. But her question had weight, a real question. Yeji’s posture shifted. Leader again. Yuna stopped playing with her sleeve. Ryujin went still, which was rare enough to concern me. Chaeryeong looked down at the island. I knew what Lia meant. We all did.

This was no longer about who knew what, or who crossed which line, or who had been pretending not to notice. This was about what happened next. Lia’s gaze moved to me “You can’t keep handling this like isolated incidents.” That one landed. I looked at her and she did not soften it “Yeji. Ryujin. Yuna. Chaeryeong knowing. Me knowing more than I say. The Top Floor. Waterbomb. JYP. John. Jihyo.” Her voice remained even “That is not a list of separate problems anymore.”

The room quieted again. I hated how right she was. Ryujin leaned back “So what is it?” Lia looked around the table “A system,” she said. Nobody spoke. “It’s becoming a system whether we admit it or not.” Yuna’s expression sharpened. Yeji’s eyes lowered to her cup. Chaeryeong held very still. I looked at Lia “And you think we need rules.”

“No,” Lia said. That surprised me. She glanced toward Yeji. “Rules make it sound like we can control everything if we write it neatly enough.” Yeji gave a faint smile “True.” Lia looked back at me “I think we need honesty before we need rules.”

That was worse. Because it was correct. Ryujin groaned softly.

“I hate when Lia says something mature. It makes me feel underdressed emotionally.” “You are eating cereal from a box,” I said. “Exactly. I’m not prepared for emotional governance.”

Yuna leaned her chin on her hand “So we admit things?” Yeji nodded slowly “I think we have to”. The room shifted enough that everyone knew the jokes had stepped aside. Yeji looked at me first. Not asking permission. Asking partnership. I nodded once. She took a breath.

“Then I’ll start.” Every eye moved to her. Yeji’s cheeks were still a little pink from earlier, but her voice was steady “Ben and I are together.” The sentence hit differently when said plainly. Not joked around or implied. Not protected by chaos— Together.

Yuna’s expression softened. Ryujin, for once, did not make a sound. Lia watched Yeji with something warm in her eyes. Chaeryeong looked down briefly, then back up. Yeji continued. “I don’t know exactly what that means for everyone else yet. But I know what he is to me.” Her hand moved under the counter. Finding mine. I felt it before anyone saw it.

“I love him,” she said quietly. “And I’m not going to pretend I don’t just because the situation is complicated.” The kitchen went still. My throat tightened. Yeji looked at me. Then, with terrible timing and perfect cruelty, Ryujin whispered “Emotionally devastating breakfast, part two.”

Lia closed her eyes. Yuna made a tiny laugh. Chaeryeong’s mouth twitched again. Yeji sighed “Ryujin.”

“What? I waited.” “You did,” Lia admitted. “That was restraint.” Ryujin nodded proudly “I am maturing.” “No,” Yuna said. “Fair.”

The tension cracked just enough to breathe. Then Ryujin leaned forward “My turn?” Yeji looked wary “Carefully”. Ryujin grinned “Ben and I have a dynamic”. Lia stared into her tea “That is one word for it.”

“It is the safest word.” Yuna nodded “Very restrained.” “Thank you.”

I looked at Ryujin. She looked back at me. Her grin softened by a fraction “And despite my reputation, I know what Yeji is to him.” That surprised me. Ryujin did not look away “I’m not trying to take that”. The room quieted. Yeji’s expression shifted. Ryujin shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with her own sincerity “I like what I have with him. I want more of it. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Lia murmured.

“But I’m not confused,” Ryujin continued. “I know the difference between wanting him and wanting to be her.”

Yuna’s eyes flicked to Yeji. Then to Ben. Then down. That one mattered to her too. Yeji looked at Ryujin for a long moment then nodded “Thank you.” Ryujin immediately leaned back “Great. I was emotionally mature for eleven seconds. Someone praise me.”

“No,” Lia said. “Cruel.”

Yuna lifted her hand slightly “My turn?” The room looked at her. Yuna’s confidence did not vanish. But it changed shape “I don’t want to be outside anymore.” Her voice stayed steady “I don’t want to compete with Yeji unnie. I don’t want to pretend I only teased Ben because it was funny. And I don’t want everyone treating me like I tripped into this.” She glanced at me “I chose it”. Then at Yeji “And I know what I’m choosing around.”

Yeji’s gaze softened. Yuna swallowed once. “I’m okay with not being first.” The sentence landed quietly. Harder than expected “But I don’t want to feel like I’m hidden because I came later.” Nobody spoke. I felt that one in my chest. Because I knew exactly where it came from. Yeji reached across the island. Yuna looked at her hand and then took it “You’re not hidden,” Yeji said. Yuna’s smile shook for half a second. Then recovered “Good.”

Ryujin sniffed dramatically “That was almost wholesome.” “It was wholesome,” Lia said. “I know. I’m uncomfortable.”

Chaeryeong looked at them, then finally spoke “I don’t know where I stand yet.” Everyone turned to her. She looked uncomfortable with the attention, but she continued anyway. “I know things. I understand more than I probably should. But knowing is different from being ready.” That sentence held the entire room in place. Yeji nodded “You don’t have to be ready.” Chaeryeong looked relieved. Just a little.

My chest loosened. That had been the fear that this conversation would turn into momentum. That Chaeryeong would feel dragged forward just because everyone else had finally stopped hiding. Lia looked at her gently.

“You’re allowed to just know” Chaeryeong nodded “Thank you.” Ryujin leaned back, softer now. “So Chaeryeong and Lia gets the observer status.” Yuna brightened “With premium access.” I looked at her “No.” “What?” “No premium access.” Yuna smiled “Worth a try.”

Chaeryeong laughed. Quiet. Small. But real. That laugh did more for the room than any official rule could have. Then Lia spoke again “I’m not ready either.” The room shifted, this time toward her. Lia held her tea with both hands. Her gaze did not go to me immediately. It stayed on the cup “I care about Ben,” she said softly my breath slowed “I think everyone knows that by now.”

Yuna nodded carefully. Ryujin did not joke. Yeji watched Lia with quiet understanding. Lia’s fingers tightened around the cup “But I am still figuring out what kind of courage that requires from me.” That was Lia, a careful admission placed gently in the center of the table. Not denial nor was it surrender.

I wanted to say something. I did not. Not yet. This was hers. Yeji spoke for the room “That’s okay” Lia looked up. Yeji smiled faintly. “We’re not asking you to rush.” Lia’s shoulders eased “Thank you.” Ryujin looked around slowly “So, to summarize…”

“Absolutely not.” Lia said immediately.

Ryujin ignored her “Yeji is emotionally married. I am chaos with benefits. Yuna is newly promoted from live explosive to acknowledged live explosive. Chaeryeong has premium observer status. Lia is slow-burn royalty. Ben is overworked, underpaid, and apparently enjoys being leashed.”

The silence lasted one second. Then Yuna burst out laughing. Chaeryeong covered her mouth. Lia sighed like she hated that the summary was almost useful. Yeji turned bright red. I stared at Ryujin “I regret everything.”

“No you don’t.” “I regret enough.”

Yeji squeezed my hand under the counter. Softly. A reminder. A warning. A comfort— all three, probably. The laughter faded slowly. And when it did, the room felt different… less dishonest. That was probably the best we could ask for.

Then Lia looked around the Top Floor. Her gaze moved from the kitchen to the lounge, to the hallway, to the windows overlooking the city “This place helps,” she said. Everyone followed her gaze “But it’s still attached to everything.” Yeji’s expression shifted “What do you mean?” Lia exhaled softly.

“The company still exists. We are still idols—” “Dysfunctional Idols” Ryujin corrected. “—Schedules are still on the phones. Staff can still call. Security can still report. We can rest here, but we’re not away.”

That landed. Because after Waterbomb, after JYP, after everything, she was right. The Top Floor had become a sanctuary, but also a pressure cooker. A beautifully expensive one, still a pressure cooker.

Yuna leaned back “So what? We run away?” Ryujin smiled “I vote yes to running away and having a fantasy harem.” Chaeryeong blinked “You always vote yes to running away.” “I am consistent.” Ryujin pointed out.

Yeji looked at me. That was the problem. Everyone eventually looked at me. I stared into my coffee “No.” Ryujin frowned “What do you mean no? Who doesn’t want a personal harem?”

“I mean no, do not look at me like that.” Yuna tilted her head “Like what?” “Like I am supposed to solve this.” Lia’s eyebrow lifted “You usually do.” “That is not helping.” Yeji squeezed my hand again “Ben.”

I looked at her. She was not teasing now. Neither was Lia. Neither was Chaeryeong. Even Yuna had gone quiet. Ryujin was watching me too, surprisingly serious. Yeji’s voice softened “Maybe this time you don’t solve it alone.”

That sat in my chest. Uncomfortably… I looked around the kitchen, at Yeji… Ryujin… Lia… Yuna… Chaeryeong. All of them tired in different ways. All of them pretending better than most people would ever notice. But I noticed and that was the whole problem. I noticed too much to ignore it. And not enough to fix it from inside the same walls. I exhaled slowly “We need out.”

Ryujin’s eyes lit up “Yes.” I pointed at her “No, not like that. No harems.” Her eyes dimmed “Cruel.”

I continued.

“Not away from each other. Away from the pressure.” Lia looked at me carefully “A break?” “A real one,” I said. “No company building. No staff wandering nearby. No fans. No cameras. No pretending this floor is enough because it is expensive.”

Yuna’s expression changed first. Hope. Fast and bright before she could hide it. Chaeryeong looked uncertain. Yeji looked worried. Lia looked thoughtful. Ryujin looked like she was already packing mentally. I lifted one hand “I’m not saying we just disappear.”

“That is exactly what a rich person says before disappearing,” Lia said. “She’s right,” Yuna added.

I ignored them.

“It would need cover. Proper cover. Something JYP can approve publicly. Something that doesn’t look like me kidnapping ITZY into a private resort.”

Ryujin tilted her head “Are you kidnapping us into a private resort?” “No. Kidnapping would imply unwilling to go… and Ryujin is clearly willing to go.” “Would snacks be provided?” “Yes.” “I consent.” “Ryujin.” “What? I’m helping.” Chaeryeong’s voice came softer “A vacation?” “Recovery leave,” I corrected. Yuna smiled “That sounds like vacation said by someone afraid of HR.” “It is vacation with paperwork.” Yeji’s eyes narrowed slightly “Paperwork?” I paused. A cold feeling went through me “No.” Lia blinked “No what?” “I just said paperwork.” Ryujin stared “And?” “And somewhere in Seoul, Park Jihyo probably felt a disturbance.”

Yeji covered her mouth. Yuna started laughing. Lia sighed “That is oddly believable.” I stood “I’m calling John.” Ryujin pointed at me “See? He is solving it.”

“I am delegating.” “That is just solving it with extra steps.”

I walked toward the lounge before anyone could stop me. Unfortunately, everyone followed. Of course they did. I pulled out my phone and called John. He answered on the fourth ring. Which was suspicious “Why the fuck are you calling me this early?” John asked.

“No greeting? That’s no way to talk to your best buddy” “You only call early when rich-person nonsense is about to happen.”

I looked at the phone. Then at the five women now gathered around me like a live studio audience.

“I need advice.” John went silent, then “Oh God.” “Relax. No one is pregnant or dying.” “No, that’s my shtick. When you sound like this, someone’s net worth gets involved.” Ryujin whispered, “He knows you well.” I ignored her “I need Jihyo on the phone.”

John went even more silent. Then his voice dropped “What did you do?” “I did not do anything.” All five of the girls looked at me, I sighed. “Recently.” John groaned “Ben.” “It’s about ITZY.”

That changed the air on the call. John’s voice sharpened “Are they okay?” I glanced back at them. Yeji’s face softened. Yuna looked down. Ryujin’s mouth tightened. Lia watched me carefully. Chaeryeong held herself still. “They’re functioning,” I said. John understood immediately. “That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” I said quietly. “It isn’t” the room went silent. John did not speak for a moment. Then his voice softened “I’ll get Jihyo.” There was muffled movement on the other end. A door opening. John saying something too quietly for us to catch. Then another voice entered the call. Calm. Alert. Dangerous “Ben?”

It was Jihyo.

I closed my eyes. Of course her voice alone made this feel like a meeting. “Sorry for calling suddenly.”

“No, you’re not.”

I opened my eyes. Ryujin mouthed, accurate. I waved her off. Jihyo continued “What happened?” I looked toward Yeji, then the others, then back out the window “Waterbomb happened,” I said. “Then everything after it happened. And now the Top Floor is starting to feel less like recovery and more like containment.”

Nobody spoke. Not in the room. Not on the phone. Jihyo understood too quickly. That was the problem with her, she always did “You want to take them somewhere.”

“Yes.” “How long?” “A week, at least.”

John coughed. Jihyo went silent. Ryujin’s eyes widened with delight. Yuna whispered, “A week?” Chaeryeong looked startled “At least?” Lia looked like she was already calculating the consequences. Yeji only watched me. Jihyo finally spoke “A week is not a break, Ben. A week is a scheduling incident.”

“I know.” “Do you?” “Yes.”

John muttered something in the background. It sounded like, “Here we go.” Jihyo ignored him “What exactly are you proposing?”

“A private recovery leave,” I said. “No cameras. No public resort. Controlled location. Full privacy. Medical access nearby. Security handled. Schedule disruption compensated. Staff covered. Company inconvenience handled.” Jihyo was quiet. Then she said “You have already calculated this.”

“Yes.” John sighed loudly “Of course he has!” Jihyo’s voice sharpened “And you are calling me because you know JYP will not approve this if it only comes from you.”

“Yes.” “Good. At least you are self-aware.”

Ryujin whispered, “She’s scary.” Yeji whispered back, “Yes.” Jihyo continued “If this happens, it needs cover.”

“I know.” “It cannot look like manager Sung Benjamin took ITZY away because he decided money solves emotional strain.” I looked down. The room went very still. Jihyo’s voice softened by one degree “I am not saying that is what you are doing.”

“I know.” “But that is how it can look.” “I know.”

She exhaled “Then it needs to be something else.” John’s voice came closer to the phone “A senior-junior wellness retreat” Jihyo paused. Then hummed “That could work.” I frowned “What?” John sounded smug now “TWICE and ITZY. Company-approved bonding. Recovery. Mentorship. Privacy. Very wholesome. Very public-friendly.” Ryujin’s mouth dropped open. Yuna’s eyes lit up like someone had handed her fireworks. Lia closed her eyes. Chaeryeong looked terrified and curious at the same time. Yeji slowly turned toward me. I did not like her expression. Jihyo spoke again, thoughtful now.

“If TWICE is involved, JYP has a cleaner reason to approve it.” I stared at the phone “Hold on.” John ignored me “And if Mina helps with location privacy, the rich-people problem becomes less obviously Ben-shaped.”

“Hold on,” I repeated. Jihyo’s tone shifted. Not quite amusement but close to it “Mina would be useful.” That was when I realized the conversation had escaped me. This was no longer my idea. This was a Jihyo operation. Which meant I had lost control approximately thirty seconds ago.

“Jihyo,” I said carefully. “Yes?” “This was supposed to be advice.” “And I am advising.” “No, you are expanding.” “Good advice expands when the original plan is insufficient.”

John laughed. I glared at the phone. Yuna whispered, “I like her.” Yeji nodded faintly “You would.” Jihyo continued “Also…” Something in her voice changed, a smile I could not see but definitely feel. My spine went cold “Well,” Jihyo said, “I guess this is the perfect time to cash in on your promise.” I froze “What promise?” John sighed through the phone “Oh no.” Jihyo’s smile was audible now “You said TWICE could visit the Top Floor.”

The room went very still. Ryujin slowly turned toward me. Yuna’s eyes lit up in pure, dangerous joy. Lia closed her eyes like she was already exhausted. Chaeryeong looked between all of us, deeply concerned. Yeji stared at me like she was calculating the exact moment I had doomed us. I swallowed “How many of you?” Jihyo laughed “All of us.” John added, “For the record, I tried to stop this.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jihyo said. “No, I didn’t.”

I stared out at the city. The Top Floor suddenly felt much smaller. Behind me, Ryujin whispered, “TWICE is coming here?” Yuna whispered back, “All of TWICE.” Lia murmured, “This is going to be a disaster.” Chaeryeong added “We have to buy a lot of food now.” Yeji only looked at me. Softly. Sympathetically. And I realized, far too late, that I had once again given Park Jihyo access to a door I should have kept locked. Jihyo’s voice came through the speaker again, bright and decisive.

“We’ll be there this afternoon.” The call ended. I lowered the phone slowly. No one spoke. Then Ryujin picked up her cereal box. “So,” she said, “do we clean, or do we prepare emotionally?” Lia looked around the room “Both.” Yuna smiled “I vote we hide embarrassing things.” Yeji looked at me “Ben.” I closed my eyes “Yes?”

Yeji had left my room before the rest of the Top Floor fully woke up, soft enough that nobody heard the door open except me. She paused once before stepping out, turned back, smiled sleepily, gave me a kiss, and then disappeared down the hallway like she hadn’t just ruined my ability to emotionally function for the rest of the week. Outstanding progression, actually.

By the time everyone gathered later that morning, the Top Floor had already returned to its usual rhythm.

Yuna was loudly complaining about how her body still felt “luxury sick” from yesterday’s spa day. Chaeryeong was making breakfast quietly while pretending not to smile at Yuna’s dramatics. Lia looked significantly more alive after finally sleeping properly, and Ryujin was sprawled sideways on the couch scrolling through her phone like someone who had never caused a single problem in her entire life— which was objectively false.

Meanwhile Yeji walked in last, hair tied loosely, wearing a hoodie that definitely wasn’t hers.

Nobody noticed or at least, nobody said anything. I noticed though. Unfortunately, so did Lia. She took one look at Yeji, then at me, then calmly lifted her coffee. No words. Just judgment.

I stared back at her. She smiled into the cup.

A few days passed like that. Normal on the surface. Schedules resumed. Waterbomb Festival preparations started creeping closer. The Top Floor shifted back into movement again—stylists calling, managers texting, rehearsal clips getting reviewed, stage notes being revised, staff asking impossible questions at inconvenient hours.

And underneath all of that? Things had changed.

Yeji had become better at finding me when nobody was looking. A hand brushing mine in the hallway. A quiet smile from across the room. The kind of small affection that somehow felt more dangerous than anything obvious.

Ryujin, meanwhile, remained Ryujin. Which meant she had somehow become even more unbearable. “You’re walking funny,” she muttered one afternoon while passing behind me in the kitchen. I slowly turned toward her. “Do not start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were spiritually saying something.”

Ryujin only grinned before stealing a piece of fruit from the counter and walking away like a criminal with diplomatic immunity. Lia became quieter around me too, though not distant. If anything, she had started settling into my space more naturally. She would sit near me while reviewing lyrics, leave tea beside my laptop without saying anything, or ask if I had eaten in that calm voice that made lying feel physically impossible.

Chaeryeong had started doing something similar, though softer. Less direct. She lingered more. Asked small questions. Smiled easier when I answered. And Yuna— Yuna was becoming a problem.

At first, I thought it was accidental. Which was adorable of me. The first time it happened, I was in the private gym late at night, trying to burn off enough stress to make my brain stop narrating every emotionally catastrophic decision I had made recently. Headphones on. Treadmill off. Weights finished. I was halfway through cooling down when the door opened.

Yuna walked in wearing an oversized shirt that slipped loosely off one shoulder and shorts small enough to make me immediately look at the ceiling like it owed me moral guidance. “Oh,” she said casually. “You’re here.”

“That does appear to be the case.”

She tilted her head, amused already.

“Why do you sound guilty?” “I don’t.” “You absolutely do.”

I reached for my towel and immediately pretended wiping sweat from my neck required intense concentration. Yuna didn’t seem to notice at first. Or maybe she did and simply chose not to mention it yet. She walked over to the dumbbell rack, picked up a weight, then frowned at her reflection in the mirror.

“Ben.” “That tone sounds dangerous.” “I need help.” “With what?” “My form.”

Right. Professional request. Completely normal. Manager-adjacent wellness support. Nothing spiritually hazardous about this situation whatsoever.

“What exercise?” “RDLs,” she said, turning slightly toward me. “I think I’m doing them wrong.”

I nodded once, immediately forcing my brain into work mode.

“Okay. Show me.”

Yuna positioned herself in front of the mirror, holding the dumbbells loosely at her sides. Her first attempt wasn’t terrible, but her back rounded slightly at the bottom and her knees bent too much.

I stepped closer automatically. “Not bad, but hinge more from your hips. Less squat.” She glanced at me through the mirror. “Show me?” That should not have sounded loaded. Yet it absolutely did. I moved beside her and demonstrated the motion once.

“Like this. Hips back, spine neutral, keep the weights close. You should feel it here.” I gestured toward the back of my leg. Yuna tried again. Better. Still slightly off. I exhaled quietly before stepping behind her, keeping enough distance to remain professional. “Can I adjust?” She looked at me through the mirror again. A beat too long. Then smiled.

“Go ahead.”

I placed one hand lightly near her upper back to correct posture and the other near her side to guide the hinge. Yuna followed the movement carefully, and for a moment, it was genuinely normal. Then she looked at me in the mirror. Noticing my focus. Noticing how quickly I pulled my hand away once the correction was done. And smiled a little differently.

Ah.

There it was. The exact moment something clicked in her head.

“Like that?” she asked. “Better,” I replied, reaching for my towel again too quickly. Yuna’s smile widened. “Why are you standing so far away now?”

“I’m giving you room to move.” “That sounds professional.” “It is professional.” “Sure.”

I looked at her. She looked back at me. Still smiling. And for the first time, I realized Yuna wasn’t just playing around anymore. She was testing something. And unfortunately— I had just given her results.

After that, things started happening in smaller ways. Nothing dramatic enough to confront her over. Nothing obvious enough to accuse her of anything. Just little incidents that honestly made it worse.

The first happened two nights later, after I used the recovery room connected to the private gym. Technically, it was less of a room and more of an overfunded wellness corner—compression machines, heated massage beds, automated recovery chairs, therapy mats, and enough expensive equipment to convince rich people they had invented muscle relief. I had finished using one of the massage beds and stepped out without thinking.

Which was my first mistake.

Because the recovery room was private enough that I had not bothered putting on a shirt yet. My towel hung loosely around my neck, sweat still cooling across my chest and shoulders while the ink across my arm and upper body remained fully visible under the hallway lights. And naturally— Yuna was standing right outside.

We both stopped. For a second, neither of us said anything. Her eyes dropped first. Not low. Not vulgar. Just enough to trace the tattoos she had probably only ever seen in fragments before—black lines disappearing beneath my shoulder, the ink along my arm, the pieces usually hidden under tailored shirts and manager jackets. Then slowly, her gaze returned to mine.

“…You have tattoos.” “You make it sound like I am a mafia boss.” “It was observational.” “Your observations have become increasingly dangerous recently.”

Yuna didn’t answer immediately. She leaned one shoulder against the wall instead, her eyes flicking briefly toward the ink again before the corner of her mouth curved upward.

“I didn’t know you were hiding all that under your boring manager clothes.” “They’re not boring. They’re professional.” “They’re boring.” “That feels unnecessarily aggressive.”

She smiled wider “They suit you”. That landed harder than it should have. Mostly because she did not say it like a joke. She said it like she had just discovered something useful. I reached immediately for the robe hanging beside the recovery room door. Yuna noticed the speed. Of course she noticed the speed.

“You’re covering up already?” “I’m cold.” “It’s June.” “The air conditioning is aggressive.” “Sure.”

I slipped the robe on and walked past her before the conversation could develop teeth. Unfortunately, right as I passed, Yuna glanced once more at my arm. Then murmured “You look different like that.” I stopped for half a second. When I looked back, she was already smiling. Not loudly. Not obviously. Just enough to let me know she had caught the pause.

The second incident happened the following morning.

I was walking through the hallway answering emails on my phone, which in hindsight was deeply irresponsible because multitasking around the Top Floor had become increasingly unsafe. Then one of the bathroom doors opened. Yuna stepped out with damp hair, skin still warm from the shower, wearing an oversized robe tied far too loosely at the waist.

Completely normal, innocent— absolutely catastrophic. I looked down at my phone immediately. Too quickly. Terrible mistake.

“…Did you just pretend to read an email to avoid looking at me?” “I was already reading an email.” “You walked into the wall.”

I slowly looked toward the wall beside me. Unfortunately, evidence existed. Yuna pressed her lips together like she was fighting laughter.

“That wall wasn’t there yesterday,” I muttered. “It was definitely there yesterday.” “Poor architectural planning.” “Uh huh.”

Then she stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough for the scent of shampoo and warm steam to reach me. She tilted her head slightly, watching my face with growing interest.

“You know,” she said lightly, “you’re very committed to not looking.” “That sounds like a compliment.” “It wasn’t.” “Then I’m emotionally rejecting it.”

Yuna’s smile sharpened. Then slowly—deliberately—she loosened one hand from her towel and adjusted the robe just enough for me to see the curvature for her breasts underneath the loose fabric. Not enough to be accidental. Definitely enough to be a threat. My hand immediately came up over my eyes “Nope, absolutely not.”

Yuna laughed. Actually laughed “Oh my God,” she said, voice full of disbelief. “You really covered your eyes.” “I am preserving workplace stability.” “You’re being dramatic.” “You are trying something with your manager in a hallway.” “I didn’t even show you anything.” “Spiritually, you were about to.”

That made her laugh harder. Meanwhile I kept my hand over my eyes because apparently dignity had become a defensive strategy. Then I felt her step past me, close enough that her sleeve brushed lightly against my arm. “Relax, Ben,” she said sweetly. “I was just checking something.”

My entire nervous system filed a complaint. When I finally lowered my hand, Yuna was already walking away. Still smiling. And I had the very uncomfortable realization that she was no longer wondering if she affected me. Now she was learning how much.

By the time the breakfast happened, I had already accepted one unfortunate truth. Yuna was no longer accidentally testing me. She knew. Maybe something, but definitely not enough to understand the full emotional disaster operating underneath the Top Floor.

But she knew enough. She knew I reacted. And now she was starting to enjoy making me prove it. Breakfast itself should have been harmless. Which was exactly why it became dangerous.

Yeji sat beside Lia, quietly nursing coffee while looking far too composed for someone who kept finding increasingly subtle ways to exist inside my personal space lately. Lia noticed. I noticed Lia noticing. Yeji noticed both of us noticing and chose peace through silence.

Ryujin was eating cereal directly from the box because civilization had failed her somewhere in childhood.

Yuna sat across from me looking entirely too comfortable in loose lounge clothes, one leg tucked under her on the chair while she scrolled through her phone.

Chaeryeong was the only person acting like a functioning adult. Naturally, she was also the first one to bring up something actually important. “Ben?”

I looked up immediately. “That tone sounds like you’re about to ask me for something and feel bad about it.” Chaeryeong blinked. “…That was weirdly accurate.”

“Occupational hazard.”

She smiled faintly before setting her cup down. “It’s about my YouTube series.” That caught my attention properly. “The cooking one?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, fingers lightly touching the edge of her mug. “There are a few recordings coming up, and the schedule is getting a little messy because of Waterbomb prep. I was wondering if you could help me coordinate it.”

“Of course.”

The answer came out immediately. Chaeryeong paused like she expected at least one complication first. I was already reaching for my tablet. “Send me the tentative dates. I’ll move what can be moved and block recovery time after recording.” Her expression softened slightly. “You don’t have to do all that.” “It’s literally my job.” “Still.”

I looked at her over the tablet. “Chaeryeong, if it matters to you, it goes on the schedule properly.” That made her quiet. Not sad. Just affected in that subtle way she always tried to hide.

Lia took one slow sip of coffee like she had just witnessed something emotionally important and decided not to say anything. Ryujin, unfortunately, had never respected emotional silence in her life. “Wow,” she muttered.

“That was dangerously competent.” “Try not to sound shocked.” “I’m always shocked when you behave like a real manager.” “That sounds insulting.” “That sounds accurate.”

Chaeryeong laughed softly, finally relaxing enough to take a bite of food. Then naturally Yuna chose chaos. “So,” she said casually, leaning forward across the table, “does that mean you’ll make room for my gym time too?” I looked toward her. Mistake.

Her shirt had slipped slightly off one shoulder again, exposing just enough skin to make my thoughts pause before professionalism violently dragged them back into formation. Yuna noticed. Of course she noticed.

Her smile changed by half a degree. Not enough for Chaeryeong to catch. Enough for me to know I was in danger. “You said my form needed work, right?” she continued innocently. I cleared my throat once and looked back down at the tablet.

“It does.” “Then you should help me more.” “I can schedule a trainer.”

Yuna tilted her head. “I asked you.” The table went slightly quieter. Yeji kept drinking her coffee like nothing was happening. Lia looked into her mug with the expression of someone watching a slow-motion accident. Ryujin’s grin widened. Outstanding. Audience participation from Problem Child #1.

I kept my focus on Chaeryeong’s schedule because I refused to reward emotional terrorism before breakfast. “I’ll help after Waterbomb rehearsals if there’s time,” I said evenly. “But right now we’re fixing Chaeryeong’s shoot schedule.” For one second, something flickered across Yuna’s face. It wasn’t anger, more of an interest. Because I had reacted. But I had not folded.

Apparently that was worse. Yuna leaned back slowly, smiling into her drink. “Okay,” she said lightly. “I can wait.” That sentence should not have sounded threatening. And yet somehow, it absolutely did. Chaeryeong glanced between us, mildly confused, while Ryujin immediately looked like she had just discovered premium entertainment. I stared harder at the tablet.

Professionalism. Schedule blocks. YouTube shoot logistics. Normal thoughts.

Unfortunately, across the table, Yuna was still smiling. And I had the very uncomfortable feeling that waiting had just become part of the game.

After breakfast, Yuna became worse. Not immediately. That would have been merciful. Instead, she became worse in the specific way only Yuna could—  slowly, playfully, and with just enough plausible innocence that calling her out would make me look insane.

The first time was during rehearsal review.

Everyone had gathered in the common area while one of the Waterbomb practice clips played on the television. Chaeryeong sat cross-legged on the floor taking notes seriously, Lia leaned against the couch with tea in hand, Yeji watched quietly beside me, and Ryujin had somehow decided lying sideways across the armrest counted as proper seating.

Yuna stood in front of the TV, watching herself in the footage with a slight frown.

“Pause there,” she said suddenly. I tapped the remote. The screen froze mid-choreography. Yuna stepped closer to the television, studying the angle. “My line looks weird there.” “It doesn’t,” Chaeryeong said immediately. “It does a little,” Yuna replied, tilting her head. “It’s the camera angle,” I said, looking down at the tablet. “You’re fine. The movement reads better from the center cam.”

Yuna turned toward me “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” She smiled faintly. “Because you were watching carefully?” The room stayed normal. Mostly. But Ryujin’s eyes immediately flicked toward me like a predator hearing a leaf snap. I kept my expression completely neutral.

“I was reviewing performance footage.” “That sounds professional.” “It is professional.”

Yuna hummed, clearly unconvinced, then turned back toward the screen. “Okay,” she said lightly. “As long as you were looking properly.” That should not have sounded like a challenge. Unfortunately, it did. Beside me, Yeji quietly lifted her cup. No reaction. No comment. Just coffee. Which somehow felt worse.

The second time happened later that evening. I was in the kitchen making coffee because apparently sleep had become more of a theory than a practice lately. The Top Floor had settled into one of those rare quiet pockets between schedules where everyone existed in different rooms without actively committing emotional crimes. Then Yuna walked in. Oversized shirt again. One shoulder bare again. Tiny shorts again. At this point I was beginning to suspect that even the laundry had personally betrayed me. She opened the fridge, leaned down to look inside, then glanced back toward me.

“Ben.” “No.” “You don’t even know what I’m asking.” “That’s because your voice already sounded expensive.”

Yuna laughed softly before pulling out a bottle of water.

“I was just going to ask if you had time tomorrow.” “For training?” “For form correction,” she said innocently. “Those are the same thing.” “Not really.” “They are absolutely the same thing.”

She stepped closer, twisting the cap off the bottle.

“Then why do you look nervous?” “I don’t.” “You do.” “I look tired.” “You always look tired.” “That is both rude and accurate.”

Yuna smiled while taking a sip of water. Then, without any warning, she reached past me toward the cabinet above my shoulder. She could have gone around me. She did not.

Instead, she moved close enough that I had to lean back slightly against the counter to avoid contact. Her arm brushed near my shoulder. Her hair, still faintly damp from earlier, carried the clean scent of shampoo. I stared straight ahead. Very professionally. Very bravely. A hostage in that scenario.

Yuna pulled down a glass she absolutely did not need because she was already holding a bottle of water. Then she looked at me.

“You’re doing it again.” “Doing what?” “Not looking.”

I slowly turned my head toward her. She was closer than expected. Not crossing any actual line. Just close enough to make the air feel thinner.

“I’m looking now.” Yuna’s smile softened into something sharper. “Not really.” Then she stepped back like nothing happened and filled the glass with water she also did not need. Unfortunately, survival did not feel like victory when Yuna left the kitchen smiling like she had just won something.

The third time was the clearest. It happened during another private gym session two nights later. This time, Yuna did not pretend to stumble into the gym by accident. She knocked once, opened the door, and walked in like she had every right to be there. Which, technically, she did. That was the problem with shared private spaces. They were private. But not mine.

I was stretching near the mats when she entered wearing fitted training clothes this time instead of loose lounge wear. More practical. Less accidental. Somehow worse. “I need help again,” she said. “Waterbomb really made all of you discover fitness at the worst possible time.” Yuna smiled.

“You said my form needed work.” “I regret saying many things.” “Too late.”

She moved to the center of the mat and started warming up. For a few minutes, it was genuinely fine. Professional even. I corrected her hinge again, adjusted her foot placement, had her slow down through the movement. Then she started making mistakes on purpose.

A shoulder rolling forward just enough that I had to correct it. A hip shifting out of alignment. A stance slightly too narrow. The third time I stepped in, I paused.

Yuna looked at me through the mirror. “What?” “You know what you’re doing.”

Her eyes widened slightly, fake innocence arriving half a second too late. “I’m exercising.” “You’re fishing for corrections.” “That sounds like an accusation.” “It is.”

Yuna turned around slowly. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then she smiled. Not sweetly this time. Knowingly. “So you noticed.” I exhaled through my nose, already regretting every decision that led to this conversation “Yuna”.

“What?” she asked, stepping a little closer. “I’m just trying to learn properly.” “You learned properly twenty minutes ago.” “Maybe I like being taught.”

That landed. Harder than it should have. I looked away immediately. Another mistake because Yuna saw it. Her smile shifted again, turning quieter. More curious than triumphant.

“You really do that every time.” “Do what?” “Look away when something works.”

I turned back toward her, keeping my face as neutral as possible. “Nothing is working.” Yuna stepped closer. Not enough to corner me. But enough to make the gym feel smaller. “Then why do you keep acting like I’m dangerous?” I had no immediate answer. That was also a mistake. Yuna’s eyes flickered with satisfaction. There it was again. A result.

“See?” she murmured. I finally straightened. “Training is done.” She laughed softly. “Because my form is good now?” “Because your behavior is becoming suspicious.”

Yuna tilted her head. “Suspicious how?” “Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.”

Her smile widened. Then she picked up her towel and walked toward the door, pausing just before leaving. “Okay,” she said lightly. “I’ll behave.” That sentence should have been comforting. It was not. Because before the door closed behind her, she glanced back once.

“And Ben?” I looked at her despite every survival instinct telling me not to. She smiled. “Your reactions are getting worse.” Then she left. I stood alone in the gym afterward, staring at the closed door. Yuna was no longer poking the bear. She was checking where the cage locks were.

The next incident was not subtle. Which, honestly, should have been expected. Yuna had never been the type to keep poking on something forever without eventually wanting to see what happened when she pushed properly.

It happened on the morning of the final Waterbomb wardrobe approval. The stylists had dropped off multiple sets of clothes of the building, which meant every member was fitting separately in different rooms while the staff briefing me of the logistics and criteria of the outfits, what was definitely not allowed, and what was approved, et cetera.

Naturally, since I had been handed the final approval list, it meant I had to screen each of their outfits before sending it out to the team to prepare accordingly. Outstanding. One by one, I had to check the outfits beforehand in order for the team to move forwarded to event planning and the executive side for final clearance.

Professional work. Normal work. Extremely survivable work. Then Yuna found me near the elevator.

She was not in her outfit yet. Not fully. She still wore a loose zip-up over whatever the stylists had given her underneath, hair already done, makeup mostly finished, looking entirely too pleased for someone who should have been waiting in her room.

I stopped walking. “…Why are you standing there like a final boss?” Yuna smiled. “Because you keep avoiding me.” “That sounds emotionally fabricated.” “It sounds accurate.”

I adjusted the folder under my arm and reached for the elevator button. Yuna stepped in front of it. Not dramatically. Just enough. “Yuna.”

“What?” “I have five outfit checks to do.” “I know.” “That means moving away from the elevator button would help the process.” She leaned back against the wall beside it instead, arms folding loosely as her smile sharpened. “You’re nervous.” “I’m working.” “You always say that when you’re nervous.” “That’s because I’m usually working while being nervous.” “Because of me?”

Fantastic. I stared at her for one second too long. Yuna noticed immediately. Her smile softened into something far more dangerous than smugness. It was confirmation.

“You really are easy to read when you stop talking.” “I’m not easy to read.” “You are with me.”

That landed harder than it should have. I looked away. Another mistake. Because Yuna stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that I could smell the faint sweetness of her shampoo and whatever expensive product the stylists had used in her hair “You know,” she murmured, quieter now, “fans look at me all the time.”

I glanced back toward her despite myself. Yuna’s expression had changed. Still playful. But more focused now. “I know what that looks like,” she continued. “The staring. The pretending not to stare. The way people act like looking away makes them respectful.” She tilted her head slightly. “But you’re different.” My throat felt suddenly dry. “Yuna…” “You look away like it costs you something.”

That shut me up. Unfortunately, silence had become her favorite weapon. She stepped aside at last, letting me reach the elevator button. But before I could press it, she leaned closer, voice light again “So make sure you look properly later”. I froze. Yuna smiled sweetly. “My outfit needs approval, right?”

Professionalism attempted to stand. It was immediately shot in the leg. “Yes,” I managed. “Good.” Then the elevator doors opened behind her. Yuna stepped back, finally letting me pass. But as I entered, she looked at me one last time “And Ben?” I turned despite every survival instinct telling me not to. Her smile widened. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to.”

The doors closed before I could answer. For several seconds, I simply stood inside the elevator holding the approval folder like a man being transported to his own execution. Outstanding. Absolutely outstanding.

Waterbomb wardrobe checks had not even started yet, and I was already losing. The first room on the list was Chaeryeong’s. Which, honestly, felt merciful. After whatever the hell Yuna had just done near the elevator, I needed the emotional equivalent of a safe landing. I knocked twice before opening the door slightly.

“Chaeryeong?” “Come in,” she called softly.

I stepped inside and immediately found her standing near the mirror, twisting slightly from side to side while looking down at herself with an expression I recognized too easily. Overthinking.

She wore a clean white zip-front top with short sleeves, fitted neatly against her frame without looking overly tight. The white shorts matched the top, held together by a black belt that gave the entire outfit enough contrast to keep it from looking too plain. Paired with the white platform sneakers, it made her look bright, fresh, and effortlessly put together.

The problem was that Chaeryeong clearly didn’t believe that yet. She adjusted the hem of her shorts for what looked like the tenth time.  “That bad?” I asked. She looked up immediately. “What?” “You’ve been fighting those shorts like they personally offended you.” Chaeryeong let out a small laugh, embarrassed. “I just… don’t know if it’s too simple.” “It’s not.” “You didn’t even think about it.” “I didn’t need to.”

That made her pause. I walked closer, stopping beside her instead of behind her so she could still look at herself in the mirror without feeling inspected.

“It works because it looks clean,” I said. “The white-on-white makes you stand out without needing anything too loud. It’s bright, it fits the Waterbomb concept, and honestly?” I glanced toward her reflection. “You look really beautiful.”

Chaeryeong went still. Not dramatically. Just enough. Then she looked away quickly, but the small smile was already forming before she could hide it.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my manager.” “I say plenty of manager things without sounding nice.” “That’s true,” she admitted softly. “Exactly. So believe me when I say this looks good on you.”

She looked back toward the mirror again, this time a little less tense. Her shoulders lowered. Her hands stopped fidgeting at her shorts. That alone made the entire check worth it. Then eventually she smiled faintly. “…Okay. I’ll wear it.”

“Good.” I started marking the outfit approved on the tablet. Then Chaeryeong glanced at me again “Ben?” “Yeah?” “Thank you.”

There was more weight in it than the outfit deserved. Or maybe that was the point. I gave her a small smile. “Anytime.” And before that moment could become emotionally dangerous in a way I was not prepared to unpack before Waterbomb, I stepped back toward the door. “One down. Four emotionally hazardous outfit checks to go.” Chaeryeong laughed softly behind me. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, I’m going to need it.”

Lia’s room was next.

Compared to Chaeryeong’s quiet uncertainty, Lia opened the door looking far too composed. Which immediately concerned me.

She stood near the mirror, adjusting one of her bracelets while the yellow sleeveless top caught the light warmly against her skin. The color suited her almost too well. Bright, summery, elegant without being overly delicate. Her dark shorts balanced it out, fitted neatly at the waist with a black belt, while the white shoes kept the whole look clean enough for performance but still casual enough for the event.

It was graceful. Very Lia. Unfortunately, Lia noticed my expression before I could professionally recover. “Well?” she asked.

“That sounded rehearsed.” I called her out. “It wasn’t.” “It absolutely was.”

She smiled faintly. “You’re avoiding the question.” I sighed quietly before looking her over again with the actual focus required of my job.

“The outfit works,” I said. “The yellow reads well for Waterbomb. It’s bright enough for cameras, but it still feels like you. Clean lines, nothing too distracting, and the shorts balance it without making the whole thing feel too styled.” Lia tilted her head slightly. “That was very professional.” “That was the goal.” “And personally?”

That was a catastrophic follow-up that made me look at her. Lia looked back calmly, but there was something softer behind the question now. Not aggressive. Not like Yuna. Not shameless like Ryujin. Just curious. Quietly testing if she was allowed to ask. So I answered honestly. “Personally?” I said.

“You look beautiful.” Her expression shifted. Subtle. But I caught it. The way her eyes softened before she could hide it. The way her hand stilled against the bracelet. Then she smiled, smaller this time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A beat of silence passed. Comfortable at first. Then Lia stepped slightly closer, not enough to corner me, but enough for the air to change. “You know,” she said softly, “you’re getting better at saying things like that without panicking.” “That’s because I’ve been psychologically conditioned by all of you.” “Sounds like you’re blaming us.” “It is, but I am madder about not getting hazard pay.”

She laughed quietly. Then, with an almost unfair amount of composure, Lia turned slightly back toward the mirror. “So do I pass?” “With flying colors.” “Good.”

I started backing toward the door. Lia’s voice followed me, gentle but far too knowing. “Try to survive the others.” I paused with my hand on the door handle. “That sounded like you know something.” Lia only lifted her tea from the table and smiled into it. “I know many things.”

What a terrifying woman. Absolutely terrifying.

Yeji was third.

Which should have made things easier. It did not.

The moment she opened the door, I realized very quickly that I had made a mistake assuming familiarity would protect me from anything.

Yeji stood there wearing a cream sleeveless button-front top tucked neatly into black shorts, the dark belt pulling the whole look together sharply. The outfit itself was simple, but that was what made it worse. It didn’t need anything dramatic. The top softened her, the shorts sharpened her, and the white shoes kept everything casual enough to pretend this was just another stage outfit and not a direct attack on my ability to think.

Yeji noticed immediately “You’re staring.” “I’m doing my job.” “You always say that when you’re staring.” “That’s because sometimes my job requires visual confirmation.”

Yeji stepped aside to let me in, smiling like she had already won. I closed the door behind me carefully. Important distinction. Carefully, because unlike Chaeryeong and Yuna, Yeji knew exactly why that mattered. She turned once in front of the mirror, then looked back at me. “Is it okay?”

No teasing this time. There was still a hint of it in her eyes, but underneath that was the same thing I always noticed with Yeji when she asked sincerely. She cared what I thought. That alone made my chest tighten. “It’s more than okay,” I said quietly.

Her smile softened “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice even though nobody else was in the room. “You look beautiful.” Yeji looked down for half a second, pretending to inspect the top, but I caught the blush before she could hide it. “You already said that to the others, didn’t you?”

“That sounds like a question for your manager, but a trap for your boyfriend.” “It is.” “I used different professional wording.”

Yeji laughed softly, then stepped closer and lightly fixed the collar of my shirt like she had done it a hundred times before “You’re nervous today,” she murmured.

“I’ve had a very difficult morning.” “Yuna?” I went still. Yeji’s eyes flicked up to mine. She was more aware than I gave her credit for. I exhaled slowly. “She’s starting to act up.” Yeji hummed quietly, smoothing a wrinkle that absolutely did not need smoothing “She’s Yuna.” “That is not comforting.” “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

I stared at her. Yeji smiled. Then she leaned up and kissed me. A warm, quiet kiss that made the noise in my head shut off for exactly three seconds. When she pulled back, her forehead rested briefly against mine.

“Don’t overthink too much,” she whispered. “That sounds impossible.” “I know.”

Then she stepped back before the moment could become too obvious even in private. Leader mode returned slowly, but not completely. Not around me. “Approved?” she asked. I looked at her again. The outfit. That smile. The quiet affection she still carried even while pretending this was professional.

“Approved,” I said. Then softer whisper, enough for only her to hear “I love you.” Yeji’s eyes widened slightly, not because she hadn’t heard it before, but because it still affected her every time. Then she smiled “Good,” before whispering into my ear “I love you too, babe.” before giving me one quick peck in my lips.

I left before I did something deeply irresponsible before a public event. Unfortunately, the next name on the list was Yuna. Which meant irresponsibility had probably only been delayed.

Yuna’s room felt dangerous before I even knocked.

That was the annoying part. Somehow, without even opening the door, I already knew she had planned something. I knocked anyway because apparently I still believed in procedure. “Come in,” Yuna called. Too sweet. Immediate red flag. I opened the door.

Yuna stood near the mirror wearing the Waterbomb outfit from the reference board: a white sleeveless textured top, dark denim shorts, black belt, and white platform sneakers. The outfit itself looked bright and youthful, simple enough to pass as stage styling, but on her it became something sharper. The top drew attention to her shoulders and waist, while the shorts made her legs look impossibly long.

She looked good. She knew she looked good. The problem was that she wanted me to know she knew. She turned slowly when I entered.

“You’re late,” she murmured. “I had a schedule to follow, Yuna. Which, as your manager, I suggest you remember.” She laughed, a low sound that vibrated in the small space

“Well?” she asked me to show off her attire. I kept my eyes on the tablet for half a second longer than necessary. Mistake. Yuna smiled “You’re doing it again.”

“I haven’t done anything.” “Exactly.”

I looked up. Another mistake. She took one step closer. Enough to make the room feel smaller. “This is the outfit,” she said, smoothing one hand down the side of the top. “You have to approve it, right?”

“Yes.” “Then look properly.”

There it was. The elevator line returning with interest. I forced myself into manager mode and looked at the outfit the way I was supposed to. Fabric. Fit. Camera readability. Movement risk. Water exposure. Stage safety. “I need to check the fit of the shorts from the back for movement risks.”

Normal things. Professional things. Unfortunately, Yuna stood there watching my face instead of the mirror.

“It works,” I said. “That fast?” “The styling is simple. It fits the concept.” “That sounds boring.” “It’s not boring.” “Then say it properly.”

I stared at her. Yuna smiled wider. Not innocent this time. Not even pretending. She knew exactly where the pressure point was now and had apparently decided to press with both hands. “You look good,” I said carefully.

“How good?” “Yuna.” “What?” she asked, stepping closer again. “I’m asking for feedback.” “That is not what you’re asking for.”

For a second, her smile turned pleased. Not because I had pushed back. Because I had admitted there was something to push back against. Then slowly, she reached for the hem of her loose outer layer—the zip-up she had kept over the outfit until now—and let it slide off one shoulder first. Controlled. Not enough to be a full strip. Enough to make the intention unmistakable.

“You’re so focused on the risks, Ben. The wardrobe malfunctions. The camera angles. The public eye.” She stepped closer, her chest nearly brushing mine. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the subtle rise and fall of her breath.

“But what about the risk right here? In a locked room? With no cameras?”

I looked down at the tablet, my voice tight. “The shorts are approved. The top is approved. Please step back so I can finalize the notes.”

“You’re lying.” “I’m working.”

“You’re lying to yourself.” Yuna’s hand moved from my arm to my chest, her palm flat against my heart. She could feel it. The frantic, betraying thud of my pulse. Her smile widened, turning into something predatory. “It’s beating so fast. You’re terrified of me, aren’t you? Not because I’m scary, but because you want to see what happens if you stop being the manager for five minutes.”

She leaned in, her lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from my ear. Her breath was warm, smelling of mint and sweetness. “The fans... they want me. I know that. I see it in their eyes. But they can’t touch me. They can’t even get close. But you... you’re right here. You have the keys to the building. You have the schedule. You have total access.”

She shifted, her hip brushing against mine, the rough denim of her shorts scraping against my trousers. She let out a soft, shaky exhale. “Just one look, Ben. Look at me. Not as a member. Not as a liability. Just look at me.”

I forced my gaze upward. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with a mixture of curiosity and desire. She looked breathtaking—radiant in a way that felt violent. For a second, the professional wall didn’t just crack; it vanished. I saw the curve of her throat, the pulse jumping in her neck, the way her lips were parted, inviting me to close the distance.

Yuna noticed the shift. She sensed the surrender. She moved her hand down, her fingers skimming the fabric of my shirt, heading toward the waistband of my pants. She didn’t grab; she teased, the tips of her nails catching on the material. “Give in,” she whispered, her voice a velvet command. “Just once. I want to know if that willpower of yours is real, or if it’s just a performance.” I looked away immediately. Yuna laughed softly.

“You really are committed.” “To not getting fired?” “To pretending.”

I kept my gaze fixed on the safest part of the wall.

“Put that back on.” “It’s off for styling approval.” “You already have approval.” “Do I?”

I closed my eyes briefly. This was what Yuna did differently from Ryujin. Ryujin would have said exactly what she wanted and dared me to survive it. Yuna made me prove I was surviving at all. When I looked back, she had let the zip-up fall fully from her shoulders, catching it casually in one hand. The Waterbomb outfit was still perfectly acceptable for the event. That somehow made it worse. Because she was not crossing a line. She was dancing directly on top of it. “Are you nervous?” she asked.

“I’m busy.” “You keep saying that.” “Because I am.”

Yuna stepped closer again. This time close enough that I had to look down slightly to meet her eyes. “And if you weren’t?” The room went quiet. My grip tightened slightly around the tablet. Yuna saw it. Her smile softened into something more dangerous than teasing.

Confirmation. I looked back down at the tablet “Outfit approved,” I said evenly. “Shoes are fine. Belt works. Make sure staff tests the top under water before stage clearance.” Yuna blinked once. For a second, she looked almost offended that I had managed to pull professionalism back from the fire. Then interest replaced it. Because apparently refusal was also a reaction.

“Okay,” she said lightly. I turned toward the door. “Ben?” I stopped. She did not move closer this time. She didn’t have to “You’re getting better at running away”. I looked back despite myself. Yuna smiled. “But you’re getting worse at hiding why.” I left before she could see how badly that landed.

Inside the room, Yuna stood in silence, her heart racing. She didn’t feel rejected. She didn’t feel offended. Instead, she felt a surge of genuine, electric interest. She had spent her life being wanted by everyone, but I was the first person who had looked at her with that much hunger and still said no.

Is what I thought while hurrying out to the hallways as I could still see her as she touched her own lips, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Interesting,” she murmured out loud, loud enough for me to still hear “Very interesting”.

Ryujin was last.

Which felt less like scheduling and more like fate personally filing a complaint against me. By the time I reached her room, my nervous system had already survived Chaeryeong being quietly beautiful, Lia being gracefully dangerous, Yeji emotionally disarming me, and Yuna committing psychological warfare in platform sneakers.

So naturally, Ryujin opened the door looking like the final boss of poor decisions.

I had just survived a psychological siege, and I could feel the lingering effects of Yuna’s proximity manifesting as a dull, insistent ache in my groin. I was primed. I was tense. I was a walking powder keg.  And Ryujin was the match.

When I opened the door to her room, the atmosphere was entirely different from Yuna’s. There was no staged environment or antics, Ryujin was standing by the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror with a look of sheer, unadulterated mischief.

She wore the white long-sleeve zip athletic top from the Waterbomb set, fitted cleanly against her frame, paired with light denim shorts and white platform sneakers. Compared to Yuna’s playful sharpness or Lia’s elegance, Ryujin looked sporty, confident, and immediately suspicious. Mostly because she was smiling. That smile never meant anything safe for me psychologically.

“You took long enough,” she said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe you just had a very long conversation with Yuna.” I sighed, stepping inside and closing the door. The click of the lock sounded like a gavel. “Don’t start, Ryujin. I’m just trying to finish these checks so I can actually go relax for the rest of the day.”

“Mm.” She stepped aside. “You look stressed.” “I wonder why.”

Ryujin walked toward the mirror and turned once, arms lifting slightly “Poor Ben,” she mocked, turning around to face me. She leaned back against the vanity, crossing her legs. “So stressed. So professional. So... wound up.”

I looked her over, my eyes scanning the outfit. “So?” she asked looking down to her stage outfit. I stared with the exhausted professionalism of a man who had been emotionally mugged four times already “The top fits. Shorts work. Shoes match. Overall styling is good.” Ryujin stared at me through the mirror.

“That’s it?” “That is literally the purpose of this check.” “You’re boring today.” “I am trying to survive today.”

Ryujin laughed under her breath, then shifted her weight slightly. That was when I noticed it. There was something missing. The way the fabric draped, the absence of a visible line where there absolutely should have been one, something about the way the shorts sat.... my brain did the math instantly.

My eyes paused for half a second. Ryujin caught it. Her smile sharpened. “There it is.” I looked back up immediately. “Ryujin,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Tell me you’re wearing underwear.” She grinned. It wasn’t a sweet smile. It was a shark’s smile.

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’. “Completely bare. Just me and the denim.”

Ryujin turned around fully now, leaning lightly against the edge of the vanity. My brain stopped. There was a full system outage behind my eyes. Ryujin watched it happen with the calm satisfaction of someone knocking over a glass just to hear it shatter. She stepped closer.

Not slow like Yuna. Not soft like Lia. Not intimate like Yeji.

Direct. Ryujin didn’t play with silence because she didn’t need to. She walked straight through it. “I can wear it like this,” she said, voice casual. “Go on stage. Get soaked. Let the fabric do whatever it wants.” I stared at her. She smiled. “Or you can fix the problem.”

“That sounds like extortion.” “It sounds like a manager’s job.”

My jaw tightened. I felt the blood rush to my face, my heart hammering against my ribs. “That is a massive safety violation. One wrong move, one slip of the fabric, and you’re a headline. Put something on. Now.”  Ryujin laughed, a bold, raucous sound. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on mine.

“Why? Does the thought of it bother you, Manager-nim? Or does it actually turn you on?” “It’s a professional concern,” I managed, though my voice was strained.

Then Ryujin reached for the zipper of her top, not pulling it down enough to expose anything, just enough to make the implication louder than the action. “Liar,” she whispered, stepping into my space. She didn’t tease like Yuna; she didn’t dance around the edges. She moved in like a strike team.

“You’re already worked up,” she murmured. “Yuna got to you, didn’t she?” I didn’t answer. Ryujin’s smile widened. “Oh, she did.”

“Ryujin.” “Relax,” she said, stepping close enough now that I had nowhere useful to look. “I’m not jealous.” “I didn’t say you were.” “I know.” Her voice dropped slightly. “I just think it’s funny that she spent all day teasing you…” her fingers caught lightly at the front of my shirt “…and I’m the one who gets to use it.”

I tried to maintain my composure, but as she pressed her body against mine, I felt it. The hard, undeniable press of my erection against the fabric of my trousers. I tried to shift away, but Ryujin was faster. She reached down, her hand closing firmly around the bulge in my pants. I let out a choked gasp, my head snapping back. “Oh, look at that,” Ryujin murmured, her voice low and husky. “Professionalism is officially dead. You’re rock hard already, Ben.”

“Ryujin, we’re... we’re in the middle of wardrobe approvals...” “The approvals are done,” she countered, her thumb rubbing circles over the head of my cock through the cloth. “And I’ve got a great idea. How about this: I’ll keep the underwear off for the event. I’ll go on stage, get soaked in water, let the fabric cling to every single inch of me... and the whole time, I’ll be thinking about you watching me from the wings.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my jaw. “And then, when the show is over, while the crowd is still screaming, I’ll find a dark corner backstage. I’ll pull you into the equipment room, and I’ll let you fuck me right there, in front of everyone, while I’m still dripping wet and bare.”

That was the exact moment I realized I had lost the room. Ryujin tilted her head toward the bed, still smiling. “So, manager,” she said softly, “are you approving this outfit?” My grip tightened around the tablet. Then slowly, Ryujin leaned closer to lick and nibble on my neck “Or are you going to make sure I don’t walk out there like this?”

The mental image hit me like a physical blow. The thought of her—wet, exposed, and desperate for me in the chaos of the event—shattered the last remnants of my restraint. I didn’t think. I reacted.

I grabbed her waist and hoisted her up, her legs instantly wrapping around my hips, the denim of her shorts rough against my skin. I slammed her back against the vanity, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. Ryujin let out a sharp, needy moan, her head falling back, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Finally,” she gasped. “I thought I was going to have to strip completely to get you to stop talking about schedules.”

I didn’t answer with words. I crashed my lips onto hers, the kiss desperate and messy, a collision of teeth and tongue. We were both starving, the tension of the day fueling a fire that had been simmering for hours. I could taste the hunger in her, the raw, insatiable need that always defined our physical relationship.

My hands scrambled at the zipper of her shorts, my fingers trembling with urgency. I ripped them down, shoving the denim and the lack of underwear aside to reveal her pussy. She was already soaking, her folds glistening and swollen, dripping a clear, viscous lubricant that smelled of musk and heat.

“Fuck,” I groaned against her neck, my breath hitching. “You’re soaking.” “Because I’ve been thinking about this since breakfast,” she whimpered, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Now give it to me, Ben. Right now.” I fumbled with my own belt, ripping my trousers and boxers down in one frantic motion. My cock sprang free, throbbing and engorged, the head already weeping a thick bead of pre-cum.

Ryujin was a fountain. I gripped her thighs, pulling her flush against me, and drove home in one deep, punishing thrust. “Ahhh!” Ryujin screamed into my shoulder, her entire body jolting. The sensation was overwhelming. The tightness of her pussy, the heat, the way her walls clamped down on me like a vice.

It felt like being swallowed by a volcano. I groaned, a low, guttural sound that started in my chest, and began to pump. The sound of our bodies interacting filled the room—a wet, rhythmic slapping sound as I slid in and out of her.

Every thrust pushed the air out of her lungs in short, sharp gasps. The vanity groaned under our combined weight, the mirror rattling with every impact.

“Yes! Right there! Fuck me harder, Ben!” Ryujin urged, her voice breaking. She arched her back, her breasts heaving under the athletic top, the fabric straining against her nipples. I didn’t hold back. I hammered into her, my movements frantic and uncoordinated, driven by the need to erase the day’s stress. I could feel her clit rubbing against the base of my cock with every strike, a friction that sent sparks of electricity through my spine.

Ryujin’s breathing became erratic. She started to shake, her internal muscles pulsing rhythmically around me, milking me with a desperate intensity. “I’m... I’m close! Ben, I’m coming!” She let out a loud, piercing cry as her orgasm hit, her pussy clamping down on me in a series of violent spasms. The feeling of her climaxing around me was the final trigger. I felt the pressure build at the base of my spine, a tidal wave of heat that I couldn’t stop.

I thrust one last time, burying myself as deep as possible, and let out a roar as I came. The orgasm was explosive, a series of thick, hot jets of semen pumping into her, filling her to the brim. I collapsed against her, my forehead resting on her shoulder, both of us gasping for air, our skin slick with sweat. For a few minutes, the only sound was the heavy thud of our heartbeats.

“God,” Ryujin whispered, her voice trembling. “You were... so aggressive. I love it when you lose it.”  I pulled back slightly, looking at her. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smudged, her eyes glazed with pleasure.

She looked ruined, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But the release didn’t last. The physical connection, the scent of sex and sweat, and the lingering tension from Yuna’s room converged into a second wave of desire. My cock, despite the release, didn’t fully soften. It remained semi-hard, pulsing against her wet walls.

Ryujin noticed. She looked down at where we were joined, then back up at me with a predatory glint in her eyes. “Again,” she whispered. “Ryujin, I can’t... I have to finish the reports...”

“The reports can wait ten minutes,” she countered, her legs tightening around my waist, pulling me back in. “Look at me, Ben. Do you really want to leave right now? When I’m still this open for you?” She shifted her hips, grinding her clit against me, and the friction reignited the fire instantly.

I groaned, my resolve crumbling for the second time in an hour. This time, it was slower. More deliberate. I lowered her onto the bed, the white sheets instantly staining with the fluids of our first round. I knelt between her legs, spreading them wide, admiring the sight of her pussy—flushed a deep pink, dripping with a mixture of her arousal and my seed.

I leaned down, my tongue finding her clit. Ryujin let out a sharp gasp, her hips bucking. “Oh god, Ben... right there...” I licked her with a steady, rhythmic pressure, swirling my tongue around the sensitive nub before sucking it into my mouth. The sound of my tongue moving and slurping against her wetness filled the quiet room.

Ryujin was incoherent, her hands clutching the sheets, her toes curling. When she was on the verge of another peak, I slid back inside her. This round was different. It wasn’t about desperation; it was about pleasure. I moved slowly, savoring the way her walls hugged me, the way she whimpered every time I hit her cervix.

I watched her face, the way her eyes rolled back, the way she whispered my name like a prayer. “I love... how you feel... inside me,” she breathed, her voice a fragile thread. I increased the pace, the sound of her wetness returning, louder this time. I could feel the build-up again, the tension mounting in my loins. Ryujin was right there with me, her breath coming in short, jagged sobs.

“Now, Ben! Now!” I surged forward, my movements becoming fast and shallow, focusing all the friction on the entrance of her pussy. We hit the peak together. Ryujin screamed, her body locking up in a massive, full-body orgasm, and I followed immediately after, my second load of the day erupting into her with a force that left me breathless. I slumped onto her, my chest heaving, my muscles trembling with exhaustion. We lay there for a long time, entwined and sweaty, the room smelling of raw sex.

Eventually, Ryujin shifted, her hand sliding down to my cock, which was finally beginning to soften. She didn’t stop there. She slid down my body, her hair brushing against my thighs, and took the head of my dick into her mouth. The sensation of her warm, wet tongue swirling around the tip made me hiss through my teeth. She sucked deeply, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes looking up at me with a hunger that seemed bottomless.

“Ryujin,” I gasped, my hand finding her hair. “Stop.” She ignored me, swirling her tongue around the rim, her saliva coating me in a slick, warm layer. She wanted more. She always wanted more. I gently but firmly pushed her head away.

“No,” I said, my voice returning to its manager tone, though it was still raspy. “No more.”  Ryujin blinked, looking up at me, her lips glistening with my pre-cum. “What? Why? You’re still so hard.” “Because,” I said, sitting up and putting my clothes back on. “I am still working. We are in our residential building, yes, but I have a final briefing in twenty minutes and three more reports to file before the stylists leave.”

“You’re such a bore when you’re being a manager.” Ryujin pouted, sitting up and letting the sheets fall away from her breasts. “And you’re a menace when you’re being a member,” I replied, though there was no heat in it. I leaned over and flicked her forehead before giving her head a pat— a brief, tender moment that contrasted with the violence of the last hour.

“Get dressed, Ryujin. And for the love of God, put on some underwear for the actual event. I can’t have a heart attack on the venue.”

Ryujin laughed, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “I will, but in exchange you’re going to have to fuck me in this outfit when I’m drenched, Ben.”

I walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me. As I stepped back into the hallway, I felt a strange sense of equilibrium. The tension that had been building all day—through Yuna’s games and the pressure of the event—had finally broken.

I looked down at my tablet. The list was complete. Everyone was approved. I began the walk back to the common area, my stride steady once more. My body was exhausted, my mind was a blur of denim and sweat, but as I thought about the upcoming Waterbomb festival, a small, dangerous smile touched my lips. The wardrobe was approved. But the real show was only just beginning.

I walked out of Ryujin’s room, the door clicking shut behind me with a finality that felt almost insulting.

For a moment, I just stood in the hallway.

The tablet was still in my hand. The approval list was complete. Every outfit had been checked, cleared, and documented. Professionally speaking, the task was finished. Physically speaking, I was considering filing a workplace injury report against my own life.

I leaned back against the wall and exhaled slowly, trying to pull myself back together before anyone from staff appeared and asked why their manager looked like he had survived a natural disaster in denim form. A notification lit up on the tablet a second later. Final wardrobe approval? ETA for Waterbomb briefing? Right. The world still existed.

I straightened, fixed my shirt, ran one hand through my hair, and forced my expression into something close to functional. The building around me had gone quieter now that the fittings were finished. Stylists were packing up on the lower floors, staff messages kept arriving in short bursts, and somewhere upstairs, the Top Floor waited like nothing catastrophic had just happened. Which, honestly, was rude of it.

By the time I made it back to the common area, most of the lights had dimmed into their softer evening setting. The television was on, volume low, playing some emotional romance drama I didn’t recognize.

Lia was sitting alone on the couch. She had a blanket over her lap, one mug of tea balanced carefully between both hands, and the kind of calm expression that immediately made me feel spiritually exposed. She didn’t look away from the TV when I entered.

“You look terrible.” I stopped walking “…Good evening to you too.” “You also smell like panic and poor decisions.” “That sounds emotionally invasive.” “That sounds accurate.”

I considered retreating. Unfortunately, Lia finally looked at me without teasing or judgement. Which somehow felt worse. Then she patted the empty space beside her on the couch “Sit down before you collapse.”

“I have reports.” “You have twenty minutes before the briefing.”

I narrowed my eyes “How do you know that?” Lia lifted her tea calmly “I read the schedule you sent to the group chat.” Right. Managerial competence had betrayed me again. I sat beside her with the exhausted obedience of a man who had lost too many battles in one day.

For a while, neither of us said anything. The drama continued playing on the screen, all soft lighting and emotional close-ups, two characters staring at each other like saying one honest sentence might destroy civilization. Lia glanced at me briefly.

“Wardrobe checks went well?” “Technically.” “That means no.” “That means everyone is approved and I am choosing not to discuss the emotional cost.”

Lia’s mouth curved faintly. “Ryujin?” I stared at the TV.

“I am choosing not to discuss the emotional cost.” “That bad?” “That dangerous.”

She hummed softly, not pushing further. That was the thing about Lia. Ryujin would have poked until I bled sarcasm. Yeji would have touched my hand and made the entire room emotionally unsafe. Yuna would have smiled like she already knew exactly which nerve to press. Lia just sat there. Quiet. Present. Unfairly perceptive.

After a minute, she reached toward the table and slid a second mug toward me. I looked down at it “When did you make this?”

“When I heard the elevator.” “That sounds suspiciously prepared.” “You’re predictable when exhausted.” “That is deeply insulting.” “It’s also tea.”

Unfortunately, both things were true. I picked it up and took a slow sip. Warm and calming, just like Lia.  Annoyingly effective. The silence settled again, softer this time. The kind that didn’t demand performance. I didn’t have to joke immediately. I didn’t have to explain. I didn’t even have to pretend I was handling everything well.

Lia watched the screen, then said quietly “You know you don’t have to be perfectly composed every second, right?” My fingers tightened slightly around the mug. There it was. Not an accusation. Not even advice, really. Just Lia noticing the exact crack I had been trying to hide. I let out a slow breath.

“I’m managing a public water event involving five idols, wet clothes, live cameras, fans with phones, and several members who appear personally invested in shortening my lifespan.”

 “That does sound difficult.” Lia nodded solemnly. “It is.” “Still,” she said softly, eyes remaining on the television, “you’re allowed to be tired.”

For some reason, that landed harder than it should have. Maybe because she didn’t ask for anything after saying it. I leaned back against the couch, exhaustion finally catching up now that the room had stopped moving around me “…Thanks, Lia.” She smiled faintly into her tea “You’re welcome.”

Onscreen, the two drama leads finally kissed after what looked like twelve episodes of emotional incompetence. Lia sighed. “Finally.” I glanced at the screen.

“That looked inefficient.” “That’s romance.” “That explains a lot.”

She laughed quietly, and the sound made the room feel less heavy. For a few minutes, we just watched the drama together while the briefing documents finished uploading from my tablet. Somewhere below us, staff continued packing up the last of the wardrobe racks. Somewhere down the hall, the members were probably settling into their own rooms.

And for once, nobody was asking me to react. Nobody was testing me. Nobody was pulling me apart. Nobody was demanding that I choose the correct version of myself. I was just sitting beside Lia, drinking tea, watching fictional people fail at communication. And in all honesty? It was the most peaceful thing that had happened all day. Then my tablet chimed. Briefing in ten. The moment broke gently. Lia glanced toward the screen “Go be manager-nim.” I groaned quietly before standing. “That title feels cursed now.”

“It always did.” I looked back at her. She smiled softly. “Good luck next week.” “Next week?” “Waterbomb,” she said calmly. “Wet clothes, cameras, fans, and five women actively trying to give you a stroke.”

I stared at her “You know, for someone so graceful, you’re incredibly violent with words.” I picked up the tablet and headed toward the hallway. Behind me, Lia turned the volume up slightly and returned to her drama like she had not just quietly held me together for ten minutes. That was becoming the dangerous part about her. She didn’t pull me out of the chaos. She simply made sitting inside it feel survivable.

She didn’t pull me out of the chaos. She simply made sitting inside it feel survivable. A few nights later, I ended up in the private gym again. Not because I had energy. That would have been optimistic. Mostly because my body had started interpreting stress as a reason to lift heavy objects at unreasonable hours, which probably said something deeply concerning about my coping mechanisms. By the time I finished, the Top Floor had already gone quiet. The lights outside the gym were dimmed, most of the rooms were closed, and somewhere down the hall I could faintly hear the low murmur of a television.

I took a quick shower in the gym bathroom and stepped out afterward wearing only a black tank top and sweatpants, towel hanging loosely around my neck while my hair still dripped slightly against my shoulders. Comfortable. Unprofessional. Dangerously human. Which was probably why I almost turned around the second I saw Lia sitting alone in the common area. Same couch. Same blanket. Same mug of tea. Different drama.

At least, I thought it was different. The lighting looked the same. The characters looked equally miserable. And from what I could gather after standing there for seven seconds, everyone in the show was still emotionally allergic to direct communication. Lia didn’t look away from the screen when she spoke. “You’re standing there like you’re deciding whether to run.” “That sounds judgmental.”

“That sounds accurate”. I walked around the couch and sat down beside her, leaving enough space to be polite. Lia glanced at the distance between us. Then back at the television. “You’re very committed to safe seating arrangements.” “I’m learning from experience.” “That sounds like Ryujin trauma.” “It is a recognized condition”.

That made her laugh softly, barely disturbing the quiet around us. Then her gaze shifted. Her eyes moved from my face to my shoulder, then down toward the exposed part of my upper arm where the edge of a new tattoo still looked darker than the rest of the ink around it. I noticed immediately. “…What?” Lia tilted her head slightly “That’s new”. I looked down. Ah. Right.

A small fresh piece tucked near the existing ink on my upper arm, still healing beneath the soft glow of the common-area lights. I had gotten it impulsively two days earlier after a particularly chaotic round of schedule calls, Waterbomb briefings, and three separate conversations that made me question whether I was managing idols or surviving psychological warfare.

“It’s not that new.” “It’s very clearly new.” “That sounds accusatory.” “It’s observational.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Yuna said that exact thing before making my life worse.” Lia smiled into her tea. “I’m more graceful about it.”

“That is unfortunately true.” She leaned slightly closer, not touching, just studying the lines with quiet curiosity. “What does it mean?” I glanced away for half a second. A mistake that Lia noticed “…You got it impulsively, didn’t you?”

“That sounds judgmental.” “That sounds accurate.”

I sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Maybe.” Lia’s smile widened faintly. “You should’ve gotten something funny.” “Like what?” She thought for a moment, completely serious. Then calmly “Incase found, return to Hwang Yeji.”

I stared at her. She stared back. Then I let out a laugh despite myself. “Yeji would kill me.”

“She would or she would match it with yours.” “That is terrifyingly accurate.”

Lia laughed quietly again, and somehow the sound made the room feel less heavy. Then, after a moment, her expression softened. “But it suits you.” I looked at her. She kept her eyes on the tattoo, voice gentle now “The ink, I mean. It makes you look less like you’re trying to hide inside a suit all the time.” That landed a little too precisely. I didn’t answer immediately. For once, Lia didn’t push. She simply turned back toward the television, leaving the observation between us like she had placed something fragile on the table and trusted me not to break it.

After a minute, she reached toward the side table and slid a second mug toward me. “When did you make this?” I looked down at it “When I heard the shower.”

“That sounds suspiciously prepared.” “You’re predictable when exhausted.” “That is deeply insulting.” “It’s also tea.”

Unfortunately, both things were true. I picked it up and took a slow sip. Warm. Mild. Calming. Annoyingly effective. And somehow, sitting there beside Lia in sweatpants, damp hair, exposed tattoos, and no manager armor left to hide behind, the silence felt less like emptiness and more like permission. A rare kind. The kind that didn’t ask me to perform. For a while, neither of us said anything else. The drama continued playing, soft and painfully slow. Two characters stood under the rain onscreen, neither of them saying what they clearly wanted to say. The woman looked like she had spent half her life swallowing words. The man looked like he knew it and still didn’t know how to help her.

Lia watched with her knees tucked slightly beneath the blanket, her expression unreadable at first. Then the woman onscreen finally spoke. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just one sentence. Something about being tired of choosing the right thing every time if it meant never choosing herself. The room went quiet in a way that felt too specific. I looked toward Lia without meaning to. She didn’t move. But her fingers tightened around the mug. Small thing. Easy to miss. I noticed anyway. “…Lia?” “I’m fine.” “That was too fast.”

She smiled faintly, still looking at the screen. “You’re picking up my habits.”

“That sounds dangerous.” “It is.”

 The drama continued, but Lia wasn’t really watching anymore. Neither was I. For a minute, the Top Floor felt strangely far away. No Yuna testing reactions. No Ryujin creating structural damage to my sanity. No Yeji softening the room just by existing nearby. Just Lia. Quiet. Guarded. Sitting beside me like she had built an entire life out of not asking for too much. Then she spoke, barely above the volume of the television.

“Do you ever get tired of doing what makes sense?” The question landed carefully. Too carefully. Like she had spent several minutes deciding whether it was allowed to exist. I leaned back slightly, choosing my words with more caution than usual.

“Every day.”

Lia finally looked at me. There was no teasing in her expression now. No graceful deflection. No amused distance. No calm little smile to hide behind. “That’s a dangerous answer,” she whispered. “I know.” Her gaze dropped briefly to the mug in her hands. Then she set it down on the table. Slowly. Deliberately.

The sound of ceramic against glass felt louder than it should have. My pulse shifted. Not because she had moved closer. She hadn’t. Because for once, Lia looked like she had stopped trying to talk herself out of wanting something. “Ben,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” “I know what you and Yeji are.” My throat tightened. “I know.” “And I know this is already complicated.” “I know that too.”

Her expression softened, but it didn’t break. That was the difference. Lia wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t apologizing before doing something. She was standing at the edge of a choice and looking straight at it. “I’m not trying to take anything from her,” she whispered. “I know.” “I just…”

She stopped. For once, words failed her. The silence stretched. Then Lia leaned closer. Not suddenly. Not desperately. Not like she had lost control completely. More like she had finally stopped forcing herself to step back. Her lips touched mine softly.

Warm. Careful. A kiss so quiet it barely disturbed the room. Then she pulled away. Only a little. Enough to look at me. And that was the important part. She didn’t freeze, she didn’t gasp, or cover her mouth.

She didn’t run from what she had done. She just stayed there, close enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath, watching my face with terrifying patience. Waiting. Not for permission to regret it. For an answer. My brain, which had survived Yuna’s psychological warfare and Ryujin’s complete disregard for workplace stability, somehow failed completely in front of one soft kiss from Lia.

I exhaled slowly. “Lia…” Her eyes flickered. Not fear. Expectation. “I’m not sorry,” she said quietly. That hit harder than the kiss. She swallowed once, then continued. “I probably should be. But I’m not. The honesty in her voice was so bare that it made every joke I could have used die before reaching my mouth. So I didn’t joke. I just looked at her. Really looked at her. The careful posture. The calm expression barely holding. The quiet bravery must have taken for someone like Lia to stop choosing everyone else’s comfort for one second.

Then softly, I reached for her hand. Not to pull her closer. Not to escalate. Just enough. Her fingers were warm around mine. “I’m not angry,” I said.

“I didn’t think you would be” “That sounds like trust.” “It is.”

The admission stayed between us. Small. Heavy. Dangerous. Then Lia let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but softer. “I wanted to know what would happen if I chose myself for once.” My thumb moved gently over the back of her hand. “And?” She looked down at our hands. Then back at me. “I think I’m still waiting to find out.”

The television kept playing in the background. The rain onscreen had stopped. The two characters were still standing there like idiots, probably about to spend another five episodes misunderstanding each other. But here, in the quiet of the Top Floor, Lia had already done the terrifying part. She had chosen. And she hadn’t looked away afterward.

The week leading into Waterbomb did not arrive gently. It hit the Top Floor like a scheduling truck with stage lights attached. By Monday, the building had stopped feeling like a private residence and started feeling like a temporary war room. Garment bags moved in and out of rooms. Stylists came and went with waterproof makeup kits, spare belts, double-sided tape, emergency stitching supplies, backup shoes, and towels stacked high enough to imply someone expected the building to flood.

Which, considering the event, honestly felt fair. I spent most of the week buried in logistics. Stage timing. Security routes. Camera placements. Emergency cover-ups. Wardrobe risk notes. Fan-zone sightlines. Staff communication channels. Post-performance exits. Hydration plans. Backup towels. Spare clothes.

The usual glamorous side of idol management. Naturally, the members handled the stress in completely different ways.

Chaeryeong became focused. She reviewed rehearsal clips more seriously than usual, occasionally asking me small questions about stage positioning or camera readability. There was still some hesitation in her voice sometimes, but less than before. Enough that I noticed.

Lia became quieter again, but not distant. She had returned to her tea, her dramas, and her terrifying habit of noticing when my brain was about six minutes away from collapsing.

Ryujin was energetic in a way that felt medically suspicious.

Yeji watched everything with leader mode fully activated, moving between members, staff, and rehearsals with the kind of calm control that reminded me why everyone trusted her even when the room started falling apart.

And Yuna? Yuna had changed after the outfit check. Not softer exactly. That would have been too simple. But more focused. She still teased. Still smiled a little too long. Still occasionally walked past me like she knew exactly how much space she was invading.

But there was something heavier underneath it now. Before, Yuna had been playing with a reaction. Now, she was waiting for something. Unfortunately, I had no idea what. Which was horrifying, because Yuna waiting patiently somehow felt significantly worse than Ryujin actively causing problems.

The night before Waterbomb, the final staff briefing stretched nearly two hours longer than planned. By the end of it, everyone looked tired. Except Ryujin, who looked like she had somehow absorbed energy from everyone else’s suffering. “We’re overthinking this,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “We perform. We get wet. People scream. We leave.”

“That is the least comforting summary possible,” I muttered. “It’s accurate.” “It ignores eighty percent of the risk factors.” Ryujin grinned. “You love risk factors.” “I do not love risk factors. I am employed because risk factors keep existing against my will.”

Yuna, seated across the room, smiled faintly at that. I noticed. A mistake because she noticed me noticing. Outstanding. Yeji stood near the screen where the stage layout was displayed, arms folded loosely as she studied the exits again. “We’ll follow the exit route exactly?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “You come off stage, staff meets you here, towels immediately, then straight to the waiting area. No lingering near the side barricades. No stopping for fan phones after the water set.” Yuna tilted her head. “That strict?”

“For this event? Yes.” “Because of the outfits?” “Because of the water, the cameras, and the outfits.” Ryujin hummed dramatically “Manager-nim is scared.” “I am prepared.” “That’s what scared people say.”

I ignored her. Mostly because she was correct and I hated that. Lia looked at me from the couch, calm as ever. “You’re more worried about cameras than the performance.”

“I’m worried about both.”

“No,” she said softly. “You trust the performance.” That made the room quiet for a second. Because she was right. I trusted them on stage completely. It was everything around the stage I didn’t trust. I looked back at the layout. “Performance is controlled,” I said finally. “Crowds aren’t.” Nobody joked after that. Not immediately. Even Ryujin stayed quiet. Then Yeji’s gaze shifted toward me. There was something in her expression I recognized now. Not doubt. Concern.

She had been watching me more closely since the conversation with Lia, since the outfit checks, since every little crack in my composure had started showing whether I wanted it to or not. I gave her a small nod. I’m fine. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Liar.

The briefing ended shortly after. One by one, the members drifted out of the room to rest. Chaeryeong left first, still reviewing a note on her phone. Lia paused long enough to leave a bottle of water beside my tablet without saying anything. Ryujin stretched lazily and told me not to “die from paperwork before the fun part.” Yuna was the last to pass me before Yeji. She stopped beside my chair. Not close. Not far.

Just enough to make the moment intentional. “You’re really worried,” she said. I looked up. “That’s my job.” Yuna’s expression shifted slightly. “No,” she said quietly. “You’re worried.” That landed differently. Not teasing. Not playful. Just observant.

Then she smiled faintly, like she had realized something but decided not to say it yet. “Good night, Ben.” She walked out before I could answer. Which left only Yeji in the room. For a second, neither of us moved. Then she closed the door. Softly. That was never a good sign. “You’re going to scare them if you keep looking like that tomorrow,” she said. I leaned back in my chair. “Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting for someone to make a mistake.” I didn’t answer immediately. Because honestly? That was exactly what I was doing. Yeji walked closer, stopping beside the table. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to be careful.” “That sounds like there’s a second half.” “There is.”

She reached down and lightly touched the edge of my tablet, turning the screen off. The room dimmed slightly without the layout glowing between us. “You don’t have to fight every possible threat before it happens.” I looked at her. “If I wait until it happens, I’m too late”. Yeji’s expression softened, but her voice stayed steady. “That’s what worries me”. The words settled between us.

I knew what she was really saying. This wasn’t just about Waterbomb. It was about me. About the risk that did not exist yet. About the line I had not crossed yet. About the version of myself she was starting to notice before I even fully became what she was worried about. I tried to make my voice lighter. “I’ll behave” Yeji didn’t smile So the joke died immediately. She stepped closer and touched my arm. “Ben”. That was all. Somehow worse than a lecture. I exhaled slowly “I’ll handle tomorrow properly.”

“I know you will.” Her thumb moved lightly against my sleeve. “I’m asking you to remember that properly still has a limit.” I wanted to promise her. I really did. But the truth sat too close to my throat. So instead, I covered her hand with mine “I’ll try”.

Yeji studied me for a moment. Then she nodded. Not fully satisfied. But accepting the honesty. “For now,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss my forehead. The gesture was so gentle it made something in my chest ache. Then she left. And I sat there alone in the briefing room, staring at the blank tablet screen, wondering when protection had started feeling the need to choose cold calculations.

Waterbomb arrived loud. There was no other way to describe it. The entire venue pulsed with bass, heat, water cannons, crowd noise, and the kind of chaotic summer energy that made every staff member look like they were one mistake away from aging five years.

By the time ITZY arrived backstage, the event was already in full motion. Fans screamed from beyond the barricades. Staff rushed past with towels and headsets. Music thundered through the floor. Water mist floated through the air even behind the stage.

I shifted immediately into work mode. “Cover-ups stay on until standby,” I said, walking beside them. “No unnecessary stops near the side barricade. Towels will be ready as soon as you come off. If anything feels loose, you tell me before you go on, not after.”

Ryujin grinned. “You’re fun today.” “I am the only reason fun survives paperwork.”

Yuna laughed softly, but she was watching me again. I ignored that. Professionally. Mostly. Chaeryeong adjusted her belt once, and I caught it immediately. “You’re fine,” I told her. She looked up. “You sure?”

“Positive. The fit test passed, and the belt is secure.” Her shoulders eased. “Okay.” Lia watched the exchange quietly, then looked at me. “You’ve checked all of us twelve times.”

 “Thirteen for Ryujin.” Ryujin looked proud. “As I deserve.” “As your criminal record requires.”

Yeji stepped closer, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “Breathe.” “I am breathing.” “Like a normal person.” “That feels demanding.”

Her mouth curved faintly, but her eyes stayed serious. I took one slow breath. Then another. She nodded once. “Better.” Before I could answer, the stage manager called standby. The members moved toward the entrance. Cover-ups came off. Headsets were checked. Final towels were handed off. Shoes were adjusted. Hair was touched up one last time. Then the stage lights shifted. The crowd roared. And ITZY stepped out.

For a few minutes, I forgot everything except the work. Not because they weren’t beautiful. They were. Painfully. But because watching them perform from backstage always split my brain in half. One part saw the artistry. The charisma. The reason thousands of people screamed their names like they were something larger than life. The other part saw risk.

Water hitting fabric. A camera drifting too low. A strap shifting. A fan phone rising from the barricade. A staff member standing two seconds too far from where I needed them. It was constant calculation. And somehow, in the middle of all of it, Yuna found time to look toward me. Just one sharp glance during a transition, soaked under stage lights, smiling like she knew exactly what seeing her like that did to my concentration.

Then she turned back to the crowd like nothing had happened. Terrifying woman. Ryujin was worse in a completely different way. She performed with the smug confidence of someone who remembered exactly what she had promised me in that outfit and knew I remembered too. At one point, she came off a turn drenched, hair slicked back, eyes cutting briefly toward the wings. Her smirk said everything. I immediately looked at the stage monitor. Professionalism. Survival Instincts. Maybe a prayer.

Chaeryeong caught a wave of cheers after one center moment and visibly brightened. Not enough for the audience to notice maybe, but enough for me to see from the side.

Lia performed with her usual grace, but when she passed near the wing during a formation shift, her eyes briefly found mine. Not teasing but checking. Still making sure I was breathing.

And Yeji— she commanded the stage like she always did. Sharp. Focused. Electric. Every inch the leader.

But once, just once, during a brief turn away from the crowd, her gaze flicked toward me. A reminder. A warning. A promise. I remembered what she said. Properly still has a limit.

For most of the set, I managed. Then I saw the phone. At first, it was just one more screen among hundreds. Nothing unusual. Then the angle changed. Too low. Too deliberate. Following movement in a way that had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with stealing what was never offered.

My body went still. The noise of the crowd seemed to narrow around me as all I heard was static from the Stress-Induced Tinnitus I was painfully aware of. I didn’t move immediately. That would draw unnecessary attention. Instead, I touched my earpiece.

“Security left barricade. Black cap. Third row. Phone angled low.” The staff member beside me glanced toward the crowd. I kept my voice calm and precise, the ability of hiding my rage behind a calm was a skill that hereditary. “Do not make a scene. Block the sightline first.” A stage assistant moved with a towel stack, casually crossing into the angle.

The phone shifted. Still trying.

My jaw tightened “Mark him.” There was a pause in my earpiece. “Copy.” Onstage, Yuna hit her mark, smiling brightly toward the crowd, unaware for now. Good. Keep performing. Let me handle the ugly part.

The fan tried again.

This time, angling lower when the water cannons fired. Something cold and clean moved through me— panic or rage did not consume me. It made whatever decision I had feel validated. “After the set,” I said quietly into the mic, “pull him to the back. Whatever it takes.” A staff member looked at me, horrified at how calm I looked. I did not look away from the monitor. “Quietly.”

 The set continued. The audience screamed. The water exploded under the lights. And I stood in the wing, watching a man in the crowd learn far too late that anonymity was only protection until someone with resources decided it wasn’t.

The rest of the performance passed without incident. At least onstage. Which was the only reason I let the set finish before moving. The second ITZY came offstage, staff moved exactly as instructed. Towels around shoulders. Cover-ups immediately. Water bottles handed out. Hair and makeup staff closing in with practiced urgency. “Straight to waiting area,” I said, already scanning behind them.

Ryujin shook water from her hair like she was personally trying to ruin the floor. “That was insane.” Chaeryeong was still breathing hard, eyes bright from the crowd reaction. “They were so loud.”

“They loved you,” Lia said softly, wrapping her towel tighter around herself. Yuna looked toward me then. Still smiling from the stage. Still glowing under the adrenaline. “Manager-nim,” she teased lightly, “did we survive your eighty percent risk factors?” I looked at her. For a second, I almost answered normally. Almost.

Then my earpiece clicked. “Security has him.” The smile left my face. Yuna noticed the immediate shift in my expression, and so did Yeji.

“Get him inside,” I said to the nearest staff member. The warmth in my voice dropped so suddenly that even I felt the temperature change. Yeji felt that shift and stepped closer. “Ben?”

“Waiting area. Now.” My voice came out calm but cold, too cold. That was the problem.

Yeji’s expression changed, but she didn’t challenge me there. Not in front of staff. Not while the girls were still damp, exposed, and being moved through a busy backstage corridor. The leader understood the timing. The girlfriend understood the danger. I turned before either side of her could stop me.

The fan looked smaller backstage. That was usually how people like him worked. Brave behind distance. Bold behind anonymity. Pathetic once consequence had a face. He sat in a small holding room near the security corridor with two staff members by the door and his phone placed face-up on the table.

He was young enough to still believe fear looked like innocence if he made his eyes wide enough. I stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind me. No shouting. No dramatic anger. Just silence. That scared him more than yelling would have. Good.

“Unlock it,” I said. His hands tightened around the phone. “I already deleted them.” “I didn’t ask what you deleted.” His throat moved. I held out my hand. “I said unlock it.” He hesitated.

That was his second mistake of the day. One of the security staff shifted near the door, just enough for him to remember he was not standing in a crowd anymore.

The fan unlocked the phone.

I took it, looked at the screen, then placed it back on the table between us. “Recently deleted.” His face went pale. “There it is,” I murmured. He started talking immediately.

Apologies. Excuses. Panic. The usual useless mixture from someone confusing regret with accountability. I lifted one hand slightly. He stopped. “You came here to watch a performance,” I said quietly. “Not collect pieces of women they did not choose to give you.”

His mouth opened. Nothing came out. Good.

“You thought the crowd protected you. You thought the phone protected you. You thought being one person in thousands made you forgettable.” I leaned back slightly in the chair. “It didn’t.” The room went still.

Even the security staff stopped moving. They had stepped in thinking their presence would make the room feel dangerous, until they saw the veins standing sharp along my forearm, the stillness in my shoulders, the way my jaw locked so tightly it made my temple pulse, and realized the only thing in that room keeping me civilized was discipline.

Not mercy, discipline.

The ringing in my ears had started sometime between his first excuse and my first breath. A thin, high whine behind the skull.

Stress. Adrenaline. Rage so compressed it had nowhere clean to go.

I heard it anyway. Louder than his breathing. Louder than the security staff shifting by the door. Louder than the ugly little part of me that wanted him to give me a reason. Any reason. But my hands stayed still. My voice stayed soft.

That was what scared them. Not that I was angry. Anyone could be angry.

The staff were scared because I was aware of every single sign my body was giving me, every tremor I refused to let reach my fingers, every violent answer I did not allow into the room, and I was still choosing my next words like paperwork.

“I know your name,” I continued. “I know the ticket account. I know the section. I know the account those clips were going to. I know enough to make this painfully simple.”

His breathing changed. Shallow now.

“You should understand something before you leave this room. Companies bury people in legality every day. Quietly. Slowly. So thoroughly that by the time they realize they’re drowning, they’ve already signed three forms they didn’t understand and answered five emails that made things worse.”

His lips parted slightly. I continued. “Venue reports. Agency complaints. Civil claims. Platform escalations. Permanent bans from affiliated events. Reputation management. Legal discovery. Every polite mechanism people invented so nobody has to get their hands dirty.”

I tilted my head, the small smile on my face reaching nowhere near my eyes “And that is me choosing to be civilized.”

The fan blinked. Once. Twice. His eyes moved toward the hallway, toward where the members had disappeared minutes earlier, then back to me. That was when he understood. I wasn’t calm. I was restraining myself. Not because of him. Because of them. Because somewhere beyond that wall were five women who trusted me enough to believe I would come back as the same man who had left them.

His face drained of color. Not because he thought I was going to hurt him. Because he understood I wanted to. And the only thing keeping that want from becoming real was the fact that I cared more about what they would see in me afterward than what he deserved now. The room felt smaller. The fan swallowed hard. For the first time since I entered, he looked genuinely ashamed. Not of being caught. Of understanding.

“Personally, I don’t think fans like you deserve this much leniency,” I said softly. “Not legally. Not socially. Not personally.”

One of the security staff glanced at me. I did not look away from the fan. That was when the fan finally understood. The security staff were not there to help me scare him. They were there in case I decided human decency had become too generous.

His eyes flickered toward them. Then back to me. Then toward the hallway again. And somehow that seemed to break him more than any threat. Because he knew exactly why I was sitting in a chair instead of standing over him. Exactly why every sentence sounded measured. Exactly why every word felt chosen. Not for his sake. For theirs.

“You saw them as bodies first and people second,” I continued. “So I need you to understand exactly what happens if I decide to see you as paperwork instead of a person.” His hands trembled. “You would lose.” The words landed flatly. No heat. No drama. Just fact that I could deliver in the same breath as asking for coffee. The kind of fact that would bury him and leave me annoyed only because it had taken time out of my day.

I continued, “Not because I’m special. Not because I’m angry. Because I have more money, more lawyers, more access, more patience, and fewer reasons than you think to be merciful.” His eyes widened. I leaned forward slightly.

“Ruining your life would take less effort from me than deciding not to show up at work on a Tuesday morning.” Silence. Then quieter— “And unlike work, I might actually enjoy making the point.”

That was when he broke. Not all at once. Slowly. His breathing hitched. His eyes watered. The phone nearly slipped from his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I swear, I won’t—” he stopped. Looked away. Ashamed. “I didn’t think about it.” his voice shook “I swear I didn’t think about them like that. I wasn’t trying to—” his throat closed. Because even he knew how pathetic it sounded. The room remained silent. “I just wanted the video,” he muttered out. Then his face crumpled. The truth finally catching up to him. “I didn’t think they’d feel violated”. The word hung there. ‘Violated’. He looked sick after saying it.

Like hearing it out loud had forced him to confront what he’d actually done. His eyes darted toward me again. And somehow seeing that I wasn’t yelling made him unravel further. Because if I had screamed, he could have hidden behind fear. If I had threatened him, he could have called me unreasonable. Instead, I was sitting there, speaking calmly, choosing restraint he knew he hadn’t earned. And that made him feel small.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The words came out broken. Small. Useless. “I didn’t think—” He stopped because even he heard how pathetic it sounded. Of course he hadn’t thought.

That was the problem.

He had wanted a video. A clip. A private thrill he could hide behind a screen and a crowd. He had not thought about the women on the other side of it until consequence gave them faces.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, weaker this time. “No,” I interrupted. “You’re scared. Don’t insult me by pretending this is morality. He flinched. The words hit. Because they were true. His guilt was real. His shame was real. But fear had opened the door first. He shut up instantly. I nodded toward the phone. “Delete everything. Recently deleted. Cloud backups. Draft uploads. Private archive. Any message where you sent it to someone else. Anything you thought was clever.”

He obeyed. Frantically. Thoroughly. When he finished, I looked toward security. “Flag his ticket information. I don’t want him near another event involving my artists ever again.”

The fan flinched at ‘my artists’. Good. Before security escorted him out, I spoke again “One more thing.” He froze.

“If anything appears online later—one frame, one cropped still, one anonymous repost that traces back to you—I won’t ask questions next time.” I smiled faintly. “I’ll just start,” then softer “and I’ll let you know it was me.”

The fan stared at me. Not defiant. Not angry. Just devastated. Because he finally understood that the mercy he had received had never been for him. It had been for the people waiting on the other side of that wall. The people I refused to disappoint. The people who would never know how close he had come to finding out what happened when that restraint disappeared.

My face challenged him to try. The door closed behind him. For a moment, the room stayed quiet. Then I exhaled slowly. Not from guilt. From irritation. Because the worst part was not how angry I had been. The worst part was how precisely I had controlled it. And how easy it had been to mean every word.

When I returned to the waiting area, the girls were quiet. Too quiet. They had clearly heard enough. Not all of it. But enough.

Yuna sat with a towel around her shoulders, still damp from the stage, eyes fixed on me like she was trying to reconcile the man who kept looking away from her with the one who had just calmly explained how easy it would be to erase someone from public life.

 Chaeryeong looked unsettled, fingers gripping the edge of her towel. Lia watched me without blinking.

Yeji’s expression was the worst. Not fear. Recognition.

Like she had just seen a door open inside me and realized she didn’t know where it led. Ryujin broke the silence first.

“…That was kind of hot.” “Ryujin,” Lia said immediately. “What?” Ryujin muttered. “I said kind of.” Chaeryeong’s voice came softer. “He was filming us like that?”

The cold part of me disappeared the second I looked at her. “Not anymore.” That seemed to help. A little. But Lia was still watching me. “You’re very calm when you’re angry,” she said quietly. I met her gaze “That’s useful”. Her expression tightened slightly “That’s what worries me.”

Then Yuna stood. Slowly. The towel slipped slightly from one shoulder, but for once she didn’t seem to notice. “You scared him,” she said “Good”. Her eyes stayed on mine. “You scared me a little too.” My chest tightened. “Yuna—”

“Not like that.” Her voice was quieter now. Focused. “I mean…” She glanced toward the door, then back at me. “I didn’t know you could look like that for us.” That landed harder than anything she had done all week. Because the teasing had been survivable. The flirting had rules. Even her temptation had a shape I could understand. But this? This was different. Yuna had stopped playing. And somehow, that made her more dangerous than before.

Yeji stepped forward. Not sharply. Not loudly. But everyone felt it anyway “Ben”. I looked at her. Her voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft about it. “How far were you going to take that?” The room went still again. I should have answered carefully. I knew that. Instead, the truth came out first. “As far as I needed to.” Wrong answer.

I knew it the moment Yeji’s expression changed. Not fear. She was hurt. Like I had answered a different question than the one she actually asked. For a second, nobody moved. Then Yeji inhaled slowly and looked around the room, her leader instincts locking back into place before the moment could fracture in front of everyone. “Everyone should change first,” she said calmly. “Warm clothes, dry hair, food if you can eat.”

Ryujin opened her mouth. Lia touched her arm once. Ryujin closed it. Good survival instincts. Yeji looked back at me. “We’ll talk later.” Four words. Quiet. Controlled. Catastrophic. Then she turned away to help Chaeryeong with the spare hoodie folded beside her bag, and the room slowly started moving again. But nothing felt normal after that. Not the towels. Not the staff. Not the sound of the festival still roaring outside like nothing had happened.

And definitely not Yuna, who kept watching me like the answer she had been waiting for all week had finally arrived— just not in the form either of us expected.

The rest of the backstage process moved with the strange stiffness of people pretending something had not shifted. Staff came in and out with dry clothes. Hair dryers buzzed from the corner. Someone placed food trays on the table. The festival outside continued roaring like the world had not narrowed into a backstage holding room and one question from Yeji.

Everyone changed into warmer clothes eventually. Chaeryeong stayed close to Lia for a while, still quieter than usual. Ryujin tried to joke twice, failed once, then wisely decided to eat instead. Yuna disappeared into her own thoughts, towel still around her shoulders even after she had already dried off.

Yeji remained composed. Too composed. Which somehow made the entire room feel more dangerous. I finished the final post-stage checks with staff on autopilot. Transport route. Security handoff. Outfit returns. Media restrictions. Recovery schedule. Uploaded incident report. Normal things. Professional things. Useful things. The kind of work that gave my hands something to do while the rest of me tried not to think about the way Yeji had looked at me.

Eventually, the staff cleared out. Then Lia gently stood. “We should give them a minute.” Ryujin looked at her. “What?” Lia didn’t answer. She just looked toward Yeji, then toward me. Ryujin’s mouth opened. Then closed. For once, she understood. “Right,” Ryujin muttered, grabbing her towel. “Emotional adult conversation. Gross.” Chaeryeong hesitated briefly before following Lia out. Yuna was last. She paused near the doorway, eyes flicking between me and Yeji. For a second, I thought she might say something. She didn’t. Not yet. She only looked at me with that same quiet intensity from earlier. Like the teasing had burned away and left something sharper underneath. Then she left too. The door closed. And suddenly the waiting room was too quiet.

Yeji stood near the table, arms folded loosely, hair still damp from the performance. Her hoodie hung around her shoulders now, but she hadn’t put it on properly. She looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally. That was worse. I tried first. “That wasn’t how I wanted them to see it.” Yeji looked at me. “That’s what you’re worried about?” I stopped.

Wrong opening. Outstanding start. She exhaled slowly, then looked down at the table like she was forcing herself to stay calm.

“I’m not angry because you protected us.” “I know.” “Do you?”

The question landed harder than expected. I didn’t answer. Yeji looked back up. “Because I watched you in there, Ben. You didn’t look like someone trying to solve a problem.” Her voice stayed even. That made it worse.

“You looked like someone deciding whether a person deserved mercy.” The words settled between us. Heavy. Accurate. Difficult to deny. I swallowed.

“He violated them.” “I know.” “He was going to upload—” “I know,” Yeji repeated, sharper this time.

Then she softened immediately, like the edge had hurt her too. “I know what he did. I’m not defending him.” Her eyes held mine. “I’m scared of what you were willing to become because of it.” That shut me up completely.

Yeji stepped closer, but slowly. Not like she was afraid of me. Like she was afraid I would misunderstand her.

“If this was something legal departments, venue security, and agency reports could handle, and you still looked like that…” Her voice lowered. “What happens when something happens to us that legality can’t handle?”

My chest tightened. There it was. The real question. The one neither of us wanted spoken out loud. I tried to answer carefully. “I’d handle it.” Yeji’s face changed. Just slightly. But enough to hurt. “That’s what I’m scared of.”

I looked away. Big mistake. Because for once, looking away didn’t save me from anything. Yeji reached for my hand. Not forcefully. Just enough to stop me from retreating into myself. “I’m not asking you to care less,” she whispered. That made me look at her again. Her eyes were glossy now, but her voice stayed steady. “I know you. If I asked you to care less, you’d just lie to me.” A weak laugh almost escaped me. It didn’t make it. She squeezed my hand.

“I’m asking you to come back afterward.” That hit harder than any accusation could have. Because it wasn’t about the fan anymore. It wasn’t even about Waterbomb. It was about the line inside me I kept pretending was theoretical. Yeji stepped closer, her other hand pressing lightly against my chest. “Protect us. Be angry. Do what you have to do. But don’t become someone we have to be afraid of losing”. My throat tightened “Yeji…”

“Because I love you,” she said, softer now. “And I don’t want your love for us to be the thing that destroys you.” For a moment, I couldn’t say anything. There were jokes for most situations. Deflections. Sarcasm. Professional language. Managerial distance. None of them survived her.

So I just lowered my forehead against hers and closed my eyes. “I don’t know if I can promise that perfectly.” Her fingers tightened against my shirt. “Then don’t promise perfectly.” I opened my eyes. Yeji looked up at me, close enough that the festival noise outside felt like another world entirely. “Promise you’ll try before you disappear somewhere I can’t follow.”

That was easier and harder all at once. “I’ll try,” I whispered. She breathed out slowly, like that was the only answer she expected and the only one she could accept. Then she leaned up and kissed me. Not passionate. Not desperate. Not trying to erase the conversation. Just enough to remind me that she was still there. That I was still there. When she pulled away, her thumb brushed lightly against my jaw. “You scared me today.”

“I’m sorry.” “I know.” Then, quieter… “Don’t make me get used to it.” That one landed deep. I nodded once. Yeji held my gaze for another second before finally stepping back. Leader mode returned gradually, but not completely. Not around me. “Come on,” she said softly. “The others are probably pretending not to worry.”

“Ryujin is probably pretending not to listen.” “She is absolutely listening.”

When we opened the door, Ryujin was standing several feet away beside the hallway vending machine, holding a drink she clearly had no intention of buying. She looked at us. We looked at her “…Hydration,” she said. Lia, sitting farther down the hallway, closed her eyes in visible disappointment. Yuna was leaning against the wall beside Chaeryeong, but her attention was not on Ryujin. It was on me.

And for the first time all week, Yuna did not look like she was trying to make me react. She looked like she had already decided what she wanted.

The incident report reached the Top Floor before the night had fully ended. Which was honestly impressive. Terrifying. But still impressive. By the time the members had washed up, changed, and retreated into various corners of the floor to recover from Waterbomb, I was already sitting in the private room with the report open on the tablet in front of me.

Across from me sat JYP. Beside him, Jihyo. And leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, face unreadable, was John. That was how I knew this was not going to be a normal review.

JYP looked down at the report first. “The official version says the fan was removed for invasive filming, footage deleted, ticket information flagged, and venue security notified.” He looked up at me “That part is clean”. I said nothing. JYP’s expression did not change. “The unofficial part is where this becomes complicated”. Jihyo sat quietly beside him, but her eyes were already on me. Not hostile. Not disappointed. Watchful. Like she understood the anger better than most people would. Like she was also trying to measure something she had not expected to find.

JYP folded his hands over the table. “Ben,” he said. “Was this handled as company procedure, or personally as Mr. Sung Benjamin?” The question sat there. Sharp enough that nobody needed to repeat it. I leaned back slightly.

“The fan was filming them from an invasive angle.” “That is not what I asked.” “He was corrected.”

John’s eyes flicked toward me immediately. There it was. The smallest reaction. Almost nothing. But I caught it. JYP’s gaze narrowed slightly “Corrected”. I looked at him “Yes”. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then JYP glanced down at another page attached to the report. “Before this meeting,” he said, “I spoke to the venue staff”. That got my attention. His eyes lifted “They all described the same thing”. The room stayed quiet.

“One security supervisor said you were calmer than anyone else in the room. Another said you never raised your voice once.” JYP’s gaze remained fixed on me. “And a third told me he was more afraid of you because you weren’t shouting.” Nobody spoke.

“They said you looked like a man whose body was about to tear itself apart from rage,” JYP continued. “But your voice never changed.” The words landed heavily. “You maintained composure the entire time”. For the first time since the meeting began, something almost resembling admiration crossed JYP’s face. Not approval. Certainly not approval. But recognition.

“Do you know how uncommon that is?” I said nothing. “Most people lose control when they become angry,” JYP said. “They shout. They threaten. They become emotional.” His eyes sharpened. “You did the opposite.” The room remained still. “You were disciplined.” The word hung there. Heavy. Measured.

“Frankly,” JYP admitted, “man to man, I understand why the staff found it unsettling.” John looked away briefly. Jihyo remained silent. JYP folded his hands again. “I can appreciate the discipline it takes to stay composed when every instinct is telling you not to.” Then his expression hardened again. “But that is also exactly why we are having this conversation.”

The admiration vanished. The executive returned. “Because if you had lost your temper, this would be easier.” I frowned slightly. JYP nodded. “A man who loses control can be corrected”. His gaze stayed locked on mine. “A man who remains perfectly in control while deciding how much fear another person deserves is much harder to predict.”

The room fell silent again. And somehow, that landed harder than criticism would have. Jihyo exhaled quietly. “Fans like that are disgusting,” she said. “I’m not going to pretend otherwise.” Her voice was calm, but there was something colder underneath it. The kind of cold that came from years of knowing exactly what it felt like to be treated like a body before a person. “But I have seen managers get angry before,” she continued. “I’ve seen staff lose their temper. I’ve seen people shout, threaten, overreact.” Her eyes stayed on mine. “You were not like that”. I said nothing. “You were calm.”

John finally pushed himself off the wall. “That’s the problem”. I turned toward him. His expression had changed now. Recognition instead of judgment. And somehow, that felt worse. “You didn’t talk to him like a manager protecting artists,” John said. “You talked to him like someone deciding whether mercy was worth the inconvenience.” JYP looked toward John. “You sound like you’ve seen that tone before.” John’s jaw shifted slightly. For one second, I saw the calculation happen behind his eyes. What to say. What not to say. What truths could survive in this room without exposing everything else. Then John looked back at me. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I have.”

Jihyo’s attention sharpened. John crossed his arms again, but his voice stayed even. “When I first came into this industry, things got messy with my old job. The company was trying to make me the clean scapegoat for something bigger than me. Easier to blame one foreign manager than admit the whole machine was already broken.” JYP said nothing. But he listened. “And they did,” John continued. “That’s how I lost my gig with NewJeans.”

The room stayed quiet. “After that, one of them pushed too far. Thought he had enough connections, enough paperwork, enough public distance to ruin me and walk away clean”. His eyes moved to mine. “Then Ben’s father got involved.” The air shifted. Not dramatically. But enough. Jihyo glanced toward me briefly. JYP leaned back slightly. “What happened?” he asked.

John smiled faintly. Without humor. “There was no dramatic ending. No threat anyone could point to. No crime anyone could prove. That was what made it worse.” His voice lowered. “One day, that man had a career, contacts, credibility, a history. Then little pieces of it started vanishing”. Nobody spoke. “Records stopped helping him. References stopped existing. People who used to know him suddenly couldn’t remember much. Opportunities dried up before they reached him. Every door he thought was secure somehow opened for everyone except him.”

John’s mouth tightened. “And after a while, it was like the industry looked at him and decided he had never really belonged there in the first place.” Jihyo slowly set her cup down. For the first time since entering the room, she looked genuinely unsettled.

“That isn’t influence,” she said quietly. “No,” John replied. His smile carried no humor “It wasn’t”.

JYP leaned back. The implications were settling in now. Not just what my father had been capable of. What kind of network, leverage, and reach had been required to make something like that happen without anyone ever being able to prove it happened. And then another realization followed immediately behind it. His eyes shifted toward me. Toward the son who had inherited everything. John noticed. Of course he did.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the part everyone eventually figures out”. The room stayed silent. “Ben inherited all of it.” Jihyo’s expression tightened. John nodded once. “And then he expanded it.” That landed harder than anything before it. Not because it was dramatic. Because nobody in the room doubted it. John looked directly at JYP. “His father built an empire”. Then at me. “Ben made it bigger.” The silence afterward felt heavier than before. JYP’s fingers folded together slowly. For the first time, he wasn’t looking at me like a manager. He was looking at me like a variable. A force. Something difficult to measure.

Jihyo looked away briefly. Processing. Because suddenly the conversation wasn’t only about a fan anymore. It was about understanding exactly what kind of person had been standing beside ITZY this entire time. John saw where both of their thoughts were heading. And immediately stepped in.

“Which is exactly why I’m saying he’s not his father.” Both of them looked at him. John’s voice remained steady. “If Ben were his father, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.” I frowned slightly. John ignored me. “His father wouldn’t have stopped at fear. He wouldn’t have questioned himself afterward. He wouldn’t have sat here listening to criticism.” His gaze settled on me. “He definitely wouldn’t have admitted he didn’t know how to protect people without going too far.” Nobody spoke. John continued anyway.

“Do I think Ben is walking close to the same edge?” He did not hesitate. “Yes.” “Do I think he is capable of becoming something more dangerous than his father?” His expression hardened “Absolutely”.

That one hit. Hard. “But the difference,” John said, “is that Ben still asks whether he’s wrong.” The room fell silent again. And somehow, that silence felt different. Not lighter. But clearer. Because for the first time since the story began, Jihyo and JYP were not just seeing the shadow my father had cast. They were seeing the fact that I had every tool necessary to become something worse and still had not.

JYP looked at me again. “Ben.” His voice was not angry. That made it worse. “Do I need to worry that your protection of ITZY will become something the company cannot control?” There it was. Not punishment. Assessment. JYP was not asking if the fan deserved sympathy. He was asking whether the man entrusted with protecting ITZY had just shown him a liability no report could cleanly contain.

I looked down at the tablet. The report was still there. Clean language. Professional wording. Everything ugly trimmed into acceptable documentation. I should have said no. Instead, I said the truth. “If the company could control every threat, I wouldn’t need to exist.” Jihyo closed her eyes briefly. John looked away. JYP did not react immediately. But the silence answered for him.

“That is exactly the kind of answer that concerns me,” JYP said. I looked back at him. His tone stayed even. Not cold. Not corporate, either. Something more difficult. Understanding.

“You are not wrong that the company cannot control every threat,” he said. “And you are not wrong to be angry.” That surprised me enough that I said nothing. JYP’s gaze did not move. “What you felt in that room was human, Benjamin. More human than you probably want to admit. Someone tried to violate the privacy and dignity of artists under your care. Anger is not the problem.” he leaned forward slightly. “What you chose to do with that anger is.”

The room stayed quiet. “You had options,” JYP continued. “Legal options. Security options. Venue procedures. Agency action. Company escalation. All of them slower than what you wanted, maybe. Less satisfying, certainly.” his voice hardened by one degree “But they existed.”

That landed. Cleanly. “And instead,” he said, “you walked into that room already deciding how far you were willing to go if fear did not work fast enough.” I looked down at the tablet again. JYP saw it too. “That is where I have to stand with the company,” he said. “Not against you. Not against ITZY. But against the idea that access to resources gives you the right to become a private punishment system.”

Jihyo finally spoke. “Ben.” Her voice was softer now, but it carried something heavier than before “You know nobody here is asking you to let people hurt them.”

“I know.” “Do you?”

The same question Yeji had asked earlier. Different voice. Same wound. Jihyo leaned forward slightly “I understand why you did it. More than you probably think. I understand seeing someone try to take something from them and wanting to make sure he never gets the chance again.” Her eyes moved briefly toward the closed door. Toward the rest of the Top Floor. Toward the five women somewhere beyond it. “I knew you would care about them,” she said quietly. “I expected that. I needed that.”

I looked at her. Jihyo held my gaze. “When I asked John for someone who could help ITZY, I was not asking for someone detached. I knew ordinary management would not be enough. I knew they needed someone who would see them properly, someone who would become invested enough to notice the things everyone else missed.” Her expression tightened “What I did not know was how easily that care could turn into you throwing your humanity away for them.”

The words struck harder than I expected. Jihyo did not look away “And the worst part is…” She exhaled softly. “I understand it.” That made the room feel smaller. “I understand wanting to become whatever stands between them and the world. I understand wanting someone like that fan to be afraid. I understand why, in that moment, legality probably felt too polite for what he had done.” Her voice lowered. “But understanding it does not make it right.”

I said nothing. “He could have been handled by the company. By security. By legal action. By procedures that exist for exactly this kind of violation.” Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed firm. “You were willing to erase someone over something legality could have handled.”

Yeji’s question echoed through me again. What happens when something happens to us that legality can’t handle?

Jihyo looked at me like she heard it too. “That’s what scares me,” she said. “Not that you protected them. Not that you were angry. But that if this is what you resorted to when the system still has answers…” she paused. “What happens when it doesn’t?”

John nodded once “That’s what I’m trying to say.” I looked toward him. He was not smiling now. “You are starting to go down the same route as your dad.” The words landed harder than anything else in the room. John’s voice stayed quiet.

“And I owe your father more than I can say. I mean that. What he did for me probably saved my career. Maybe more than that.” He stepped closer “But he also scared the hell out of me”. I swallowed once. John noticed. “He protected people by making himself the thing everyone else was afraid of,” John said. “And it worked. That’s the dangerous part. It worked so well that nobody could tell him to stop.”

The room stayed still. John looked at me directly. “I watched him justify it the same way you just did”. That cut deeper. Not loud or dramatic. Just precise. “He would say the system couldn’t handle it. That normal rules were too slow. That people like him only existed because softer people couldn’t afford to get their hands dirty.” John’s expression tightened “And every time it worked, it got easier for him to believe he was right.”

I could not answer. He did not let me.

“I am not asking you to stop protecting them,” John said. “I know you won’t. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe you if you said you would.” A weak laugh almost escaped me. John continued. “I am asking you to notice when protecting them starts sounding like permission.”

JYP’s eyes stayed on me. Jihyo’s face softened with something like pain. John stepped closer, voice lower now. “Because today, you did not sound like someone who had lost control.” His jaw tightened. “You sounded like someone who had control and knew exactly how much damage he could do with it.”

That was worse. Because it was true. JYP finally spoke again. “Protection cannot become private punishment.” His tone was firm now. Not corporate. Personal. “I will not pretend the fan deserved sympathy. He did not. But if your first instinct is to decide whether someone’s life is worth ruining, then your line is already too close.”

I looked at him. JYP held firm. “You are valuable because the girls trust you. John trusts you. Jihyo trusts you. I trusted their judgment when they brought you here, so that means I also trust you.” He paused. “But trust is not permission to become uncontrollable”. That one struck deep. Jihyo’s voice followed, gentler. “They need you, Ben. More than I think even you understand.” Her eyes moved briefly toward John, then back to me. “And yes, I knew they would need you. I knew that was part of the risk.” Her voice softened.

“But they need you as a person they can come back to. Not as a monster standing between them and the world.” I looked down. For once, I had no answer ready. John’s voice came last. “And definitely not as someone who burns himself alive just to keep everyone else warm.” That was the line that finally made the room feel too small. I leaned back, exhaling slowly.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him.” “No,” John said. He looked at me carefully. “You were going to make him wish you had.” I did not deny it. That was the worst part. JYP saw that. Jihyo saw that. For a while, nobody said anything. Then I finally spoke. “I don’t know how to protect them halfway.” Jihyo’s expression softened immediately. “You do not have to protect them halfway.” John nodded “You just have to leave enough of yourself intact to come back afterward.”

Yeji’s words echoed through me. Come back afterward. I closed my eyes for one second. Then opened them again. “I’ll try.” It was not enough. Not really. But it was honest. And in that room, after everything that had happened, honesty was probably the only thing any of them were willing to accept.

JYP nodded once “For now, that will have to do.” But his expression made it clear the matter was not gone. Only held. John let out a slow breath. Jihyo looked toward the closed door, where somewhere beyond it, five women were trying to recover from a day that had become heavier than any of them expected. Then she looked back at me. “Go back to them,” she said quietly “But don’t make them carry the fear of losing you too”. That one stayed with me.

After the meeting ended with an agreeable note, all of us left the room and the silence followed us for about five seconds. Then JYP stopped walking. Which was never a good sign.

He stood in the hallway of the Top Floor, looking slowly from the private lounge to the open kitchen, then toward the glass walls overlooking the city. His expression shifted from concern to confusion to the unmistakable look of a man realizing a corporate budget had not been involved in any of this.

“…This is all yours?” he asked. I glanced around. “The floor?” JYP turned toward me “The floor, the lounge, the gym, the private kitchen, the recovery room, the security system, the separate residential access, and whatever room I saw with the massage equipment that looked more expensive than our trainee facility.” I blinked. “Then yes.”

Jihyo, standing beside John, slowly looked around again. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Not suspicious. Calculating. “This is where ITZY has been staying?”

“Sometimes,” I said. Jihyo looked toward me. “Sometimes?”

“It’s a private decompression space.” John coughed into his fist. That was not helpful. Jihyo’s attention sharpened immediately. “A private decompression space,” she repeated. “That sounds suspicious when you say it like that.” JYP looked toward the kitchen island, then back at me. “I assume the company is not reimbursing any of this.” I stared at him. Then laughed once. “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” he replied immediately “Because I was not approving this.”

“The company couldn’t afford reimbursement.” JYP’s expression went flat. John immediately turned away like he wanted no legal involvement in the conversation. Jihyo covered her mouth with one hand. Not quite laughing. Definitely close. JYP looked personally wounded. “Benjamin.”

“What?” I asked. “I took this job under minimum wage conditions. You are receiving premium infrastructure from a severely underpaid employee.” “You negotiated your own salary.” “I negotiated emotionally.” “That is not a legal category.”

“It should be.” John finally muttered, “For Ben, it usually is.” JYP looked at John. “You are not helping.”

“I know.” Jihyo walked a few steps farther into the lounge, still studying everything with quiet disbelief. Then she turned back toward me. “So…” I immediately disliked that tone “…do you plan on inviting TWICE here too?” John froze. I froze. The air froze. Jihyo smiled. Very slightly. This dangerous woman. I kept my expression professionally neutral with the full confidence of a man currently dying internally.

“For appropriate occasions, senior artists are always welcome to use recovery facilities.” John slowly closed his eyes. Jihyo’s smile widened “That sounded very rehearsed.”

“It was improvised under pressure.” “Terrible improvisation.” “Thank you.”

JYP looked between us, missing whatever invisible landmine had just almost detonated. “What is wrong with inviting TWICE? It would be good for senior-junior morale.” John made a sound that might have been a cough or prayer. I looked at JYP “Sir, with respect, if TWICE and ITZY occupy this floor at the same time, I cannot legally guarantee structural, emotional, or financial stability.” Jihyo laughed properly at that. John pointed at me. “He’s not wrong.” JYP frowned. “This is why company facilities have schedules.”

“This is why private facilities have locks.” The second I said it, John slowly turned his head toward me. Jihyo’s eyes lit up. JYP blinked. I sighed. “Not like that.” John nodded gravely. “Sure.”

“That tone says the opposite of sure.” Jihyo smiled into her hand. Before the conversation could become more dangerous, voices drifted from the common area.

The ITZY members had clearly been waiting.

 Chaeryeong appeared first near the hallway entrance, wrapped in a hoodie and looking relieved enough to make my chest tighten. Lia was beside her with tea in hand, calm but watchful. Yeji stood slightly behind them, composed in leader mode, though her eyes found me immediately. Yuna leaned against the back of the couch, still quieter than usual. And Ryujin— Ryujin walked in confidently, saw JYP, and stopped dead. Not slowed. Stopped. Her entire body locked like a deer in headlights.

JYP smiled politely “Ryujin-ah.” Ryujin’s face went pale “…Sir.” Everyone looked at her. I looked at her. Then slowly, beautifully, horrifically, understanding dawned. I smiled. Ryujin’s eyes snapped toward me. “No.” I said nothing. She pointed at me “No.”

JYP looked confused “What is happening?” Yuna’s face slowly brightened with evil realization. “Oh my God.” Lia immediately closed her eyes “Ben, don’t.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “Ryujin has been extremely committed to maintaining professional conduct lately.” Ryujin looked like she had witnessed the gates of hell opening “Ben.”

“That is good to hear.” JYP looked pleased. “It is,” I said solemnly. “In fact, we were discussing potential morale-building activities.”

Ryujin visibly mouthed, don’t you dare. I dared.

“Perhaps a lighthearted TikTok challenge.” Ryujin inhaled like she had been stabbed. Yuna folded instantly, laughing into the back of the couch. Chaeryeong looked between everyone, confused. “What TikTok challenge?” Ryujin spun toward her. “Nothing.”

“With aegyo,” I added. Ryujin made a noise that was not language. JYP brightened. “With me?”

The room went silent. Ryujin stared at him like he had personally announced the apocalypse. Jihyo slowly turned away, shoulders shaking. John whispered, “Oh no.” Yuna was on the floor now, actually on the floor. Lia set her tea down carefully, probably to avoid throwing it. JYP looked around, mildly offended. “What? I can do aegyo.” Ryujin’s voice came out hollow “That’s the problem.”

JYP blinked. John lost the battle first and laughed. Then Jihyo broke. Then Yuna made a sound like she was actively dying. Even Chaeryeong started laughing once she finally understood that Ryujin, of all people, was genuinely afraid. I stood there quietly, watching the Top Floor come back to life one laugh at a time. Ryujin slowly turned back toward me “You are a monster.”

“That was established in the meeting.” I told her. “Too soon,” Lia said immediately. “Correct,” Yeji added. “Fair.” I nodded once.

Ryujin pointed at JYP, then at me. “If this happens, I want hazard pay.” JYP frowned. “For aegyo?” Yuna wheezed from the floor. Jihyo leaned against the kitchen island, wiping at the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I just never thought I’d see Ryujin afraid of anything.” Ryujin looked betrayed. “I fear reasonable things.”

“You once ate convenience store chicken that had been sitting out for six hours,” Lia said. “That was bravery.” “That was bacterial roulette.”

JYP raised a finger. “I still think the TikTok would be good content.” Ryujin whispered, “Please don’t say content.” John looked at me. “You realize you’ve created the first known Ryujin containment protocol.”

“I’m considering patenting it.” Yuna finally pushed herself upright, still laughing. “Can we make it a group challenge?” Ryujin spun toward her. “You were supposed to be my sister.”

“You threatened my recreational fund last time.” “That was different.” “You endangered luxury.” “That’s unforgivable,” I said. Yuna pointed at me. “Exactly.”

JYP paused “…Hold on.” Everyone looked at him. “What recreational fund?” Silence. Yuna immediately looked away. Ryujin suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. John muttered, “Oh no.” JYP narrowed his eyes. “There’s an ITZY recreational fund?” I answered honestly. “Yes.”

“Why?” “Because stress relief matters.” JYP stared at me. “I don’t have a recreational fund.” I blinked once “That’s deeply concerning.”

“I run the company.” “And yet no recreational fund. This explains a lot.” Jihyo physically turned away to hide her laughter. JYP pointed at me “You created a recreational fund for ITZY?”

“And associated wellness activities.” “What associated wellness activities?”

Yuna raised her hand immediately. “Luxury desserts.” “Movie nights,” Lia added carefully. “Spa reservations,” Chaeryeong admitted. “Private gym access,” Yeji said.

JYP looked increasingly betrayed with every answer. “I founded this company.” “And now your artists have better emotional infrastructure than most governments.” “That is not comforting.” “It should be.”

JYP rubbed his forehead. “I genuinely cannot tell if you are an employee or a hostile takeover with good intentions.”

“Both can be true.” John nodded. “That’s the scary part.” JYP sighed heavily. “I don’t even have a recreational fund.” I reached into my jacket. John immediately noticed. “Oh no.” I pulled out my checkbook. JYP stared at it “Benjamin.”

“You mentioned emotional distress.” “That was not an invoice.” “It is now.” “Ben,” Lia whispered, already laughing. I wrote the check calmly. Tore it free. Handed it to JYP. “For emotional compensation related to today’s incident, appreciation for not firing me on the spot, and a contribution toward a nice snack.” JYP looked down at the number. Then stopped breathing for a second “…Benjamin.” John leaned over. Then recoiled like he had witnessed a crime “That’s more than a CEO’s annual salary.”

“Several,” Jihyo corrected after seeing it. Yuna screamed, actually screamed. Chaeryeong covered her mouth in horror. Lia nearly dropped her tea again. Ryujin stared at the check “You could buy a building with that.”

“I like gratitude,” I said simply. JYP looked genuinely shaken. “This is not a snack budget.”

“It could be.” “For a nation.” “Treat yourself.”

John looked at me with exhausted disbelief “You emotionally tipped the founder of JYPE.”

“He looked stressed”

JYP still hadn’t moved “You cannot casually hand me this amount of money.”

“If you think it’s not enough emotional compensation, I’ll happily write a second cheque.” The room went completely silent. JYP stared at me. John stared at me. Jihyo slowly lowered her hand from her face. Yuna looked personally offended on behalf of basic economics. “…A second cheque?” JYP repeated. I nodded. “You had a stressful day.” John made a strangled noise. “Ben.”

“What?” “That is not how money works.” “It’s exactly how money works.” “That’s somehow worse.”

“He’s negotiating gratitude with executive bonuses.” Yuna pointed at me in disbelief “Emotional bonuses,” I corrected. Jihyo turned away immediately, shoulders shaking again. Lia covered her face “Oh my God.” Ryujin looked between me and the check. Then back at me. “You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious about emotional compensation.” “That is terrifying.” JYP looked down at the check again. Then back at me. “That is an absurd amount of money.” “You survived today without murdering me. I considered that premium service.”

Jihyo was openly crying laughing now. Yuna pointed at the check. “Sir, if you don’t want it, I volunteer as tribute.” “Absolutely not,” JYP said immediately, clutching it tighter on instinct. Everyone noticed. The room exploded again. Even Yeji laughed at that one. Ryujin pointed accusingly. “You held onto it!” “I was startled!” “You protected it!” “It’s emotionally confusing!”

John leaned against the counter “I cannot believe I just watched Park Jinyoung get financially flashbanged.”

“I said nice snack,” I reminded him. JYP looked back down at the check “…This could fund a small division.”

“Or an excellent dessert.” “You are insane.” “That has been repeatedly documented today.” “If you buy the company, I’m canceling the aegyo TikToks.” Ryujin narrowed her eyes at m “No,” I said immediately. She blinked “No?”

“If I buy the company, weekly aegyo TikToks become policy.” The room detonated. Ryujin looked physically betrayed “WHAT?” Yuna collapsed back onto the couch screaming. Chaeryeong nearly fell into Lia. Jihyo had to grab the kitchen island for support. John whispered, “He weaponized capitalism.” JYP looked horrified “You cannot make aegyo a corporate mandate.”

“Watch me.” Ryujin pointed at me like she was identifying a criminal in court. “This is tyranny.” “This is engagement optimization.” “I hate you.” “No you don’t.” “That confidence is upsetting.”

Yuna was crying laughing again “Weekly! Weekly!” “Yuna,” Ryujin hissed, “I know where you sleep.” “You live in the same dorm!” “Then nowhere is safe!”

Even JYP was laughing now despite himself “I suddenly understand why everyone here looks exhausted.” “Occupational hazard, sir.” John said. Ryujin crossed her arms. “If this becomes policy, I’m unionizing.” “I’ll fund the union,” I replied. “That’s worse!”

Ryujin stared at all of us. Then slowly turned toward Jihyo “You’re a leader. Help me.” Jihyo considered it. Then smiled “Nothing I can do.” Ryujin’s soul visibly left her body. Chaeryeong covered her mouth, laughing softer now, but still smiling for the first time since the incident. That mattered more than I wanted to admit. Even Yeji’s expression had loosened. She still watched me with concern underneath everything, but the immediate fear had softened into something warmer. Not gone, just held back for now.

JYP finally looked around the room again, his gaze moving over the kitchen, the lounge, the members, the ridiculous amount of private infrastructure, and the people standing inside it like this place had somehow become less of a luxury floor and more of an emotional disaster shelter. Then he sighed “I am still not reimbursing this.”

“Again,” I said, “nobody asked you to.” “You say that now.” “I will continue saying that indefinitely.”

John crossed his arms “Until he buys the company.” JYP turned toward me sharply. I looked away. Jihyo noticed immediately “…Ben.”

“What?” “Why did you look away?” “I didn’t.” “You absolutely did,” Yuna said, suddenly interested again. Lia picked up her tea “Oh no.” Ryujin’s eyes widened “Wait.” Chaeryeong looked confused again “Wait what?” JYP stared at me “Benjamin.” I sighed “I have not bought the company.”

Yet, remained unspoken. Unfortunately, everyone heard it anyway. Jihyo slowly covered her face. John looked spiritually exhausted. Yuna smiled like she had discovered premium chaos. Ryujin pointed at JYP “If he buys JYPE, can I cancel the aegyo TikTok?” I looked at her “No.”

“Then what is the point of wealth?” “Protection, infrastructure, and emotionally questionable recreational funds.”

Yuna nodded solemnly “I support the recreational funds.”

“Of course you do,” Lia said. JYP looked like he had aged several years in one conversation “I came here to review an incident report and instead—” John cut him off, “you discovered Ben built an idol recovery fortress.” Jihyo glanced around again “Honestly? It’s nice.” JYP looked at her “Do not encourage him.”

“I’m not,” she said. Then, after a beat “But TWICE should visit.” John immediately walked toward the kitchen “Nope.” I pointed after him “That is the correct survival response.” Yuna grinned “Now I want them to visit.”

“That’s because you enjoy consequences,” Lia said. Yuna smiled sweetly “I enjoy events.” “Catastrophes,” Ryujin corrected. “Memorable events.”

The room finally laughed again. Properly this time. Not because everything was fine. It wasn’t. The incident still sat somewhere underneath us. The meeting still weighed on my shoulders. Yeji’s warning still lived in my chest like a hand refusing to let go. But for a few minutes, the Top Floor sounded like itself again. Chaotic. Expensive. Emotionally unstable. And most importantly, ours.

Later, after everyone finally dispersed toward the lounge and kitchen in smaller groups, JYP stopped beside me near the hallway overlooking the city. For once, he wasn’t joking. Neither was I. He looked through the glass for a long moment before speaking quietly.

“You know why I didn’t stop you today?” I leaned against the wall “Because you were outnumbered?”

“That too.” Then his expression softened “But mostly because I watched what happened to them after you arrived.” I stayed silent. “They laugh more,” he continued. “They rest more. They fight less. They recover faster. Even after today, they came here instead of hiding from each other”. His eyes moved toward the lounge where the girls’ voices echoed faintly “You made them feel safe.” Something tightened painfully in my chest. JYP looked back at me. “And you did it without asking the company for anything.”

“That wasn’t their responsibility.” “It became yours anyway.”

I didn’t answer. He nodded slowly like that confirmed something “This industry creates dangerous people,” he said quietly. “Managers. Investors. Fans. Executives. Opportunists. People who smile while they hurt artists slowly.” The hallway suddenly felt very still “So I understand why someone like you becomes necessary.” I met his gaze, and a hint of seriousness could have been found in that calm demeanor “But necessary does not mean unchecked.”

The memory of the meeting flashed through my head. The silence. The fear. The way Yeji had looked at me afterward. JYP exhaled slowly “I’m grateful they have you,” he said quietly “I’m not grateful for what you almost became today.” That hit harder than I expected. He glanced once more toward the lounge. “Remember the difference.”

Then he folded the absurd check carefully into his jacket pocket “…And for the record,” he added, dead serious, “this better be an incredible snack.”

I stared at him. Then slowly looked toward John. John looked back at me with the exhausted expression of someone who had accepted that this was now his life. Jihyo, meanwhile, had already turned away with one hand over her mouth again. I sighed “I’ll have my accountant send recommendations.” JYP folded the check deeper into his jacket pocket with the solemn care of a man handling classified military intelligence “Good.”

“That check was not actually for snacks.” “It is now.” “Outstanding.”

John pushed himself off the wall “We should go before he accidentally funds another department.” “That has only happened once.” Jihyo looked at me “…Once?” “Allegedly.” “Benjamin.” JYP immediately looked concerned again. “I said allegedly.” “That does not comfort me.” “It was not designed to.”

John placed a hand on JYP’s shoulder and gently steered him toward the private elevator before the conversation could become financially catastrophic again.

Jihyo lingered for a moment. Her gaze moved toward the lounge where ITZY had settled into softer laughter again, then back to me “You did scare them today,” she said quietly. The humor in the room dimmed at the edges. I nodded once “I know.”

“But they’re still here.” That made me look at her. Jihyo’s expression softened. “That means something.” I didn’t answer. She smiled faintly, then tapped my arm once. “Just make sure staying near you keeps meaning safety. Not fear.” Then she turned and followed John toward the elevator. The doors closed a moment later, taking JYP, Jihyo, John, and whatever remained of corporate stability with them.

For a while, the Top Floor stayed quiet. Not heavy exactly. Just tired. The kind of quiet that came after too much noise, too much laughter, too much fear, and too much pretending everyone had survived the day without consequences. Ryujin was the first to break it, naturally.

“So,” she said from the couch, “does this mean JYP has a recreational fund now?” Lia didn’t even look up from her tea “It means JYP has emotional damage.” Yuna nodded from the armchair “And possibly snack trauma.” Chaeryeong smiled faintly “He did look really serious about the snack.”

 “He should be,” I muttered. “That was a generous snack.” Ryujin pointed toward me “You’re banned from saying snack for the rest of the night.” “That sounds unconstitutional.” “You financially flashbanged our founder.” “He survived.” “Barely,” Lia said calmly.

The room laughed again, softer this time. Even I did. But it faded naturally afterward. The day had finally caught up with all of us. One by one, the girls started drifting away from the lounge. Chaeryeong went first, still damp-haired and sleepy, muttering something about needing actual food before she could process anything else. Lia followed after her, carrying two mugs like she had silently assigned herself emotional hydration duty. Ryujin stretched across the couch and looked at me once more “You know,” she said, “if you ever do buy JYPE, I want a better parking spot.”

“You don’t drive.” “Exactly. Nobody will expect it.” “That is the worst logic I’ve ever heard.” “It’s power.” “It’s waste.” “It’s symbolic.”

Yuna laughed quietly from the armchair, but it was still not her usual laugh. Too restrained. Too thoughtful. Her eyes found mine for half a second. Then she looked away first. That was new. Yeji noticed. Of course she did. Ryujin eventually dragged herself off the couch after Lia called her name from the kitchen with the tone of someone threatening responsible hydration. Yuna stood too, slower than usual, blanket still around her shoulders.

She paused near me. For one second, I thought she might say something. She didn’t. Instead, she only looked at me with that quiet, focused expression she had carried since the incident. Then softly “Rest, Ben.” No teasing. No trap. Just that. Then she walked away. Which somehow felt more dangerous than anything she had done all week.

Eventually, only Yeji remained. She stood near the window, arms folded loosely, watching the city below as the Top Floor settled behind us. I knew better than to run away. Mostly because she would catch me emotionally anyway. So I walked toward her. For a while, neither of us spoke. The city lights stretched beneath the glass, far enough away to make the world look peaceful even when it wasn’t. Then Yeji said quietly “You looked like someone else for a second.” I didn’t ask who. I knew. John’s words still sat in my chest. Your father.

I leaned against the window frame beside her. “That bad?” Yeji didn’t answer immediately. That was worse than yes. Finally, she looked at me. “I don’t know who that was,” she said softly. “That’s what scared me.” her voice soft and careful. “But I know you.” I swallowed once “And today, there was a moment where I couldn’t tell if you were protecting us… or punishing him.”

I looked down. The glass reflected my face faintly. Tired. Controlled. Too calm. “I wanted him afraid,” I admitted. Yeji didn’t flinch “I know.”

“I wanted him to understand that what he did had consequences.” “I know.” “I wanted him to never look at any of you like that again.” “I know that too.”

Her voice didn’t rise. That somehow made every word hit harder. Then she stepped closer. “But Ben…” she whispered, “when you said ruining him would be easy, I believed you.” I closed my eyes briefly. There it was. Not the act. The ease. That was what scared her. When I opened my eyes again, Yeji was still watching me. Not afraid of me, afraid for me. That difference almost hurt more.

“I didn’t lay a hand on him,” I said quietly. “I know.” “I didn’t break the law.” “I know.” “I didn’t actually ruin him.” “But you wanted to.”

The silence after that was honest enough to be cruel. I could have lied. Probably should have. Instead, I nodded once. Yeji’s expression tightened. Not disappointment. Pain. I hated that more than anything else that had happened today “I’m sorry,” I said. She shook her head slightly “I don’t want you to apologize just because I’m scared.”

“What do you want me to do?” Yeji looked back toward the city for a moment. Then she reached for my hand. Not hidden this time. Nobody was there to see. Her fingers slid between mine carefully, like she was reminding herself I was still solid. Still there she said, “I want you to let us matter before the line,” I looked at her. She turned back to me “You always think protection starts when something goes wrong. Like once there’s danger, you have to become worse than it.” Her thumb brushed against my knuckles. “But we matter before that too.”

I didn’t speak. Yeji continued, quieter now “If you feel yourself becoming that person, tell me. Tell Lia. Tell John. Tell someone before you decide you have to carry it alone.” That landed harder than expected. Because she wasn’t asking me to become harmless. She knew better. She was asking me not to become alone. “I don’t want to scare you,” I said. “You already did.”

The honesty hit clean. No cruelty— just truth. Then her expression softened. “But I’m still here.” My throat tightened. Yeji stepped closer until her shoulder brushed mine. “That’s the part I need you to understand,” she whispered. “I’m scared, but I’m not leaving.” I looked at her. She smiled faintly, but her eyes were glossy.

“I love the part of you that protects us,” she said. “I do. I love that you care enough to notice what others ignore. I love that you make us feel safe.” Her hand tightened around mine “But I don’t want to lose you to the part of protection that starts feeling like revenge.” For once, there was no clever answer. No joke. No escape route. Just her.

So I turned fully and pulled her into my arms. Yeji came easily, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her forehead against my chest. I held her carefully. Not because she was fragile. Because I was. “I’ll tell you,” I whispered. She stayed still. “When I feel it happening. I’ll tell you.” Her arms tightened around me. “Promise?” I closed my eyes. “Promise.” It was not a perfect promise. But it was real. And maybe, tonight, real was all either of us could hold. Yeji pulled back just enough to look at me “Good.”

Then, after a quiet beat, she added “Because I refuse to compete emotionally with your self-destructive morality.” A laugh broke out of me before I could stop it. Small. Tired. Needed. “There she is.”

Yeji smiled faintly “You’re not the only one allowed to be terrifying.” “That was terrifying?” “Emotionally.” “Very effective.” “I know.” She leaned up and kissed me softly. Not like earlier. Not to calm me down. Not to end the conversation. Just because she could, because we were still here. When she pulled away, she fixed the front of my shirt with that same instinctive care that always made my chest ache.

“Go shower,” she murmured. “You still smell like Waterbomb, stress, and questionable morality.” “That is a complex fragrance.” “It’s terrible.” “Honest woman.” “Someone has to be.”

She stepped back, but her hand lingered around mine for one second longer before letting go. Then she walked toward the hallway, leaving me by the window with the city below and her promise still warm against my skin.

For the first time since the fan incident, the darkness inside me did not feel gone. But it felt named. Held. Witnessed. And maybe that was the first step toward not letting it become the only thing left.

For a while, I stayed by the window. Not because I was trying to be dramatic. That would have required energy I no longer had. Mostly because moving meant admitting the night was still not over, and frankly, the night had already done enough.

The city stretched beneath the glass in quiet lines of light, distant enough to look peaceful if I ignored everything sitting inside my chest.

The fan. The meeting. John’s warning. JYP’s strange approval. Jihyo’s concern. Yeji’s hand in mine. And then there was Yuna.

Because somehow, after all of that, she was still there in the back of my mind. Not the way she had been before. Not just teasing. Not just danger. Not just the girl who smiled like she knew which parts of me were easiest to break. This was different now. She had seen something ugly in me today. And instead of stepping away—she had gone quiet. Which was far more concerning.

I finally pushed myself away from the window and headed toward the hallway. The Top Floor had settled into post-chaos silence again. Not asleep, exactly. Just scattered. Chaeryeong and Lia’s voices drifted faintly from the kitchen. Ryujin was somewhere deeper in the lounge, probably threatening food with intent. Yeji had disappeared down the hall, leaving behind the kind of warmth that somehow made everything hurt less and more at the same time.

I was halfway toward my room when I heard her. “Ben.” I stopped. Of course. Yuna stood near the entrance to the balcony lounge, still wrapped in an oversized hoodie, hair slightly damp from her shower. The stage makeup had been mostly cleaned away now, leaving her face softer than it had been under the Waterbomb lights. But her eyes were not soft. That would have been too innocent for someone who had spent the entire week weaponizing playfulness. For once, she didn’t smile first. That alone made me nervous. “You should be resting,” “So should you.” “Unfortunately, hypocrisy is part of management.”

Yuna’s lips curved faintly. Barely. Then the smile disappeared again. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The city light from the balcony windows cut softly across her face, and I realized she looked tired too. Not physically. Not from the performance. Something heavier. She stepped closer, but not in the teasing way she used before. No deliberate invasion. No trap. No calculated shoulder brush. Just closer.

“You scared me today,” she said quietly. My chest tightened. “I know.” “No,” she replied.

The answer came fast. Certain. Then softer “Not like that.” I looked at her. Yuna held my gaze. “I wasn’t scared you’d hurt me.” That should have relieved me. It didn’t. Because the way she said it meant there was a second half. “I was scared because I realized you meant it,” she continued. “Everything you said to him.” My fingers curled slightly at my side. “Yuna—”

“You did.” There was no accusation in her voice. That made it worse. “You weren’t bluffing.” I looked away. Mistake. Always a mistake with her. But this time, when Yuna noticed, she didn’t smile like she had won. She looked almost sad. Not for the fan. For me. That was new.

“I spent all week trying to make you stop pretending,” she said, voice lower now. “I thought that was the whole thing.” “The whole thing?” “You wanting me.”

The words landed carefully. Not shy. Yuna was not shy. But there was a difference between being bold and being careless, and for the first time tonight, she wasn’t being careless. She stepped closer again. “All week, I kept thinking… if I pushed enough, you’d finally admit it. That you noticed. That you were affected. That you wanted me.”

I didn’t answer. Yuna’s eyes searched my face. “But today wasn’t like that.” The hallway felt too still. Farther away, Ryujin laughed at something in the lounge. Lia answered dryly. Chaeryeong made a small sound of protest. Normal life continued just out of reach. But here, between me and Yuna, nothing felt normal anymore.

“You looked away from me all week like wanting me was the dangerous part,” she whispered. Then her voice softened “But today, you looked at everyone else who wasn’t on that stage like they were the danger.” That line hit clean through my ribs. I had no defense for it. Not one. Yuna saw that too. She swallowed once, then continued. “And I know that should’ve made me step back.” My pulse shifted “But it didn’t.”

“Yuna.” This time, my voice carried warning. Not rejection. Warning. Because I could feel where this was going. And because for once, I wasn’t sure I had enough pieces of myself left to survive it properly. She heard it. Of course she did. But instead of retreating, she took one more step closer. “I don’t just want to tease you anymore.” Silence. Heavy silence.

The shift we had both been walking toward all week. No playful trap. No innocent question. No “look properly” wrapped in a smirk. Just Yuna, standing in front of me, choosing to say exactly what she meant. “I want you,” she said. The words were quiet. But they didn’t shake. My breath caught once before I could stop it. Yuna noticed.

 This time, she did smile. Not triumphantly. Tenderly, almost. Like that tiny reaction mattered more because I had not hidden it fast enough “I saw what you were willing to become for us today,” she said. “And I know everyone else is scared of that.” “They should be.” “Maybe.” She stepped close enough now that I could feel the warmth of her presence. “But I also saw why.” “That doesn’t make it safe.” “I didn’t say safe.” Her eyes lifted to mine. “I said I want you.”

For once, the directness did not feel like a game. It felt like a door opening. And the terrifying part was how badly I wanted to walk through it. I exhaled slowly, forcing my hands to stay still. “You know this is complicated.” Yuna’s mouth curved faintly. “Everything on this floor is complicated.” “That’s not an argument.” “It’s an observation.” “Your observations are still dangerous.” “I learned from the best.”

That almost made me smile. Almost. Then Yuna’s expression shifted again, and the joke faded before it could settle. “I know about Yeji,” she said quietly. My body went still. Not fully. But enough. She noticed.

“I don’t know everything,” she added. “I’m not asking you to explain everything tonight.” My throat tightened. “Yuna—”

“I’m not stupid, Ben.” No hurt in it. No accusation. Just fact. “I see how she looks at you when she thinks nobody notices. I see how you calm down when she’s close. I see how Lia knows things before people say them. I see Ryujin acting shameless because she already knows where she stands.”

Her gaze held mine. “And I see you trying to carry all of it like nobody else is allowed to know it’s heavy.” That landed differently. Because this was not Yuna teasing. This was Yuna seeing. Really seeing. And somehow that was more intimate than anything she had done in the hallway, the gym, or that fitting room.

“I’m not asking to be Yeji,” she said. The words came softer now. “I’m not asking for what she has.” I looked at her. Yuna’s pride flickered there. Still intact. Still her. But beneath it was something younger. More honest. “I just don’t want you to pretend I’m only playing anymore.” There it was. The real wound underneath the temptation. Not insecurity. Not jealousy. A demand to be taken seriously. My voice came lower.

“You’re not only playing.” Her breath caught slightly. Small thing. Easy to miss. I noticed anyway. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe I had always noticed. Yuna’s eyes softened, but she stayed steady. “Then stop treating me like I don’t know what I’m choosing.” That made me close my eyes briefly.

Because there were many things I could survive. Yuna being bold. Yuna being reckless. Yuna trying to make me break. But Yuna being honest? That was something else entirely.

When I opened my eyes again, she was still there. Waiting. Not for permission to regret it. For me to finally stop running. I glanced instinctively toward the hallway leading to my room. Then stopped. Wrong. Not there. That room already meant something. To me. To Yeji.

To quiet mornings where she left before anyone else woke up. To the nights where she stayed because I asked her to. Yuna noticed immediately. Of course she did. “Not there,” she said quietly. I looked back at her. For once, she didn’t smile. “I know what that room is,” she said. “Maybe not everything. But enough.” My throat tightened. “Yuna…”

“I’m not asking for Yeji’s place.” The answer settled between us. Not jealousy. Not surrender. Respect. Then she reached for my hand. Her fingers slipped into mine with surprising certainty. Still Yuna. Still bold. Still choosing. But her grip was just tight enough to tell me this was real now. “Come to mine.” For a second, I said nothing. Then I nodded. No teasing. No smirk. Just trust.

Together, we walked down the quiet hallway toward her room. At her door, Yuna paused with her hand on the handle. For the first time all night, hesitation crossed her face. Not fear. Reality. I saw it immediately. “Yuna.” She looked at me “If we do this, we do it slowly.”

Her lips parted slightly. For once, she had no immediate joke ready. Good. “You can be bold,” I continued quietly. “You can be curious. You can push me all you want later.” Her eyes sharpened faintly at that. There she was. “But tonight,” I said, softer now, “I need you to be honest with me. If you’re nervous, say it. If you want to stop, say it. If you need more time, say it.”

Yuna stared at me. Then looked away for half a second. Not because she was hiding. Because something had finally reached her. When she looked back, her voice was quieter. “I’m not scared.” I waited. Her mouth tightened slightly. Then she added “I just don’t want you to treat me like I’m only acting brave.”

That broke through me so cleanly I almost hated it. Because there it was. The first crack. The truth beneath all the teasing. I stepped closer. Not enough to trap her. Just enough for her to know I had heard it. “I won’t.”

Yuna’s eyes searched mine. For once, she seemed to believe me before I had to prove it. Then she opened the door. Her room was quieter than the rest of the Top Floor. Softer too. Not childish. Not flashy. Just hers.

A hoodie thrown over a chair. A half-open drawer. A few skincare products lined neatly near the mirror. A faint trace of her shampoo still lingering in the air. The kind of space that reminded me, suddenly and sharply, that for all her confidence, all her teasing, all her impossible beauty under Waterbomb lights— this was still Yuna. The Youngest. The Boldest. The Most impulsive. And tonight, maybe the bravest.

 She closed the door behind us. The click was soft. Final. Then she turned around. For a moment, neither of us moved. Yuna looked at me like she was trying to memorize the fact that I was there because she had asked, not because she had won. That distinction mattered.

So I let her have the first step. She crossed the room slowly. No performance now. No deliberate teasing. Just Yuna, walking toward me with all the confidence she could hold and all the uncertainty she refused to hide. When she reached me, she lifted her hand to my chest. Not like in the fitting room. Not to test my pulse. Not to prove anything. Just to feel that I was there. “You’re still calm,” she whispered.

“I’m trying to be.” “Why?” “Because this is your first time.” Her breath caught. Not in embarrassment. In recognition. The words made the truth real. For one second, her expression flickered. Then she lifted her chin “I know, and I need you to know too.”

“I do.” Her voice was steady. But her fingers curled slightly against my shirt. I covered her hand with mine. “You don’t have to prove anything to me tonight.” Yuna’s eyes moved over my face. Then, softer “That’s annoying.” A laugh almost escaped me. “Why?”

“Because I spent all week trying to make you lose control.” “I noticed.” “And now you’re being careful.” “I can want you and still be careful.” That silenced her. Completely. Then slowly, something in her face changed. Not surprise. Not victory. Something deeper. Like that sentence had reached a place the teasing never could.

“You want me?” she asked. No smirk. No game. Just the question. I looked at her properly. Finally. Not as a member. Not as a risk Not as a liability. As Yuna.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I want you.” Her lips parted slightly. “And not because I kept pushing?” “No.” “Then why?”

I stepped closer, lifting my hand to her face carefully enough that she could pull away if she wanted. She didn’t. “Because you’re impossible,” I said softly. “Because you’re sharp enough to see things people try to hide. Because you’re brave even when you’re pretending it’s just confidence. Because you make every room louder, and somehow tonight you made silence feel honest.”

Yuna blinked. Once. Slowly.

Like she hadn’t expected the answer to hurt. “You’re bad at compliments,” she whispered. “That was a good compliment.” “It was too good.”

I let my thumb brush lightly against her cheek. “Fine,” I murmured. “Then here’s the simple version.” Her eyes searched mine. “You’re beautiful. Ridiculously so. And only an idiot would spend this much time near ITZY’s maknae and not want her.” For one second, Yuna only stared at me. Then the corner of her mouth twitched.

“That was better.” Yuna said as she hugged me. “Less emotionally devastating?” I asked, “More practical and very manager-coded of you.” she answered honestly. “Don’t ruin it.” I flicked her forehead. “Noted.”

But her hand tightened around my shirt again, and this time, when she looked at me, the vulnerability had not disappeared. It had just learned how to breathe. Her voice trembled faintly at the edges. Barely. But I heard it. So I moved carefully. No rush. No pressure.

I leaned in slowly enough for her to stop me. She didn’t. The kiss was soft at first. Unlike everything she had been provoking all week. Yuna kissed back after half a breath, tentative for exactly one second before her confidence returned in the way her hand gripped my shirt and pulled me closer. There she was.

But even then, beneath the boldness, I could feel the difference. This mattered. So I treated it like it did. When the kiss deepened, I kept one hand at her waist and the other against her cheek, grounding her instead of rushing her. Yuna’s breath grew uneven, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned closer, chasing the feeling with that same impulsive courage that had started this entire disaster.

Then suddenly she broke the kiss. Not far. Just enough to breathe. “Ben.”

“Yeah?” Her forehead rested lightly against mine. “I might be nervous now.” There it was. The admission broke me. I reached out, my hand sliding around the nape of her neck, my thumb brushing the soft skin below her ear. “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.” “Promise me you won’t treat me like I’m just acting brave.” “I promise.”

I leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was no longer a test. It was a claim. It started slow, a gentle exploration of taste and heat, but as Yuna moaned into my mouth, the restraint I had cultivated for weeks began to fray. Her tongue flicked against mine, eager and searching, and I felt her hands slide under my shirt, her palms hot against my skin. I pulled back just an inch, my forehead resting against hers.

“Are you sure? Once we start this, there’s no going back.” “I don’t want to go back,” she breathed, her eyes glossy. “I want this. I want you.”

I didn’t need to hear it again. I reached for the hem of her hoodie, lifting it slowly. She raised her arms, allowing me to pull the fabric over her head. She stood before me in a thin, lacey bralette and matching panties. Her skin glowed in the soft light, flawless and creamy, her breasts heaving with shallow, quick breaths.

I stripped off my own clothes with a focused urgency. When my trousers hit the floor, my cock sprang free, fully erect and pulsing. Yuna’s gaze dropped. She froze. Her pupils dilated as she stared at me, her mouth parting in a silent gasp.

“Ben…” “What?” I rasped. She reached out, her fingertips hovering just an inch away from the head of my cock. “Is it… is it always that big?” she whispered, her voice thick with amazement. “Are all dicks that huge?” I felt a surge of heat rush to my gut. “No, Yuna. Not all of them.”

She finally touched me, her fingers wrapping around the shaft. Her hand couldn’t even meet on the other side. She squeezed gently, her thumb brushing over the crown where a bead of pre-cum had gathered.

“It looks… impossible,” she murmured. “How is that supposed to fit inside me?” “We’ll go slow,” I promised. “I’ll take care of you.”

I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carried her to the bed. I laid her back against the sheets, the white fabric contrasting sharply with the warmth of her skin. I moved between her legs, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the lace of her panties aside to reveal the glistening pearl of her sex. She was already wet, a trail of moisture coating her folds. I leaned down, my breath hot against her inner thigh.

“Ben?” “Shhh,” I murmured. “Just feel.”

I pressed my face into her, the scent of her arousal hitting me like a wave—musky, sweet, and entirely female. I flicked my tongue against her clit, a sharp, precise motion. Yuna let out a loud, piercing moan, her hips bucking upward.

“Oh god! That… that feels… like electricity!” she gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” I spent the next twenty minutes worshipping her. I used my tongue to map every inch of her, swirling around her clit before sliding deep into her heat, tasting the salt and sweetness of her. I listened to her break—the way her voice shifted from confident commands to desperate, fragmented pleas.

As I worked her toward a peak, Yuna suddenly reached down, her hand gripping my hair. “I want to try something,” she panted. “I saw it in one of those videos… the 69 thing. I want to feel you while you’re doing that to me.” I hesitated for a heartbeat, but the hunger in her eyes was too much. I shifted, maneuvering my body until we were inverted. I settled my weight carefully, my face returning to her soaking wet pussy, while my cock rested against her lips.

Yuna didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth and tried to take me in. I groaned, my hips jerking. She was eager, her tongue swirling around the head, but as she tried to slide deeper, she hit the limit. I was too long for her inexperienced throat to handle. She gagged slightly, her eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she began to lick me— aggressively.

Her tongue was a weapon, sliding up and down the shaft with a frantic, wet intensity. She used her lips to suction the head, her tongue flickering over the frenulum. The sound of it—the wet licking noise of her tongue against my skin—combined with the feeling of her clit pulsing against my own mouth, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, Yuna,” I groaned, my voice vibrating against her thighs.

She grew more confident, her licking becoming more rhythmic. I pushed my tongue deeper into her, finding the exact spot that made her toes curl, and as she gave one final, aggressive swirl of her tongue around my head, I snapped. I let out a moan, my body stiffening as I came. I didn’t pull away; I just shuddered against her, the orgasm ripping through me in violent waves. At the exact same moment, Yuna’s body spasmed. She let out a muffled scream against my cock, her internal muscles clamping down on nothing as she hit her first real climax. We collapsed beside each other, gasping for air, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweat.

“I… I didn’t know it felt like that,” she whispered. I rolled onto my side, pulling her into my arms. I kissed her temple, my heart still racing.

“That was just the beginning.” I felt her shiver. I moved back between her legs, my movements deliberate. I rubbed my cock around her folds, getting it drenched in her nectar before inserting it. I wanted no friction, no unnecessary pain. I positioned the head of my cock against her opening.

“Ben,” she whispered “Look at me, Yuna.” She met my eyes. “I’m going to go very slow. The second you want me to stop, you tell me. Understood?” She nodded. “I trust you.”

I pushed. Just a fraction. The head of my cock entered her, stretching the tight, virgin walls of her cunt. Yuna let out a sharp, hissed breath, her hips instinctively trying to recoil.

“Stay with me,” I murmured. “Just breathe. In and out.” I paused, letting her body adjust. I could feel how incredibly tight she was, her muscles gripping me with a fierce intensity. It felt like being squeezed by a warm, velvet vice.

I pushed again. Another inch. Yuna’s eyes squeezed shut, a small whimper escaping her lips. “It hurts,” she whispered, a tear escaping the corner of her eye. “I know. I know it does. Just breathe, baby. Just breathe for me.” I stopped entirely, kissing her deeply to distract her, my tongue dancing with hers as I waited for the tension to leave her hips.

Slowly, agonizingly, I continued. Inch by inch, I claimed her. I felt the resistance of her hymen, a thin barrier that finally gave way with a soft, internal pop. Yuna gasped, her body arching.

“Oh god… Ben… you’re… you’re so big…” “I’m almost there,” I whispered. With one final, steady push, I buried myself completely. I bottomed out, my pelvis slamming against hers with a wet thud. Yuna let out a long, shaky exhale, her eyes fluttering open.

“I… I can feel you,” she breathed. “You’re… you’re all the way inside me. Everything feels… full.”

I didn’t move for a long time. I just stayed there, buried deep. Then, I began to move. It was a glacial pace, a slow, sliding friction. I withdrew almost entirely before pushing back in, my eyes locked on hers.

“Does it still hurt?” Yuna shook her head. “No… it feels… warm. It feels like… like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.” As the friction increased, the pain vanished, replaced by a mounting, heavy heat. Yuna’s breathing changed. The whimpers turned into moans. “Yes… right there… oh god, Ben, keep doing that!” I picked up the pace, my thrusts becoming more confident. Every time I pushed in, I felt the incredible tightness of her insides clinging to me. “You’re so tight, Yuna,” I groaned. “It feels incredible.”

Yuna let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. “I love it! I love how you feel! Please, don’t stop!” The request broke the last of my restraint. I gripped her hips, lifting her slightly to get a deeper angle, and began to drive into her with a raw, primal energy. The sound of our bodies colliding—the wet, slapping noise of skin on skin—filled the room.

“Oh god! Yes! Right there! Ben, please! It’s happening… again… I’m going to…!” I felt her internal muscles begin to spasm, squeezing my cock with an unbearable intensity. She screamed, her body shaking as she hit a massive, crashing orgasm. I followed her immediately, letting out a guttural shout as I came deep inside her. I felt the hot surge of my cum hitting her cervix, filling her up. I collapsed on top of her, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Yuna wrapped her arms around my neck, her skin slick with sweat. “Are we done?” she whispered. But I wasn’t. The feeling of her tight, pulsing walls around my cumming cock was too much. I didn’t pull out. I began to move again, slower this time, but with a deeper, more grinding motion.

“Ben? You… you already…” “I can’t stop,” I rasped. “I can’t get enough of you.”

I shifted my position, pulling her legs up over my shoulders to open her up even more. This angle allowed me to hit her G-spot with every thrust. Yuna’s head hit the pillow, her eyes rolling back.

“Oh! Oh god, that’s… that feels different! Ben, please, don’t stop!” I began to caress her, my thumb finding her clit and applying a steady, circular pressure while I drove into her. I leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking and tugging on it.

“You feel so fucking good, Yuna,” I whispered into her ear. “Do you feel how much I want you?” “Yes! Yes, I do! I feel it!” she cried. I increased the tempo, my thrusts becoming shorter and faster. I could feel the second climax building, a slow-burn heat. I pushed her over the edge again, my thumb working her clit into a frenzy while my cock hammered into her.

Yuna screamed, her body shuddering in a second, more violent orgasm. Seconds later, I followed, I came inside her for a second time. I slid out of her slowly, the sound of the suction audible in the quiet room. “Stay inside me. Just for a little longer,” she whispered.

I smiled, sliding back into her—not for sex, but for closeness. I entered her slowly, filling her once more, and we just lay there, intertwined. But the fire hadn’t fully died. The emotional weight of the day, the need to protect and be protected, translated into a different kind of hunger. I wanted to explore her, not just use her. I shifted again, rolling her onto her stomach. She let out a soft, surprised sound, her chest pressing into the mattress. I knelt behind her, my chest brushing her back, my hands sliding down to grip her hips.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I want to see you from here,” I murmured, my voice dark. “I want to see how you react when I don’t let you see me.” I didn’t go back inside her immediately. Instead, I leaned down, my tongue tracing the line of her spine, leaving a trail of fire.

Yuna shivered, her fingers clutching the sheets. I moved lower, my mouth finding the dip of her waist, then the curve of her ass. I licked the crease of her cheeks, tasting the remnants of our previous rounds, the smell of musk and sex intoxicating me. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit again, while my cock pressed against the back of her thighs. I started to grind against her, not entering, just letting the head of my dick slide against her wetness.

“Ben… please…” she whimpered. “Please what, Yuna?” “I want it… I want you inside me again… but different.” I chuckled, a low sound in my throat. I gripped her hips firmly, lifting her just enough to align us. I entered her from behind, a slow, deep slide that felt different from the previous positions.

I could feel every ridge of her internal walls, the way she wrapped around me like a glove. This time, I didn’t go for speed. I went for depth. I pushed in slowly, then pulled back until I was almost out, before slamming back in. The sound was a wet and heavy, it that echoed in the room.

“Oh god! That’s… that’s so deep!” Yuna cried out, her face buried in the pillow. “I can feel you… right there!” “I know,” I groaned, my teeth grazing her shoulder. “I can feel how much you want this.” I maintained the rhythm, a slow, punishing grind that focused on the friction of her G-spot. I could feel her building again, her internal muscles pulsing around me in a desperate rhythm. I reached forward, my hand finding her breast, squeezing it firmly as I hammered into her.

“I love this… I love how you feel when you’re like this!” she screamed. “Harder, Ben! Give it to me harder!”

I obliged, my thrusts becoming violent, the bed frame creaking under the force. We were both drenched in sweat, our skin slapping together with a rhythmic, squelching sound. I could feel the third orgasm building, a tidal wave of release.

“I’m coming!” Yuna shrieked, her body locking up in a massive, full-body orgasm. I followed her a second later, pumping another load deep into her. We lay there for a long time, our breathing heavy and synchronized. I didn’t pull out. I stayed buried in her, feeling the slow throb of my cock as it began to soften. But then, Yuna shifted. She turned her head to look at me, her eyes glazed with pleasure, a small, curious smile on her lips.

“Ben?” “Yeah?” “I thought I wanted you to lose control,” she whispered, her voice fragile. “Now I think I want to learn every version of it.” The line hit me harder than any of her teasing ever had. She wasn’t asking for the gentle lover. She was asking for the man who knew how to be a rough but chose to be gentle. I rolled her back over, pinning her gently to the mattress. I didn’t go back for sex.

Instead, I focused on her. I spent the next hour exploring her body with a reverence I didn’t know I possessed. I kissed every inch of her, from the hollow of her throat to the tips of her toes. I used my fingers to tease her, my tongue to make her gasp, focusing entirely on her pleasure without any expectation of my own. I worked her toward one final peak, a slow, agonizing build-up that left her shaking. I used a combination of oral and manual stimulation, my fingers sliding inside her while my tongue worked her clit.

“Ben… I can’t… I’m going to…!” “Go,” I whispered. “Just let go, Yuna.” She exploded in a final, lingering orgasm that seemed to last forever. As she came, the sheer intimacy of the moment—the trust she had placed in me, the way she had completely surrendered her control—triggered something in me. I didn’t need to thrust. I didn’t need to hammer. I simply slid back inside her, slow and deep, and held her.

I felt the final surge of desire build, not from friction, but from the emotional weight of the night. I closed my eyes, imagining every version of the man I could be, and chose the one that loved her. I came for the final time, a slow, pulsing release that felt like a spiritual cleansing. I didn’t shout or moan this time. I just whispered her name into her ear, my body trembling as I filled her one last time. I slid out of her slowly, the suction audible in the quiet room. I immediately pulled her against me, wrapping us both in the duvet.

“You’re not playing anymore, are you?” I whispered. Yuna shook her head, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my arm. “I’m not. I don’t want to play. I just want to be yours.” I held her tighter, the silence of the room feeling honest for the first time in my life. The darkness was still there, the danger was still real, but in the warmth of Yuna’s arms, it felt manageable. “You are,” I whispered. “You’re exactly where you belong.”

Morning arrived too quietly.

No alarms. No schedule calls. No frantic staff messages. No Ryujin committing a felony against breakfast.

Just pale sunlight slipping through Yuna’s curtains and the soft weight of her breathing beside me. She was still asleep, curled against the pillow, hair messy, looking so far removed from the girl who had spent a week dismantling my sanity that I almost laughed. Almost.

The night before still sat too close to my chest. Yuna had chosen me. Not the idea of me, not the manager, not the dangerous man. Me. Carefully, I slipped out from beneath the blanket. Yuna stirred once, her hand searching the empty space beside her before finding the pillow. Still asleep. I pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder, then quietly collected my clothes and dressed. As I looked at her one last time, I felt a strange sense of peace. I had proven to myself that I could hold the power without becoming a person I didn’t want to be. I had chosen care. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, a lingering, soft touch. “Stay,” I whispered, though she couldn’t hear me. “Just stay and rest up a bit more. I’ve got the world handled for a while.”

Yeji rested her temple against the cool glass window, half-watching the reflections of passing streetlights smear across the surface beside her face. Her phone buzzed again somewhere inside her hoodie pocket.

Another birthday message. Another notification. Another clipped video from fans singing for her somewhere across the world.

She smiled faintly anyway. Professional instinct.

“Unnie, are you actually awake?” Ryujin’s voice crackled lazily through the speaker from the back row of the van. Yeji hummed. “Barely.”

“That means yes.” A tired laugh moved through the van. Chaeryeong was already half-asleep against the seatbelt beside her, mouth slightly open in a way she’d definitely deny later. Lia quietly scrolled through her phone while Yuna aggressively stole fries from the paper bag balanced on Ryujin’s lap.

This was ITZY to her, warm, normal, familiar. Yeji loved them for it. She really did. But exhaustion sat strangely in her chest tonight. Not heavy enough to hurt, but enough to dull everything around it slightly. Like the entire day had happened through a pane of glass she couldn’t fully reach through. Schedules. Cakes. Livestreams. Candles. Flowers.

Staff singing loudly backstage. JYP himself sending a message. Hundreds of thousands of strangers telling her they loved her. And somehow, all she could think about now was how badly she wanted to take her makeup off and sit in silence for an hour.

The van slowed outside her apartment building. Finally. “Birthday girl escapes,” Ryujin muttered dramatically as Yeji reached for the door handle. Yeji snorted softly “You’re acting like you won’t see me tomorrow”.

“That’s future Ryujin’s problem.” “Heartless.” “Get home safe,” Lia murmured quietly.

The softness in her voice almost made Yeji smile for real this time. “Text us when you’re inside,” Chaeryeong added without opening her eyes “I will.” Yuna pointed at her accusingly. “And don’t start crying alone because you’re old now.”

“Yah.”

The girls laughed. Yeji shook her head under her hood before stepping out into the cool night air. The silence hit almost immediately after the van pulled away. Her footsteps echoed quietly through the apartment lobby as she adjusted the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder. The elevator ride up felt longer than usual somehow, fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead while she stared blankly at the glowing floor numbers.

Twenty-four. The doors slid open. Her apartment greeted her exactly the way she left it that morning dim, quiet, still. Yeji exhaled slowly. Then immediately kicked her shoes off halfway across the floor with significantly less grace than the public would probably expect from Hwang Yeji “Finally…” the hoodie came next. Then the rings. Then the earrings dumped carelessly into a ceramic dish beside the kitchen counter.

Her birthday flowers sat piled near the dining table like colorful evidence of a life she hadn’t fully caught up to yet. For a while, she just stood there in silence. No cameras. No staff. No members yelling at her for sitting weirdly— just the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic beyond the windows. Her phone buzzed again. Yeji ignored it.

Instead, she wandered toward the kitchen with slow tired steps, pulling open the fridge and staring blankly inside like the contents might magically reorganize themselves into something emotionally fulfilling. Yogurt she forgot about nearing expiration, water bottles, half-finished fruit, questionable leftovers.

“…Amazing.”

She eventually settled for instant noodles. While waiting for the water to boil, she finally noticed the package sitting near the counter. Plain brown cardboard. No delivery label she recognized. Her brows furrowed slightly “That wasn’t there earlier…” she crouched down slowly, turning it over once before peeling the tape back. Inside sat an old disposable camera. Beside it a small box of thin white birthday candles and beneath both of them— a folded note. Yeji opened it carefully. For the moments you haven’t lived yet.

“…What?”

She stared at the sentence for several quiet seconds. No name. No explanation. No indication whether this was a fan gift, a prank, or something one of the members arranged while drunk and emotional. Honestly, Ryujin felt statistically possible.

Yeji let out a quiet breath through her nose before picking up the camera. Old-fashioned. Slightly worn around the edges. The kind people used for nostalgia now more than practicality. Strangely enough, it already had fewer exposures left. Someone had used it before. That should’ve felt creepy. Instead, it just made her weirdly curious.

The glossy surface caught faint reflections from the apartment lights as Yeji turned the polaroid carefully between her fingers. The image quality wasn’t perfect. Slight grain. Soft blur around the edges. Warm lighting bleeding unevenly into the darker corners of the frame. Like an actual memory instead of a photograph. Somehow, that made it worse. Or maybe better, she couldn’t tell.

Because the longer she stared at it, the stranger the image felt. Not because of the man sitting across from her. Honestly, she barely noticed him at first. Only fragments of him existed in the frame, a dark sleeve pushed lazily past his wrist, fingers curled loosely around the handle of a beer mug, the faint edge of a smile caught near the corner like whoever took the photo moved slightly at the last second. No.

What unsettled her was herself. The version of Hwang Yeji sitting inside that tiny restaurant looked… unguarded. Not idol pretty. Not camera aware. Not professionally charming. Just warm. Like someone had said something stupid enough to make her laugh before she could stop herself. Yeji swallowed slowly. Because she couldn’t remember the last time someone had photographed her like that.

Not for promotion. Not for fans. Not because cameras happened to be nearby. But because someone wanted to remember the moment. Her thumb brushed lightly against the corner of the polaroid. And for some reason, the realization made her chest ache quietly.

The noodles on the coffee table had long gone cold. Outside, distant headlights drifted silently past her apartment windows while the city carried on beneath the dark blue haze of early morning.

2:24 AM.

Yeji leaned back against the couch cushions slowly, still staring at the photograph “…This is creepy,” she murmured softly. Then after another pause— “Why does it feel real?” Silence answered her. The disposable camera remained where she left it beside the candles, quiet beneath the dim apartment lighting. For several seconds, Yeji simply looked at it.

Then finally— against her better judgment she reached over and picked it up again. The exposure counter stared back at her. 19 remaining. Her brows furrowed “…Nineteen?”

Which meant someone had already taken five photos. A strange chill crawled lightly across the back of her neck. Because if this photo already existed then where were the others?

The exposure counter stared back at her quietly. 19 remaining. Yeji frowned harder this time. That didn’t make sense. Disposable cameras didn’t magically print photographs in the middle of the night. And they definitely didn’t develop pictures no one remembered taking. Still, the polaroid remained warm between her fingers.

Her eyes drifted back toward the image again almost involuntarily. The tiny restaurant looked familiar somehow. Not enough for recognition, but enough to feel possible. Warm wood-paneled walls. Condensation running down the beer mug near the bottom corner of the frame. A cramped little table clearly too small for two people trying to fit too much food onto it. It looked lived-in. Not staged.

Yeji’s gaze lowered slightly. There, near the edge of the photograph— another detail. A second bowl. It was half-empty. Something about that tiny detail made her stomach twist strangely. Because whoever took the picture hadn’t photographed her— they photographed the moment. And that felt infinitely more intimate.

Yeji leaned forward slowly, elbows resting against her knees while the city lights stretched dimly across the apartment around her “…Okay,” she murmured quietly to herself. “Either I’m losing my mind, or Ryujin finally snapped completely.” Silence. Then— her eyes flicked back toward the disposable camera again. The apartment suddenly felt smaller somehow. Not dangerous. Just… aware like the room itself was waiting for her to do something. Yeji hated how curious she felt. Because rationally, this should’ve ended already. Take photo, call members and accuse Ryujin, or go to sleep.

It could have been done, instead— she found herself reaching for the small box of birthday candles. Thin white candles shifted softly against cardboard as she opened the lid.

Twenty-six. One for each year.

Her brows pinched together “…You’re kidding.” The note. For the moments you haven’t lived yet. Yeji stared at the candles for several quiet seconds before letting out a tired laugh under her breath “This is exactly the kind of thing Chaeryeong would cry over at three in the morning”. Still… her fingers eventually pulled one candle free. Just one.

The lighter clicked softly. A small flame flickered to life. Warm gold light danced quietly across the kitchen counter while the city beyond her apartment windows remained dark and distant. Nothing happened. Yeji waited another few seconds anyway.

“…Right,” she muttered. “Because magic isn’t—” a soft sound interrupted her. Her movement stopped instantly. Something slid lightly across the counter. The flame wavered faintly and slowly— another polaroid emerged beside the camera.

Yeji froze “…Nope” she stared at it from across the counter like it might suddenly explode. It didn’t. The photograph developed gradually beneath the dim apartment lighting, colors bleeding softly into shape piece by piece. Dark blue sky above the city lights. A river. Then her.

Standing on a bridge at night beneath the glow of distant buildings, oversized jacket hanging loosely from her frame while soft wind pushed strands of blonde hair across her face. The photograph was slightly tilted. Like whoever took it had been smiling while holding the camera.

Yeji swallowed. Because this one felt different. Lonelier. Quieter. But somehow warmer too. There was no visible hand this time. No reflection. No glimpse of the man behind the camera and yet— she could feel his presence anyway. Not in a dramatic way, just through the framing itself. The person holding the camera stood close enough that Yeji looked relaxed. Like she knew exactly who was behind it. Her chest tightened faintly. Because she recognized that expression too. Not happiness exactly. Peace.

The kind that only appeared during rare moments when schedules ended early or when the dorm got unusually quiet at night.

Small and private moments. Moments nobody usually noticed. Yet somehow— whoever stood behind this camera always did. Yeji lowered herself slowly onto the floor beside the counter, the polaroid still held carefully between her fingers.

The candle burned quietly nearby. Outside, distant sirens echoed somewhere deep within the city. And for the first time that entire night— Yeji no longer felt alone inside the silence.

Her eyes drifted toward the disposable camera again, then toward the first photograph still resting near the couch. The beer mug, the food, he warmth— now this. Two moments she’d never lived. But both somehow felt more emotionally honest than half the photos currently sitting inside her phone gallery.

That realization unsettled her more than the impossible camera itself. Because somewhere between the schedules and performances and years of always being watched— Yeji suddenly realized she couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at her quietly. Without expectation and to just… look at her like this.

Her thumb brushed absentmindedly across the edge of the second polaroid. Then she noticed something near the bottom corner. Tiny. Almost hidden beneath the shadow of her jacket sleeve. A timestamp 11:42 PM. Tomorrow. Yeji’s breathing slowed “…What?”

Yeji barely slept. Not because she was scared, that would’ve been easier to explain. Instead, every time she closed her eyes, the bridge photo resurfaced behind them— the peaceful expression in her face.

That was the part she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Not the impossible camera. Not the timestamps. Not even the unseen man behind the lens. Just that expression. Because somehow, the version of herself standing on that bridge looked more rested than she had in months, maybe years. Which honestly felt ridiculous considering the photo still technically shouldn’t exist. Morning schedules came and went in a blur after that. Normal idol life. And yet somewhere beneath every conversation and practiced smile, the timestamp lingered quietly in the back of her mind.

11:42 PM. Tonight.

By the time practice finally ended, Seoul had already darkened beyond the studio windows. Ryujin collapsed dramatically onto the floor beside the mirrors. “I think my spine just filed for divorce.”

“That implies you had one to begin with,” Yuna answered immediately. “Wow” Yeji laughed softly under her breath while reaching for her water bottle. The sound surprised her a little. Not because it was fake. Because it wasn’t. Chaeryeong noticed immediately. Her eyes narrowed slightly “Why do you look weirdly calm today?” Yeji nearly choked on her drink “What does that even mean?”

“You’re less…” Chaeryeong gestured vaguely. “Static-y.” “Static-y?” Ryujin pointed accusingly from the floor. “That’s actually accurate.” “Whose side are you on?” “Not yours.”

Lia smiled quietly from the couch without looking up from her phone. “Maybe she finally got enough sleep.” Yeji almost laughed at the irony. If only they knew. Eventually the members filtered out one by one until only Yeji remained behind to gather her things. And once the studio finally fell silent— her thoughts returned to the bridge immediately.

She really should go home. Take a shower. Eat something. Sleep like a normal person. Instead, two hours later— Yeji stood near the riverside beneath cold night air with both hands buried deep inside the pockets of an oversized jacket “…I’m actually insane,” she muttered softly.

The bridge from the photograph stretched overhead exactly the way it had in the picture. Not dramatically beautiful. Just real. Cars passed overhead occasionally while reflections of city lights rippled softly across the dark river beneath it. A few people wandered nearby here and there couples, cyclists, someone walking a dog too large for the hour. Ordinary. Nothing magical.

And somehow, that made the knot in Yeji’s chest loosen slightly. For several quiet minutes, she simply walked. No destination, she was just moving around.

The river breeze carried faint traces of rain and distant traffic while her sneakers scraped softly against the pavement. Eventually she stopped near the railing. The spot had to be close. Not because she memorized the bridge itself— but because she recognized the angle now. Subconsciously, her body shifted slightly. Then paused. Because suddenly she was standing exactly where the photo had been taken. A strange chill crawled lightly across her arms.

11:39 PM.

Yeji looked down at her phone screen slowly. Then back toward the river. Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened, what was she even expecting? A glowing portal? A mysterious stranger appearing from fog? She let out a quiet breath through her nose, embarrassed at herself.

Then finally relaxed against the railing. And for the first time all day— she allowed herself to just exist there quietly. Just cold air against her face and the sound of Seoul breathing softly around her. Maybe that was the point. Not the magic. Not the future. The realization settled unexpectedly deep inside her chest. Then— click.

The sound was small. Almost swallowed by the city noise, but Yeji still turned immediately. A man stood several feet away near the riverside path, lowering a compact camera from his face with mild surprise written across his expression “…Sorry,” he said almost instantly. “You were standing in the light”. Yeji blinked once. Then twice. Not because she recognized him. Because something about the moment suddenly felt familiar in a way she couldn’t explain. Dark hoodie, slightly messy hair from the wind. a camera strap hanging loosely around his neck.

Ordinary. Completely ordinary and yet her chest tightened quietly anyway. The man glanced briefly toward the river again before awkward realization crossed his face.

“Oh.” A beat passed “You probably thought I was photographing you.” “…Were you?” He looked genuinely conflicted for half a second “…A little?”

Yeji stared at him. Then unexpectedly laughed. The man blinked in visible surprise before laughing softly too. And somehow without her realizing it yet— 11:42 PM passed quietly overhead.

The river continued moving quietly beneath the bridge while cold wind drifted through the space between them, carrying faint traces of rain and the distant smell of street food from somewhere farther down the path. The man rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “In my defense,” he said carefully, “the lighting actually looked really nice.” Yeji raised an eyebrow immediately. “That sounds exactly what a suspicious person would say.”

“…That’s fair.” Another laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Again— it felt real. The kind that happened too quickly for performance. Something about that realization made her suddenly self-conscious. Yeji adjusted the sleeves of her oversized jacket slightly higher over her hands while the stranger lowered his camera fully this time.

“You photograph random people often?” she asked. “Only accidentally.” “That doesn’t sound reassuring either.” Yeji pointed out. “I’m making this worse.” “A little.”

The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. Warm. Unforced. Yeji felt that strange flicker of familiarity again, the feeling of ease. Which honestly should’ve worried her more considering she was currently standing near a river at midnight talking to a man she didn’t know because of a magical disposable camera.

Maybe she was losing her mind after all. The thought almost made her laugh again. The stranger glanced briefly toward the skyline before speaking again “You came out here alone?” The question should’ve felt invasive. Instead, his tone carried simple curiosity more than anything else. Yeji leaned lightly against the railing again. “Could ask you the same thing”. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his hoodie before glancing toward the camera hanging against his chest “I walk here sometimes when I can’t sleep”.

That answer felt strangely honest. No attempt to sound interesting. No over-explanation. Yeji found herself nodding slightly before she realized it “…Me too,” she admitted quietly. Not entirely true. But not entirely false anymore either. Silence settled again afterward. The strange part was that it was a comfortable silence.

Normally conversations with strangers required effort, social awareness, politeness, and a whole lot of careful emotional balancing. But standing here now felt weirdly simple. The man eventually looked toward her again “I’m Sion, by the way”. There it was. Something small shifted inside her chest. The soft quiet click of something beginning to make sense emotionally before logic could catch up. Yeji hoped the darkness hid her expression well enough.

“…Yeji.”

Recognition flashed across his face almost immediately this time. Then to his credit— he didn’t make it weird. No startled shouting, he didn’t fumble for his phone. No sudden shift in behavior. Just “Oh…”

Yeji almost visibly braced herself out of instinct. Sion noticed and somehow, that made his expression soften slightly.

“You don’t have to look that worried,” he said quietly. “Sorry, occupational hazard made it a habit.” Yeji defended herself. “That bad?” “You’d be surprised.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again. Then he looked back out toward the river instead of at her. And for some reason, that tiny action relaxed Yeji more than if he’d tried to reassure her directly. Because he wasn’t pretending not to recognize her. But he also wasn’t treating her differently because of it. The distinction felt… rare.

A cold gust of wind swept across the bridge suddenly, pulling loose strands of blonde hair across Yeji’s face. Sion noticed immediately. Without thinking, he lifted the camera hanging from his neck again— then paused halfway. Yeji caught the movement and their eyes met briefly.

“…Sorry,” he said again, quieter this time. The strange thing was— Yeji didn’t actually mind. Not really. Because for the first time in a long while, someone looking at her didn’t feel like being watched. And somehow, that difference felt bigger than it should’ve.

Yeji should’ve left after that. That probably would’ve been the normal thing to do. Instead, she stayed. The conversation drifted naturally after that. Photography, favorite late-night food places, why the river looked different depending on the season.

Simple things.

Sion spoke calmly, like someone used to silence instead of trying to fill it. Yeji found herself relaxing more than she meant to. At some point, he glanced toward the camera in his hands again. “You really don’t mind?”

“The photo?” Yeji asked.  He nodded once. Yeji looked out toward the river. “…I think I’m just tired of every picture of me feeling like it belongs to someone else.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Sion stayed quiet for a second.

“That sounds exhausting.”

No dramatic sympathy. Just understanding. For some reason, that hit harder. A faint vibration buzzed from Yeji’s pocket. Group chat notifications probably. She ignored it immediately. Sion noticed.

“You’re really famous enough to ignore messages like that?” “I’m emotionally prioritizing the river right now.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him. Warm again. Dangerously easy. The wind picked up harder this time, colder against her cheeks. Sion glanced briefly at her exposed hands before reaching into his pocket. A heat pack landed against the railing beside her.

Yeji blinked “…Did you just carry those around?”

“You’d be surprised how often people underestimate winter.” “That’s weirdly thoughtful.” “I get that a lot.”

She smiled despite herself. The city stretched quietly around them after that. Not awkward silence. Just comfortable enough that neither of them felt rushed to leave. Eventually, Sion lifted the camera again. This time slower, giving her enough time to stop him. Yeji looked at him for a second. Then very slightly she nodded.

Click.

The sound settled softly between them. And strangely enough, Yeji didn’t feel watched. She felt remembered.

By the time Yeji finally checked her phone again, it was nearly 1 AM. Twenty-three missed notifications. Five from Ryujin alone. Yeji exhaled quietly. “I should probably go before my members file a missing persons report.” “That serious?” “You don’t know Ryujin.”

Sion laughed softly before slipping his camera back over his shoulder. “Do you want the photo?” Yeji blinked “…You’re giving it to me?”

“You’re in it.” The answer came so naturally it caught her off guard. Sion stepped closer then, pulling the small instant photo from the camera carefully before holding it toward her. Their fingers brushed briefly during the exchange. Small contact. Still enough to make Yeji strangely aware of it.

The image hadn’t fully developed yet, colors still slowly bleeding into shape beneath the bridge lights. Sion watched the process quietly beside her. Then suddenly frowned slightly.

“What?” “…You really do look calmer at night.”

Yeji looked up. His expression remained thoughtful, almost absentminded, like he didn’t realize how personal the observation sounded. Before Yeji could answer, Sion reached into his hoodie pocket again and pulled out a pen.

“What are you doing?” “You’ll see.”

He flipped the developing photo carefully and scribbled something quickly across the back before handing it over again. Yeji narrowed her eyes immediately.

“That’s suspicious behavior.” “It’s called being sentimental.” “That’s somehow worse.” Sion grinned faintly “Read it later.”

And for reasons she didn’t fully understand yet— Yeji actually wanted to.

The note stayed inside Yeji’s hoodie pocket for three days before she finally unfolded it again. “You looked like you could finally hear yourself think here” it was simple. Which somehow made it better.

She still hadn’t decided. The bridge encounter should’ve faded into one of those strange late-night memories people eventually stop thinking about. Instead, Yeji kept catching herself looking for familiar dark hoodies in crowds. Which felt ridiculous. So naturally, she ignored it completely. At least until the noodle shop.

The restaurant appeared almost accidentally after another late practice night. Warm yellow lighting. Wood-paneled walls. Tiny, cramped tables. Yeji stopped walking immediately. Because she recognized it before she consciously understood why. The photo.

Her stomach twisted quietly. For several seconds, she just stood outside staring through the glass while people moved casually inside. And somehow, that unsettled her more than the camera ever had. Then through the reflection of passing headlights— she spotted him.

Sion sat near the back corner booth alone, lazily turning a beer mug between his hands while reviewing photographs spread across the table beside him. Completely ordinary. Like he belonged there. Yeji almost left. Not because she wanted to, because suddenly the situation felt too real. But before she could fully decide, Sion glanced up.

He smiled slightly. Not surprised. Not dramatic. Just a face that spoke “Oh. You’re here too.” without actually saying it. And somehow, that made leaving impossible.

A few minutes later, Yeji found herself sitting across from him inside the exact seat from the photograph while steam curled softly upward between them from two bowls of noodles. “This feels weird,” she admitted eventually.

Sion looked up from separating chopsticks. “The noodles?”

“The… situation.” “That narrows it down significantly.”

Yeji laughed despite herself. Then immediately froze. Because suddenly— she recognized the moment. The photograph had never shown her the future exactly. It showed her how the moment would feel. That realization settled quietly into her chest while Sion continued talking about something involving film cameras and terrible convenience store coffee.

And for the first time since receiving the disposable camera— Yeji stopped feeling like she was chasing something impossible, she was just… living it now.

Sion continued talking while Yeji quietly tried to process the fact that she was somehow sitting inside a photograph she’d once held between trembling fingers at two in the morning “…and instant coffee should honestly qualify as a human rights violation”. Yeji blinked back into the conversation. “That’s dramatic.”

“It’s accurate.” “You’re drinking beer with ramen.” “That’s different.” “How?”

Sion looked genuinely thoughtful for a second before answering “Emotionally.”

That earned another laugh from her. Yeji felt the moment had become dangerous. Not because he was overwhelmingly charming. Not because sparks were flying across the table. Because talking to him felt easy enough that Yeji kept forgetting to protect herself around it.

The noodle shop owner eventually shuffled past their table, setting down another plate without being asked. Sion looked up. “Thank you.”

“You brought a pretty girl this time,” the older man replied casually before walking away again. Yeji nearly inhaled noodles into her lungs. Sion looked significantly calmer about the situation.

“That sounded routine,” she accused once she recovered. “It’s happened twice.” “Twice is enough for a pattern.” “That feels statistically aggressive.”

Yeji shook her head while laughing under her breath again. And then— click. Her eyes snapped upward instantly. Sion lowered the small camera in his hands with absolutely no shame this time. “You’re getting bold.” “You were smiling.” “That’s not a defense.” “It is to me.”

Yeji stared at him for a second longer than necessary “…Can I see it?”. Sion hesitated dramatically. “Depends.” “On?” “Will you judge my artistic integrity?” “I already am.” “That’s devastating.”

He slid the photo carefully across the table toward her anyway. The image hadn’t fully developed yet, colors slowly blooming across the glossy surface beneath the ramen shop lighting. Yeji stared quietly while the shapes sharpened.

There she was again. Mid-laugh. Chopsticks nearby, beer in hand. Eyes crinkled almost completely shut. Unguarded. The realization hit differently now. Because the first time she saw herself like this, it felt impossible. Now—it just felt real.

Her thumb brushed softly across the edge of the photograph. Then she flipped it over instinctively. Sion’s handwriting stretched messily across the back already:

“You look happiest when you forget someone’s looking at you.”

Yeji went very still. The noodle shop suddenly felt too warm. Across from her, Sion was pretending to focus very hard on his drink now, ears slightly red beneath the dim yellow lights. After that, seeing Sion again stopped feeling unlikely. Just strangely natural.

Sometimes they crossed paths after Yeji’s late practices. Sometimes she found him near the riverside with another disposable camera hanging from his neck and sleep deprivation visible beneath his eyes. Other nights he simply appeared beside her life quietly enough that Yeji stopped questioning it.

And somewhere between shared ramen dinners, late-night walks, and polaroids slowly accumulating inside her apartment drawer— the remaining candles kept getting lower.

The remaining candles disappeared faster after that. Not because Yeji suddenly became obsessed with the camera again. Honestly, the opposite happened. The photographs still appeared quiet little glimpses of futures slowly becoming less impossible every day.

Sion asleep against the train window while Yeji’s reflection blurred faintly across the glass. Convenience store dinners at unreasonable hours. A blurry photo of her laughing while trying to steal his hoodie during sudden rain. Some moments hadn’t happened yet— others already had.

Eventually, Yeji stopped trying to separate the difference. Because somewhere along the way, the future stopped feeling distant around him. It just felt close.

The members noticed first, it was inevitable. “You’re happier lately,” Lia mentioned quietly one evening while the others argued over dinner nearby. Yeji looked up immediately. “That sounds suspicious.” “It wasn’t.” “It definitely was.”

Lia only smiled faintly before returning to her food. Which somehow felt more exposing than if she’d teased her directly.

Ryujin figured it out properly two weeks later after discovering an entire stack of polaroids hidden inside Yeji’s practice bag. The screaming lasted almost ten minutes.

“THERE’S A MAN WITH HANDWRITING.” “Lower your voice.” “HE WRITES LIKE HE PAYS TAXES.” “That doesn’t even mean anything.” “It means he’s emotionally stable and I don’t trust it.”

Yuna nearly fell off the couch laughing. Chaeryeong, unfortunately, became emotionally invested immediately after reading one of the notes.

“You looked tired today so I pretended not to notice.”

“Okay, wait,” Chaeryeong whispered dramatically. “That’s actually kind of insane.” “Give it back.” “No, I’m studying him.”

Yeji buried her face into her hands while the members continued aggressively analyzing a man they have never even met. Because eventually inevitably, Sion started existing around them too.

Coffee outside schedules. Accidental late-night dinners. One deeply unfortunate karaoke incident Ryujin would weaponize for the rest of his life. And somehow, Sion handled all of it with terrifying calm.

The scary part was how naturally he fit. Like Yeji’s life had quietly made space for him long before either of them noticed. That realization should’ve comforted her more than it did. Instead— the remaining candles kept bothering her. The camera’s number kept lowering from 13 now it fell to 11.

The lower the number became, the less excited Yeji felt whenever another photograph appeared beside the camera. Because how she understood what the final picture actually meant— an ending. Not to them. To this, to the strange impossible thing that brought Sion into her life in the first place.

And once the final photo appeared— the magic would disappear too. One night, Sion noticed her staring at the camera again from across his apartment couch. “You look nervous every time you hold that thing lately.” Yeji blinked. “…Do I?”

“A little.”

Rain tapped quietly against the windows while dim lamplight stretched across the apartment around them. One of Sion’s hoodies hung loosely from Yeji’s frame while scattered polaroids rested across the coffee table between half-finished drinks.

Yeji looked down at the camera again. Five exposures left. “…What if it stops?” she asked quietly. Sion tilted his head slightly. “Stops what?” She almost answered honestly. “The photos.”

A small silence followed. Then Sion leaned back against the couch cushions, thoughtful. “You know,” he murmured eventually, “I don’t think you look at those pictures the same way anymore.” Yeji looked up slowly. Sion glanced toward the scattered polaroids across the table.

“At first it felt like you were searching for something inside them.” “And now?” His eyes met hers briefly “Now I think you’re scared they’ll stop.”

The accuracy of it stole the breath from her lungs a little. Because he was right. The camera used to feel mysterious. Now it felt temporary, and that terrified her more. Sion’s hand settled quietly over hers before she could retreat too deeply into the thought.

“You know,” he said softly, “I still would’ve met you eventually.” Yeji laughed faintly under her breath. “That sounds statistically impossible.” “I walk the same routes every night.” “You still sound statistically impossible.” “That’s because you’re dramatic.” “I’m literally an idol. It’s part of my job description.”

That earned the quiet smile she’d become embarrassingly attached to over the past few months. Sion’s thumb brushed lightly against the side of her hand. And the room suddenly felt much smaller than it had a few seconds ago.

The rain didn't just fall, it hammered against the glass of Sion’s apartment windows, blurring the neon pulse of Seoul into a smudge of watercolor violets and golds. Inside, the air tasted of old paper, cedarwood, and the lingering scent of the peppermint tea cooling on the coffee table. A single lamp cast a pool of amber light over the living room, leaving the corners in a soft, forgiving haze.

Yeji sat curled on the edge of the fabric couch, her small frame swallowed by one of Sion’s charcoal-grey hoodies. Her fingers traced the plastic casing of the disposable camera. Five exposures left. The number felt like a countdown.

Sion watched her from the opposite end of the sofa. He didn't lean in or crowd her; he simply existed in her space, a grounding presence that made the walls of the apartment feel like a fortress "You're thinking about something negative again." Sion’s voice was a low hum, cutting through the rhythmic drumming of the rain.

Yeji didn't look up. "What if the last photo is just a picture of an empty room? Or a picture of me walking away?" "Why would it be that?" "Because that's how magic works in stories, isn't it? It gives you a glimpse of something beautiful to lure you in, and then it vanishes once the lesson is learned. I'm terrified that once the film runs out, the thread that pulled us together just... snaps."

Sion shifted, the fabric of the couch creaking beneath him. He reached out, his hand covering hers on the camera. His skin was warm, slightly calloused from years of handling equipment. "Yeji, look at me." She lifted her gaze. His eyes weren't searching for the idol, the leader, or the polished image the world consumed. He was looking at the girl who liked her noodles too salty and who forgot to breathe when she was nervous.

"The camera didn't create this," he whispered. "It just pointed the way. I didn't fall in love with a series of polaroids. I fell in love with the way you look when you think no one is watching. That doesn't disappear because a piece of plastic runs out of film."

The honesty in his voice hit her with the force of a physical blow. The tension she had carried for months—the fear of the deadline, the exhaustion of the performance—suddenly fractured. A shaky breath escaped her, and before she could overthink it, she leaned forward, closing the gap between them.

The kiss was hesitant at first, a question asked in the dark. But as Sion’s hand moved from the camera to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, the question became an answer. It tasted of peppermint and desperation.

Yeji moaned softly into his mouth, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt. This wasn't the careful, measured affection of their previous encounters. This was a landslide.

Sion pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing hard. "Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice strained. "I don't want you to feel like you're chasing a photo. I want you to want me." Yeji’s response was to pull him back down, her lips crashing against his with a sudden, fierce hunger.  "I want you," she breathed against his skin, her voice cracking. "God, Sion, I just want you."

The shift in energy was electric. Sion’s hands became more urgent, sliding beneath the hem of the oversized hoodie. Yeji shivered as his palms met the bare skin of her waist, his touch searing. She scrambled to pull the hoodie over her head, tossing it blindly onto the floor. She sat before him in nothing but a thin lace bra and matching panties, her skin pale and luminous in the amber light.

Sion froze for a heartbeat, his gaze roaming over her with a reverence that made her feel more seen than any camera ever had. He didn't comment on her perfection; he simply reached out and traced the line of her collarbone with his thumb. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. "Just... you."

Yeji reached for the buttons of his shirt, her fingers trembling. She popped them open one by one, pushing the fabric off his shoulders to reveal a lean, toned chest. She pressed her palms against his skin, feeling the rapid, thudding rhythm of his heart. It mirrored her own. He stripped her of the lace with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving hers. When she was completely bare, the cool air of the apartment hit her skin, but the heat radiating from Sion kept her warm.

He leaned forward, kissing the hollow of her throat, then the slope of her shoulder, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Sion shifted, sliding down the couch until he was kneeling between her legs. Yeji gasped, her thighs parting instinctively. He looked up at her, a silent request in his eyes, and she nodded, her fingers tangling in his messy hair.

He leaned in, his breath hot against her inner thigh. Yeji arched her back as his lips brushed against the soft skin, moving higher and higher. When his tongue finally made contact with her clit, a sharp, electric jolt shot through her entire body "Sion..." she whimpered, her head falling back against the cushions.

He didn't stop. He used his tongue in slow, swirling motions, tasting the honeyed sweetness of her arousal. He was patient, observant, treating her body like a masterpiece he was learning to read. He sucked the small, sensitive bud of her clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum that made Yeji’s hips jerk upward. The sound of it—the wet, rhythmic movement of his tongue against her clit towards her folds—filled the quiet room, competing with the rain outside.

He used his fingers to open her further, sliding one finger deep into her wet heat while his tongue continued to flicker relentlessly over her peak.

Yeji was unraveling. She felt the tension building in her lower belly, a coil tightening until it was unbearable. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. "Right there... please, don't stop," she sobbed, her voice a ragged whisper.

Sion increased the pace, his tongue moving faster, more insistently. He could feel her walls pulsing around his finger, the internal muscles clenching in anticipation. He let out a low groan of his own, the scent of her arousal filling his senses. With one final, deep flick of his tongue and a firm press of his finger against her G-spot, Yeji shattered.

Her orgasm hit her in waves, her entire body shuddering as she screamed his name into the empty room. She clung to him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her vision blurring as the pleasure ebbed slowly, leaving her floating in a haze of warmth.

Sion didn't pull away immediately. He kissed the inside of her thighs, the softness of her skin still humming from the climax. As he sat back on his heels, Yeji looked at him, her eyes glassy and full of love. "My turn," she whispered.

She slid off the couch, kneeling before him. Sion’s cock was hard, straining against the fabric of his trousers. Yeji reached for his belt, her movements slow and purposeful. She slid his pants and boxers down in one motion, freeing him. He was thick and pulsing, her eyes were staring at the tip of his glans.

Yeji leaned in, her breath ghosting over the head of his cock. She started with a slow, teasing lick from the base to the tip, tasting the salt and musk of him. Sion let out a choked sound, his hands finding purchase in her hair. She took him into her mouth, her lips sealing tightly around him. She focused on the ridge of the head, using her tongue to swirl around the sensitive rim before sliding deeper. The sound of her saliva squelching around him filled the space, a visceral, intimate noise that made Sion’s hips twitch.

She used her hand to stroke the base, her grip firm, while her mouth worked the top. She looked up at him through her lashes, watching the way his jaw tightened and his eyes closed in sheer ecstasy. She sucked harder, drawing him in deep, her throat tightening around him.

Sion’s breathing became erratic, a series of broken moans escaping his lips. "Yeji... fuck, you're... you're incredible."

She didn't stop until he reached his limit. With a sharp intake of breath and a low growl, Sion stiffened. Yeji felt the first surge of his orgasm hit the back of her throat, a hot, thick flood of semen. She swallowed it all, refusing to let a single drop go to waste, her tongue swirling around him until the last of the pulses subsided.

They collapsed onto the bed in the adjacent room, the sheets cool against their heated skin. The rain was still falling, but the world outside the bedroom door had ceased to exist.

Yeji climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. She looked down at him, her hair falling around them like a blonde curtain, creating a private sanctuary. She guided his cock to her entrance, the tip brushing against her wet lips. "I want to feel you," she whispered.

She lowered herself slowly. The feeling of him filling her was overwhelming—a slow, stretching pressure that made her eyes flutter shut. She let out a long, shaky exhale as he seated himself fully inside her, their pelvises meeting with a soft, wet thud. Yeji began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, grinding circle. She watched Sion’s face, the way he looked at her with such raw intensity that it felt like he was stripping her soul bare. She picked up the pace, her breasts bouncing with the movement, her nipples rubbing against his chest.

The sound of their bodies interacting—the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin—became the only soundtrack to the night. Yeji leaned forward, pressing her chest against his, her voice a series of soft, needy whimpers in his ear "More... please, Sion, let me feel more." Sion gripped her hips, helping her find the rhythm. He thrust upward, meeting her descent with powerful, driving motions. Each hit felt deeper, more purposeful. Yeji felt the friction building again, the heat between them intensifying until it was a searing brand.

As she reached the peak of her second orgasm, her internal muscles clamped tight around him. Sion groaned, the sensation of her pulsing walls pushing him over the edge. He pulled out at the last second, his body arching as he came in great, hot spurts across her stomach and thighs, the white liquid stark against her skin.

The two of them lay there for a while, tangled together, their breathing syncing up as the adrenaline faded. Yeji rested her head on his chest, listening to the slowing beat of his heart. But the hunger hadn't fully vanished. It had just changed shape.

After a while, Sion shifted, rolling her onto her back. Yeji was still humming from the first two rounds, her body feeling sensitive and overstimulated. "I want you again," he whispered, his voice gravelly. "But I want to be the one to take you this time."

Yeji smiled, her eyes half-closed. "I'm so sensitive, Sion... I don't know if I can."

"Just let me," he murmured. He entered her again, but this time it was different. It was slower, more deliberate. He didn't rush. He moved with a steady, rhythmic precision, his eyes locked on hers. He kissed her deeply, their tongues intertwining, exchanging saliva and breath in a way that felt like they were becoming one person.

The friction was different now—deeper, more emotional. Every thrust felt like a promise. Yeji felt herself building again, but it wasn't the sharp, electric peak of before. It was a slow burn, a steady accumulation of warmth that filled her entire chest.

As the tension reached its breaking point, Sion paused, his breath hitching "Yeji," he warned, his voice strained. "I'm close. I can't...”

Yeji reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down until there was no space left between them. "Stay this time" she whispered, her voice fierce and certain. "I want you inside me. I want to feel everything. Please, Sion... stay."

The request broke the last of his restraint. Sion let out a sound and drove into her one last time, burying himself as deep as possible. As Yeji’s orgasm crashed over her, pulling her into a void of pure sensation, Sion followed her. He groaned her name, his body shuddering violently as he came inside her. Yeji felt the hot, thick pulses of his cum filling her, a physical manifestation of the bond they had forged over months of late-night walks and candid photographs. It was messy, it was visceral, and it was the most honest thing she had ever experienced.

They stayed locked together long after the climax, the silence of the room returning, save for the distant, fading rhythm of the rain.

The morning light was pale and filtered, casting soft grey shadows across the bedroom. Yeji woke up slowly, the warmth of Sion’s body still pressed against her back. He was snoring softly, one arm draped protectively across her waist.

She shifted slightly, feeling the sticky residue of their night together on her skin. For the first time in years, she didn't feel the immediate urge to check her phone. She didn't feel the phantom weight of a schedule or the pressure to be "on."

She looked over at the bedside table. The disposable camera sat there, silent and still. Yeji reached out and picked it up. She looked at the exposure counter.

1.

There was one more left. The mystery that had led her to this room, to this man, has almost reached its conclusion. She waited for the panic to set in. She waited for the feeling of loss, the fear that the thread had finally snapped.

But as Sion stirred behind her, pressing a sleepy, warm kiss to the curve of her shoulder, Yeji realized she didn't care about the camera. She didn't need to see the future in a grainy polaroid because the present was finally enough.

She turned in his arms, smiling as he opened his eyes. "Morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "Morning," she replied, pulling him closer.

The camera remained on the table, a relic of a journey that had served its purpose. Yeji closed her eyes, listening to the quiet sounds of the city waking up outside, knowing that the most important moments of her life were the ones that would be with Sion.

The final exposure remained unused for almost a year. Not intentionally at first. Life simply kept happening around them. Schedules. Comebacks. Late-night dinners. Train rides. Polaroids accumulating slowly inside drawers and bookshelves and jacket pockets. And somewhere along the way, Yeji stopped needing the camera to tell her she was happy. Still, she never threw it away.

The old disposable camera stayed tucked carefully inside her apartment drawer beside faded receipts, spare batteries, and small pieces of life that somehow felt too important to lose. Sometimes she caught herself staring at it quietly before leaving for schedules. Sometimes Sion noticed. Neither of them mentioned it much anymore. Maybe because they both already understood.

Yeji’s next birthday arrived quietly. This time, no impossible package or mysterious note waiting outside her apartment door. Just warm apartment lighting, half-finished cake, and Sion standing in the kitchen looking deeply offended at the amount of frosting currently on his sleeve.

“You did that on purpose.” Yeji leaned against the counter laughing softly. “You moved into the spoon.”

“That’s not how physics works.” “You’re statistically impossible anyway.” “That’s your excuse for everything now.” “It’s versatile.”

The apartment windows reflected soft Seoul lights against the dark while music played quietly somewhere in the background beneath the sound of rain tapping lightly outside.

The kitchen itself looked lived-in now. Two mugs in the sink, one of Yeji’s hoodies hanging over a chair, polaroids clipped loosely along the edge of the shelves. Real life. Sion eventually set the cake knife down before reaching toward the counter behind him. Yeji immediately narrowed her eyes.

“…Why are you smiling like that?” “No reason.” “That’s a dangerous answer.”

Sion pulled out a small instant camera from beside the cake. Yeji blinked once. Then laughed quietly under her breath. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I learned from the best.” “That feels factually incorrect.”

Sion only grinned slightly before lifting the camera toward her. “Come here.” Yeji walked around the counter slowly before stopping beside him while candlelight flickered softly between them. “You know,” Sion murmured thoughtfully, “last year you looked like you wanted to survive your birthday.”

“That obvious?” “A little.”

Yeji snorted softly while shaking her head. Sion’s expression softened. “But this year’s better.” Something inside her chest tightened quietly at that. Because he was right. A year ago, birthdays felt exhausting. Heavy. Performative. Now— she was standing barefoot in an apartment kitchen at midnight with frosting on her fingers and someone looking at her like ordinary happiness was enough and somehow— it was.

Sion lifted the camera slightly. “Ready?” Yeji glanced toward him. Then suddenly leaned sideways just enough to smear frosting lightly against his cheek. Sion stared at her in betrayal.

Click. The flash filled the kitchen instantly.

Yeji immediately dissolved into laughter while Sion looked down at the developing photo with visible disappointment.

“You’re evil.” “You love me.” “That’s unfortunately becoming the problem, yes.”

Yeji laughed even harder at that while Sion shook his head beneath his breath before reaching for a pen nearby automatically. The movement made her smile immediately.

“You’re doing it again.” “It’s important.” “You write on literally every photo.” “And?” “And one day historians are going to study your handwriting and think you were emotionally unstable.” “That feels rude considering this is your birthday.”

Yeji leaned lightly against his shoulder while Sion scribbled carefully across the back of the developing polaroid. Then he handed it toward her. The image still hadn’t fully settled yet, Yeji mid-laugh, Sion visibly betrayed, the smoke from the candle moving softly around between them.

Yeji flipped the photo over slowly. Then went quiet.

“You don’t look lonely anymore.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Because somehow after everything— that had been the real thing the camera gave her. Not a magical romance. Just a way back toward herself. Sion noticed her expression immediately. “What?” Yeji looked up slowly before shaking her head once “…Nothing.” but her voice softened anyway.

And later that night, while the city slept quietly outside their apartment and the old disposable camera remained untouched inside the drawer nearby— Yeji realized she no longer felt afraid of the final exposure anymore.

A few weeks later, ITZY’s vacation devolved into chaos almost immediately. Which honestly surprised nobody. “THAT IS NOT HOW SUNSCREEN WORKS,” Chaeryeong shouted across the beach while Ryujin aggressively ignored her.

“I’m improvising.” “You’re dying.” “Creatively.”

Yuna nearly collapsed laughing somewhere behind them while Lia watched the entire situation unfold with the calm expression of someone who already accepted disaster as inevitable. Meanwhile— Sion somehow ended up carrying most of the bags again.

“You absolutely got manipulated into this,” Yeji informed him while walking beside him toward the beachside restaurant. “I realized that around the third tote bag.”

“You could’ve said no.” “I’ve met Ryujin. That was never an option, babe.” “Fair.”

The second they approached the outdoor seating area— “FINALLY.” Ryujin pointed accusingly across the table immediately. Yuna gasped dramatically beside her “Oh my god”. Yeji narrowed her eyes instantly. “Why are you both looking at me like criminals?”

Ryujin leaned back in her chair with the expression of someone about to ruin another person’s day recreationally. “I’m just saying,” she started casually, “you two were suspiciously late.”

“We were fifteen minutes late.” “That’s enough time.”

Yeji froze immediately “…Enough time for what?” Yuna nearly folded over laughing already. Ryujin looked toward the others innocently, her hands making an obviously obscene gesture “I don’t know. Maybe they a quickie before leaving.”

“RYUJIN.” Chaeryeong nearly inhaled her drink while Lia physically turned away trying to hide her laughter. Yuna pointed aggressively across the table “WAIT no because that actually makes sense”

“It does NOT make sense.” “You’re glowing.” “I’m standing in sunlight.” “That’s exactly what guilty people say.”

Sion quietly sat beside Yeji while setting the bags down carefully like this situation had absolutely nothing to do with him. Which somehow made everything worse. Yeji stared at him in betrayal. “You know you could defend me a little here, babe.”

Sion considered this thoughtfully “I think they’ve already made up their minds regardless.”

Ryujin slammed the table triumphantly “HE DIDN’T DENY IT.”

“OH MY GOD,” Chaeryeong shouted immediately.

Lia finally laughed openly into her drink while Yeji buried her face into her hands. And somewhere beneath all the chaos— Sion’s fingers quietly slipped between hers beneath the table. It was instinctive now. Yeji looked over automatically. Sion only smiled slightly. Calm as ever.

Eventually the others wandered farther down the beach toward the food stalls again while the noise slowly faded beneath the sound of waves. Yeji watched them disappear for a moment before exhaling softly through her nose.

“They’re exhausting.” “You love them.” “…Unfortunately.”

Sion laughed quietly beside her while adjusting the tote bag hanging from his shoulder. Then— Yeji paused. Because suddenly she remembered the shape resting inside her own bag.

The disposable camera. Her steps slowed slightly. Sion noticed immediately “What?”. Yeji hesitated before pulling the old camera carefully from her bag. Even now, the worn plastic looked strangely out of place against the bright ocean sunlight around them. A relic from another version of her life.

Sion stared at it for a second “…You still kept it?”. Yeji looked down quietly.

1.

“One left”. The ocean breeze pushed loose strands of blonde hair across her face while silence settled softly between them. Not heavy. Just thoughtful.

A year ago, the number would’ve terrified her. Now it mostly just felt strange. Like standing at the end of a road she’d stopped noticing she was walking. Sion leaned lightly against the railing beside her.

“You know,” he murmured, “part of me thought you’d never use the last one.” “…I almost didn’t.” “But?”

Yeji looked over at him. Really looked at Sion whose face was blasted by the afternoon sun and wind. The familiar softness around his eyes whenever he noticed her staring too long. Then slowly— Yeji smiled “I think this one should be mine.”

Sion’s expression softened almost immediately after that. Before he could answer— Yeji suddenly leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

Click.

The sound felt strangely louder than the ocean for half a second. Sion blinked once in visible surprise while Yeji pulled back laughing softly beneath the sunlight.

“You absolutely planned that.” “Maybe.” “That’s evil.” “You’ll survive.”

Yeji snorted quietly while lowering the camera again. Then— a small mechanical sound followed. The exposure counter shifted slowly.

0.

For a second, neither of them spoke. The ocean continued moving quietly behind them while distant laughter from the members drifted somewhere farther down the shoreline. And strangely enough Yeji didn’t feel sad. Just… full.

The photograph developed gradually between their hands beneath the warm afternoon sunlight. Slightly crooked. A little blurred from movement. Sion caught mid-laugh while Yeji kissed his cheek unexpectedly beside him. It looked messy and alive at the same time. Perfect.

Yeji smiled softly while watching the colors settle into place. Then absentmindedly flipped the polaroid over— and froze.

Sion noticed immediately “What?”. Yeji stared silently at the back of the photograph. Then slowly turned it toward him. The handwriting was already there. Not added afterward. Already there. Two lines that wrote the same words, different handwritings stretched across the back together. Half hers. Half his. Three simple words.

“I love you”

For a second, Sion genuinely looked speechless. Which honestly might’ve been the most impossible thing the camera had done yet. Yeji laughed quietly first. Emotional in a way that settled deep instead of loud.

Sion looked down at the message again before shaking his head faintly beneath his breath. “That thing is still dramatic.” Yeji smiled wider this time “Definitely”.

YJ: I’m coming to your room later. Don’t fall asleep first :)

Somehow just reading it again immediately made something in my chest loosen. Then suddenly— another notification appeared across the screen. Different contact this time. Jihyo. Interesting. I opened it immediately. “Are you free for a quick video call? John’s here too.”

Excellent. Parental supervision. I sent her a reply. “Do we have to include John?” an instant reply suddenly pinged before I could get up to turn on my PC “You hurt his feelings…” hilarious.

A few minutes later, my PC rested open on my table while the video call connected successfully. And unfortunately— both of them were already staring at me like emotionally intelligent vultures. “Why do you look exhausted already?” Jihyo asked immediately.

“That sounds emotionally invasive.” “It’s Ben, that is his resting face.” John added helpfully.

I rubbed lightly at my forehead afterward while Jihyo narrowed her eyes slightly at the screen. “Just a bit tired from… recent events.” Meanwhile Jihyo looked seconds away from developing a migraine already. “Anyway,” she continued before John could worsen the situation further, “we just wanted to check how things were going after the comeback schedules.”

I leaned farther back slightly afterward. “Honestly? Better than expected.” That part at least wasn’t a lie. The schedules themselves had gone smoothly. The members looked happier overall. More stable too. Which honestly made the emotional complications significantly harder to justify professionally.

Jihyo seemed to notice the shift in my expression afterward too.

“You’re overthinking again.” “Why does everyone keep saying that.” “It’s not without merit, try smiling more.”

Then eventually John leaned slightly closer toward his camera afterward while narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “You look weirdly happy though?”

“I don’t look happy.” “You absolutely look happy.” “That sounds emotionally fabricated.” “That sounds like denial,” Jihyo added calmly.

Great… Professionally cornered by two emotionally evolved psychopaths. Then before I could continue defending myself— the door behind me quietly opened. Softly enough that I barely noticed at first. But then suddenly— a figure suddenly appeared on my side, carelessly placing themself on my lap while I was sitting in the chair, not noticing I was talking to someone on the PC.

Ah. Excellent timing. Very professionally survivable situation. I froze instantly. Because apparently it was Yeji and had decided subtlety was no longer a priority tonight. “You’re still awake,” she murmured softly against my shoulder afterward before resting her chin lightly there “Good”. Meanwhile— the silence from the PC became catastrophic.

Yeji however remained completely unaware for approximately two more seconds while hugging me comfortably giving John and Jihyo a good show, those two were suspiciously quiet.  “I missed you, Benjie…” she muttered quietly afterward. “The gala was exhausting.” Then finally— she noticed the PC. Yeji’s eyes slowly widen to the realization that both John and Jihyo saw and heard everything.

 Because now Jihyo was staring at the screen with visible secondhand embarrassment, John looked spiritually vindicated, and Yeji had gone completely motionless against my back.  Outstanding. Then eventually John spoke first “…Well.” Nobody answered. Then Jihyo immediately covered part of her face with one hand afterward while visibly trying not to laugh “We’re going to end this call now”. Jihyo left the call before I could defend myself.

Yeji meanwhile looked seconds away from evaporating from existence entirely. Honestly it was a very cute reaction. Then finally before disconnecting, John pointed toward the screen once more “Use protection”.  The call ended instantly afterward. Then slowly— Yeji buried her face into my chest while groaning softly in embarrassment “…I hate both of them.”

The room stayed quiet for another few seconds afterward while Yeji continued hiding her face against my chest like complete bodily disappearance was still a viable survival strategy. Unfortunately for her it was not. I eventually let out a quiet laugh beneath my breath before lightly running one hand through her hair afterward.

“They’re never letting us live that down.” “I’m aware,” Yeji muttered into my shirt immediately. “That sounded emotionally defeated.” “That’s because I just accidentally gave Jihyo unnie and John a live demonstration of my attachment issues.”

I felt her laugh quietly against my chest afterward despite the embarrassment still actively consuming her alive. Then eventually Yeji tilted her head slightly upward afterward before narrowing her eyes at me suspiciously.

“…You think John was serious?” “I refuse to comment on that without context.” “The protection comment.”

I rubbed lightly at my jaw afterward. “That unfortunately sounds exactly like something he’d say seriously and as a joke simultaneously.” Yeji snorted softly afterward before finally relaxing more comfortably against me now, one arm loosely wrapped around my waist while the earlier embarrassment slowly faded. “You make a fair point.”

Then eventually “…How was Ryujin?” That sounded like a very dangerous question. Not because of jealousy. That was the important part. Yeji’s voice hadn’t carried accusation, insecurity, or resentment. Just honest curiosity. I looked down toward her quietly afterward.

“She’s adjusting.” “That sounds evasive.” “That’s because the full answer feels professionally catastrophic.”

Yeji laughed quietly at that. Then eventually she shifted slightly in my lap afterward before speaking again. “She likes you.” Interesting. Very direct observation.

“I’m aware.” “No.” Yeji shook her head lightly afterward. “I mean she really likes you.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t wrong. Ryujin might refuse emotional labels, relationship structure, or softness. But the attachment itself? That was becoming significantly harder to ignore. I exhaled slowly afterward while Yeji watched me carefully now.

“You’re thinking too hard again.” “That sounds familiar.” “That’s because you do it constantly.”

Then eventually Yeji’s expression softened slightly afterward “…I knew something like this was probably going to happen eventually”. There it is. The emotionally devastating honesty. I stayed quiet while Yeji continued absentmindedly tracing small patterns against my shirt now. “I think part of me already accepted it after everything with us happened,” she admitted quietly. “It still feels weird sometimes.” Then immediately afterward “But I don’t hate her.”

“She makes you happy too,” Yeji added softly afterward before finally looking back up toward me again. “Just differently.” That somehow landed significantly harder than expected. Because she understood it completely. Not every detail. Not every complication. But the emotional shape of it? Absolutely yes.

Then suddenly— Yeji shifted slightly in my lap afterward before the corner of her mouth curved faintly upward “…Although”. That word alone immediately felt threatening. I narrowed my eyes slightly.

“That sounded ominous.” “Maybe a little.”

Then before I could ask further— Yeji stood slowly afterward before taking a few steps back from the chair. And only then did I finally notice the subtle nervousness in her expression. Because Yeji almost looked… shy. Then finally she spoke again quieter this time. “I bought something during the gala trip”. I leaned farther back slightly while watching her carefully now.

“That sounds financially dangerous.” “It wasn’t THAT expensive.” “That sounds like a lie already.”

Yeji rolled her eyes softly afterward before looking away for half a second “…It was supposed to be a surprise later.” And then slowly— Yeji reached for the hem of her outer shirt afterward. “…But after hearing about Ryujin…” She bit lightly at her lower lip before laughing softly at herself. “I suddenly don’t feel very patient anymore.”

Yeji stood a few feet away, the dim light of the room catching the nervous flicker in her eyes, her knuckles white. She didn't pull it up immediately. Instead, she lingered there, the fabric bunched in her grip, her gaze flickering from my eyes to the floor and back again. The confidence she had displayed seconds ago—the daring "although"—was evaporating, replaced by a fragile, endearing hesitation.

"You're shaking," I noted. "I'm not shaking. I'm... vibrating with anticipation," she countered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

She took a sharp breath and lifted the shirt in one fluid motion. Underneath, she wore a set of midnight-black lace that looked like it had been designed specifically to ruin my composure. The bra was a delicate plunge, barely containing the soft swell of her breasts, the lace tracing the curves of her pale skin with surgical precision. Matching panties sat low on her hips, a sheer sliver of fabric that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The contrast of the dark lace against her creamy skin felt like a physical blow to my chest.

Yeji let the shirt fall back down, but she didn't let go of the hem. She looked up at me, her eyes wide and searching, a flush creeping up her neck to stain her cheeks a deep crimson. The seductive persona had completely collapsed, leaving behind the girl who loved me with a terrifying, honest intensity.

"I wanted... I wanted you to remember," she whispered, her voice small. "I know you spent the weekend with her. And I know you... you have that with her. The fire, the challenge. I'm okay with that. I really am." I tried to speak, but she stepped closer, the scent of her perfume—something like vanilla and rain—filling my lungs. "But I wanted to remind you that I'm the one who knows how you take your coffee, when you're doubting yourself despite being composed. I'm the one who knows the exact silence you need when the world gets too loud," she said, her lip trembling slightly. "I don't want to compete with her, Ben. I just want to be the place you come home to. Emotionally. Always."

The analytical part of my brain, the part that categorized every interaction as a professional or emotional risk, simply shut down. I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the sheer weight of the choice she made every single day. She didn't just happen to be in my life; she chose to stay, chose to adapt, and chose to love a man who spent half his time overthinking his own existence. I didn't move. I couldn't. The sight of her—this woman who acted as my emotional anchor, now standing there trembling in lace because she wanted me to remember where my heart always returned—did something to my chest, a pain that felt worse than any physical blow would. I reached out, my hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her forward until our foreheads touched.

"You think you're reminding me of something I've forgotten," I murmured, my voice rough. Yeji blinked, her long lashes brushing my skin. "Haven't you?" "Yeji, look at me." She shifted her gaze upward.

"I care about everyone in ITZY, but you? I love you and nothing will change that. What I have with them is complicated. But what I feel for you has never been confusing. To Ryujin, what she does with me, to her it's a game, or a way to blow off steam. But you..." I paused, the honesty feeling like a raw nerve. "You're the only person I've ever actually let inside. I love you. Not because of what you do for me, but because of who you are. Because you're the only person in this entire chaotic ecosystem who makes me feel like I don't have to perform. I love how you always choose me, and I’m sorry that I haven’t said it until now. But I love you, and I will always choose to love you."

Yeji’s breath hitched. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. She didn't sob; she just leaned into me, her body molding against mine, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "You really mean that," she breathed. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

I didn't give her time to overthink it. I tilted her head back and captured her lips in a kiss that tasted of desperation and relief. It wasn't the kind of kiss that sought to conquer; it was a homecoming. My tongue slid against hers, tasting the salt of her tear, our breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Yeji let out a soft, needy whimper, her arms winding around my neck, pulling me closer as if she feared I might vanish if she loosened her grip.

The tension that had been building since the video call snapped. The desire was there, thick and heavy, but it was wrapped in a layer of profound tenderness. Yeji pulled back just an inch, her eyes hazy with love and lust. She sank to her knees in front of me, the movement slow and deliberate. She didn't look away this time. With steady fingers, she reached for the button of my trousers.

"I want to take care of you," she whispered. She slid my pants and boxers down in one motion, freeing my dick. It sprang forward, already hard and leaking a bead of clear pre-cum that glistened under the room's dim lighting. Yeji gazed at it for a moment, her expression one of pure adoration. She leaned in, her warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of my cock, making me quietly moan through my teeth.

Then, she wrapped her lips around me. The sensation was electric. Yeji didn't just suck; she used her tongue to swirl around the rim of the glans, her mouth creating a tight, wet vacuum that threatened to undo me instantly. I groaned, my fingers digging into her shoulders, grounding myself as she slid deeper, taking the length of my shaft into the warmth of her throat.

The sounds filled the room—the wet, rhythmic sound coming of her lips sliding against my skin, the soft squelch of saliva as she increased the suction. She looked up at me while she worked, her eyes hooded, her cheeks hollowing as she pulled. I could feel the muscles of her throat pulsing around me, a tight, rhythmic squeeze that drove me toward the edge.

"Yeji... fuck, Yeji," I gasped, my head falling back against the chair.

She didn't stop until I was shaking, my hips involuntarily thrusting into her mouth. Just as the first wave of climax threatened to break, she pulled away with a playful, wet pop. She stood up, her lips glistening with my pre-cum, a triumphant smile on her face. "Not yet," she whispered.

She stripped out of her remaining clothes with a slow, agonizing grace. The black lace fell to the floor, leaving her completely naked. Yeji’s breasts were perfect, her nipples supple and erect, peaking in the cool air. Between her legs, her pussy was already glistening, a sliver of pink flesh peeking through a dusting of soft hair, drenched in her own arousal.

I stood up, my hunger now an ache. I grabbed her waist and lifted her, her legs instinctively locking around my hips. I crashed my lips onto hers again, our tongues battling for dominance, swapping saliva in a messy, passionate exchange. I carried her to the bed, laying her down on the sheets, but I didn't stop kissing her. I trailed my lips down her jaw, her neck, and then lower, my tongue circling one nipple before sucking it deep into my mouth. Yeji arched her back, a loud moan escaping her as she gripped my hair. "Ben... please. Now. I need you inside me."

I moved between her legs, my cock brushing against her soaking wet folds. The scent of her—musk and sweetness—was intoxicating. I didn't just plunge in; I teased her, rubbing the head of my penis against her clit, dragging it through the creaminess of her juices. "You're so wet for me," I whispered against her ear. "Because I love you," she whimpered. "Please, Ben. Fill me up." I gripped her thighs, pinning them back to the point her legs were point up, and pushed inside.

The fit was perfect. The walls of her pussy clamped around me, hot and tight, welcoming me home. I let out a long, shuddering breath, burying my face in the crook of her neck. We stayed still for a moment, just feeling the connection, the physical manifestation of everything we had just confessed.

I began to move, slow and deep. Every thrust was a promise. I focused on the sensation of my glans hitting her cervix, the way her internal muscles rippled and contracted around me with every slide. The sounds of our bodies interacting were visceral—the wet slap of my balls hitting her perineum, the air being pushed out of her as she gasped for breath. I shifted my position, rolling her onto her side and pulling her back against my chest, my arm hooked under her neck. I entered her from behind in a modified spooning position, allowing me to reach around and stimulate her clit with my thumb while I drove into her.

Yeji let out a high-pitched scream, her body shuddering. "Oh god, right there! Ben, right there!" I accelerated the pace, my thrusts becoming more urgent, though I never stopped kissing her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. I wanted her to feel me everywhere. I could feel her peaking, the walls of her vagina beginning to pulse in violent, rhythmic spasms.

"I'm... I'm coming!" she cried out, her voice breaking. Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Her entire body stiffened, her pussy gripping me with an intensity that nearly pushed me over the edge. I felt her release, the internal contractions milking my shaft, drawing the seed out of me. I surged forward, burying myself as deep as possible. I came with a violence that left me breathless, my cock pulsing inside her as I flooded her womb with hot, thick ropes of cum. I felt every spurt, the warmth of the liquid filling her, bonding us in the most primal way possible. Yeji whimpered, her head falling back against my chest, her breath coming in ragged sobs of pleasure.

We lay there for a long time, the only sound the synchronized thumping of our hearts. I didn't pull out; I wanted to stay connected, to feel the slow ebb of the climax. "I love it when you do that," Yeji whispered, her voice thick with exhaustion. "When you stay inside."

"I'm not going anywhere," I replied, kissing the top of her head.

But the fire hadn't fully died. As the minutes passed, the friction of our skin and the lingering warmth of the semen inside her reignited the spark. I felt myself stirring again, my cock refusing to soften, still humming with desire. Yeji felt it too. She shifted, turning in my arms to face me, her eyes shimmering. She reached down, her fingers tracing the line of my hip. "Again," she breathed. This time, it was different. The desperation was gone, replaced by a slow, luxurious hunger. I pushed her onto her back and knelt over her, my movements deliberate. I kissed her deeply, our tongues intertwining in a slow, rhythmic dance that mirrored the movement of my hips.

I entered her again, the lubrication of my first climax making the slide effortless. We moved together in a seamless harmony, a slow grind that focused on the friction of our pubic bones rubbing together. I watched her face—the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way she bit her lip to keep from screaming. "You're mine," she whispered, her voice a command and a plea. "Emotionally, spiritually... always mine."

"Always," I groaned, increasing the speed. The tension built again, but this time it felt more expansive, more fulfilling. Yeji’s second orgasm was slower, a rolling wave of pleasure that seemed to vibrate through her entire frame. She clung to me, her nails digging into my back, her voice calling my name like a prayer.

As she peaked, I followed her. I felt the build-up in the base of my spine, the inevitable rush. I thrust one last time, pinning her to the mattress, and released a second torrent of cum deep inside her. I felt the heat of it, the sheer volume of it spilling over, filling her to the brim. I collapsed on top of her, my weight supported by my elbows, breathing hard. We were both drenched in sweat, our skin slick and smelling of sex and love.  Yeji wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling my face down to hers for one final, lingering kiss. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but one of peace. "I feel... safe," she murmured, her eyes closing.

I tightened my hold on her, burying my face in her hair, the scent of vanilla and rain now mixed with the musk of our union. The world outside—the schedules, the other girls, the professional chaos—felt miles away. In the silence of the room, there was only the two of us, and the quiet, absolute certainty that no matter how complicated the ecosystem became, this was the only place I ever wanted to be.

Yeji stayed there quietly for a while afterward, still tangled against me beneath the sheets while my fingers traced slow patterns along her bare back absentmindedly. The room smelled faintly of sweat, perfume, and rain from the earlier storm outside. Somewhere beyond the curtains, the city continued moving like nothing important had happened tonight.

Meanwhile my entire emotional stability had probably just permanently relocated into the woman currently half-asleep on my chest. Dangerous development honestly.

“You’re staring again,” Yeji murmured quietly without lifting her head. “That sounds emotionally fabricated.” “You stopped blinking for like ten seconds.” “I was appreciating the view.” “That’s worse.”

I smiled faintly afterward before tightening my arm around her slightly again. Yeji only huffed softly in response before lazily tracing small circles against my chest with her fingertips. Comfortable silence settled afterward. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just warm. Eventually though, Yeji shifted slightly before letting out a small reluctant sigh.

“I should probably go back to my room before the others wake up.” “No.” Yeji lifted her head immediately afterward, visibly amused already. “No?” “Stay.” “Ben.” “I’m serious.”

She laughed quietly under her breath before resting her chin lightly against my chest again. “You say that now until Ryujin starts emotionally harassing you over breakfast.” “I can survive Ryujin.” “You say that like she didn’t psychologically dismantle you two nights ago.” “That was one time.” “I doubt that.” “Emotionally unnecessary thing to bring up right now.”

Yeji grinned against my skin before trying to sit up slightly only for me to immediately pull her back down against me again. She let out a surprised laugh afterward while I buried my face into her hair once more.

“Ben.” “No. I like this.” “You’re clingy after sex.” “You’re emotionally rewarding after sex. This is your fault.” “That’s not how accountability works.” “Feels correct to me.”

Yeji snorted softly afterward before relaxing back against me fully again despite herself. I could already tell she wanted to stay too. Honestly she was holding onto me just as much at this point. Then eventually she spoke again, quieter this time. “You know… John did tell you to use protection.”

I groaned immediately. “Please don’t bring John into this bed.” Yeji laughed properly this time, shoulders shaking lightly against me. “I’m serious though. What would you even do if I got pregnant?” I stared toward the ceiling for approximately two seconds afterward.

“Then I guess we’re disappearing together.” Yeji blinked once before immediately bursting into laughter against my chest again. “That answer came out way too fast.” “I already committed emotionally. Might as well commit to disappearing from public society too.” “That’s concerning.” “I’d do great actually. I could raise goats somewhere.” “You can barely take care of yourself.” “Unbelievable lack of faith from ITZY’s leader.” “You’re the one talking about vanishing into the mountains because of one hypothetical baby.” “Not hypothetical. Our hypothetical baby.”

Yeji made another offended sound somewhere between laughter and embarrassment before lightly hitting my chest. “That somehow made it worse.”

“You asked.” “You answered too confidently.” “Well yeah.” I glanced back down toward her afterward, fingers brushing lightly through her hair again. “It’s you.”

The teasing in Yeji’s expression softened slightly afterward. Then slowly— she tucked herself closer against me again. Honestly that alone almost destroyed me emotionally.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured quietly. “You love me.” “…Unfortunately.” “That sounded very emotionally dishonest.”

Yeji smiled faintly before finally tilting her head upward just enough to kiss me softly once more. Slow. Warm. Unhurried. Then afterward she rested her forehead lightly against mine. “I want to stay.” That honestly hit harder than the sex somehow. So instead of answering immediately, I simply tightened my arms around her again before pulling the blanket higher around us both.

Outside, the city lights continued flickering quietly through the rain while somewhere down the hall the building remained silent for once. No schedules. No chaos. No emotional disasters yet waiting outside the room. Just Yeji beside me. And for tonight at least— that was enough.

I woke up the next morning to warmth. Not metaphorically either. Actual warmth. Because sometime during the night, Yeji had somehow completely attached herself to me in her sleep. One leg tangled with mine beneath the sheets while her arms stayed loosely wrapped around my waist, face buried against my chest comfortably like she belonged there.

For a few seconds I simply stayed there quietly, fingers brushing lightly through her hair while soft morning light filtered through the curtains. The rain from last night had already stopped sometime during the early morning hours, leaving the room calm and unusually peaceful. Then eventually Yeji stirred slightly against me before letting out a sleepy sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“…Why are you awake already?” “That sounds accusatory.” “You’re staring again.” “I’m appreciating the emotional consequences of my life choices.” “That sounds dramatic.” Yeji smiled faintly without opening her eyes yet.   “It’s accurate.”

She finally looked up at me afterward, still visibly half asleep while her hair remained completely ruined against the pillow. Honestly adorable enough to permanently alter my decision making abilities. Then slowly— her expression softened again. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I murmured back quietly.

For a while neither of us moved again. Just laying there comfortably while Yeji lazily traced shapes against my shirt absentmindedly. The kind of silence that only really exists when two people stop trying to be anything around each other. Eventually though reality returned unfortunately. “We should probably get up,” Yeji murmured quietly afterward. “Ryujin and Lia are probably awake already.”

“That sounds like a future problem.” “You say that until Ryujin starts making comments.” “I survived John. I can survive Ryujin.” “That’s not remotely the same threat level.”

Still— neither of us actually moved for another several minutes anyway. Eventually Yeji sat up first, stretching lightly before immediately realizing she was still wearing one of my shirts from last night. She looked down at herself briefly before glancing back toward me afterward.

“…You’re smiling again.” “I’m having a very normal reaction.” “You look emotionally compromised.” “That sounds medically serious.” “It should be.”

Yeji laughed softly afterward before climbing off the bed completely while I watched her walk toward the bathroom. Honestly that alone almost restarted several problems immediately.

A while later, after both of us managed to become at least somewhat presentable for society again, Yeji quietly slipped her hand into mine the moment we stepped out into the hallway. That somehow affected me more than expected too. The Top Floor itself remained unusually quiet for once when we entered the kitchen area afterward. Only two people were currently there.

Ryujin sat sprawled lazily across one of the chairs while eating cereal directly from the box with absolutely zero shame. Meanwhile Lia stood near the counter preparing coffee quietly while still dressed comfortably from her day off. Both of them looked up the exact moment Yeji and I walked in holding hands.

Ryujin blinked once. Then slowly lowered the cereal box “…Wow,” she finally muttered afterward. “You two stopped pretending fast.” Yeji only smiled calmly before squeezing my hand slightly. “We were already terrible at hiding it.”

“That’s true actually,” Lia added quietly while trying—and failing slightly—not to smile into her coffee. Meanwhile I considered turning around and professionally evaporating from existence. Ryujin however looked entirely too amused now. “So.” She leaned back farther into her chair afterward while gesturing vaguely between the two of us. “Are we emotionally labeling things now or are we still pretending this is a workplace environment?” “Ryujin,” Yeji warned lightly. “What? I’m trying to understand the ecosystem.” “That somehow made it sound worse.” “It IS worse.”

Then eventually Ryujin shrugged lightly afterward before grabbing another handful of cereal. “For the record,” she continued casually, “I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend, Yeji.” I nearly choked on air. Yeji however remained surprisingly calm. Ryujin continued before anybody could recover emotionally.

“I just happen to enjoy getting my brain reset by him.” “Jesus Christ,” I muttered immediately. “That’s honestly the cleanest way to describe it.”

Lia physically covered part of her face afterward while laughing quietly into her cup. Meanwhile Yeji sighed softly before leaning slightly against my shoulder. “I already figured eventually everyone would need something different from him,” she admitted quietly afterward. “I just didn’t expect things to escalate this fast.” That immediately shifted the atmosphere slightly. Then eventually silence settled briefly again before Lia spoke unexpectedly.

“I don’t think it’s admiration anymore.” Everybody looked toward her afterward. Lia remained calm externally, though I noticed the way her fingers tightened slightly around her mug afterward. “And honestly…” she continued softly, “…I’ve been trying very hard not to think about that.”

Ryujin immediately understood. “You were doomed the second he started emotionally checking on you,” she muttered casually before eating another piece of cereal.

“Ryujin.” “I’m right.”

Unfortunately she absolutely was. Then slowly— Yeji looked toward Lia afterward, expression softening slightly. “I already knew,” she admitted quietly. Lia looked up immediately. Yeji smiled faintly afterward. “You look at him the same way I do sometimes.”

The silence afterward became devastatingly gentle. The most terrifying part was that nobody in the room seemed angry about it anymore. Lia looked like she regretted saying it aloud almost immediately afterward. Not because anybody reacted badly. Because neither Ryujin nor Yeji looked shocked anymore. If anything, the two of them looked like they had quietly reached the same conclusion long before Lia herself allowed the thought to fully settle in her head.

Meanwhile I was currently experiencing what could only be described as a professionally catastrophic amount of emotional awareness before breakfast. Lia let out a small breath afterward before lowering her gaze briefly toward the mug in her hands. “I know what you two are,” she admitted softly. “And I know things are already complicated enough.” She smiled faintly afterward, though there was something tired beneath it. “I wasn’t planning on saying anything.”

Ryujin immediately pointed toward her with the cereal box. “See? That right there is exactly why you were doomed.”

“Can you stop saying doomed like we’re discussing a terminal illness?” “I’m emotionally committed to the phrasing now.”

Yeji meanwhile remained leaning lightly against my shoulder before eventually speaking again. “You don’t have to feel guilty for feeling something, Lia.” That made Lia visibly pause. The way Yeji said it carried absolutely no resentment. Which somehow made the entire conversation feel even heavier emotionally. Lia laughed quietly under her breath afterward. “That’s unfortunately the problem.”

“What is?” Yeji pressed on, Lia hesitated briefly before answering. “That part of me feels relieved hearing you say that.”

Yeji understanding meant Lia no longer had to keep emotionally suffocating herself pretending nothing was happening. Ryujin noticed it immediately too. “You really like him,” she muttered casually. Lia immediately looked horrified. “Ryujin.”

“What? We’ve already emotionally detonated the conversation. There’s no reason to act subtle anymore.” “She has a point,” Yeji admitted softly. “I hate that both of you are weirdly calm about this.” I pointed out. “That’s because you’re the only one still trying to emotionally behave,” Ryujin replied instantly. Brutal but accurate.

Lia sighed quietly afterward before finally looking toward me directly for the first time since the conversation started. And immediately I understood why this felt so much heavier than Ryujin’s situation. Because Ryujin looked at me physically. Lia looked at me like she was trying not to emotionally fall any farther than she already had. “I’m trying to be realistic,” Lia admitted quietly afterward. “I know you love Yeji.”

My chest tightened slightly at how plainly she said it. Then slowly— Lia smiled faintly again. “But I think part of me still wanted to know if it was okay to feel this way anyway.” The room fell quiet afterward. The fact that Lia sounded more worried about hurting Yeji than herself almost made the entire situation worse emotionally.

Then finally Yeji stepped away from my side slightly before walking closer toward Lia. “You know what the funny part is?” Yeji murmured softly afterward. Lia blinked once. “What?”

“I think I stopped being surprised a long time ago.” That caught all three of us off guard honestly. Yeji laughed quietly afterward before folding her arms loosely across her chest. “I already accepted a while ago that Ben was eventually going to become emotionally important to everybody here in different ways.” She glanced briefly toward Ryujin afterward. “Some more physically catastrophic than others.”

“I still think that’s emotionally disrespectful phrasing.” Ryujin trying to act hurt. “You literally described it as getting rammed so hard that your brain resets.” “Fair.”

Then eventually Yeji looked back toward Lia again. “And honestly?” she continued softly, “if somebody else was going to understand him the way I do…” her smile softened slightly afterward, “…I’m glad it’s you.” That completely broke whatever emotional composure Lia still had left. The kind of expression somebody makes when they’ve been carrying guilt for too long and suddenly somebody removes part of the weight without warning.

Meanwhile I stood there, completely emotionally unequipped to handle the sudden shift in the room. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the kitchen, replaced by a heavy, humming awareness that made the hair on my arms stand up. I was the only one in the room currently experiencing a total system failure.

Ryujin noticed immediately. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes dancing with a predatory sort of glee. “You look like your brain just blue-screened, Ben,” she noted, her voice dripping with amusement. “That’s because all of you are terrifying,” I replied, my voice sounding an octave higher than I intended. “Emotionally? Or generally?” Ryujin pressed. “Yes.”

That finally made Lia laugh properly. It wasn’t the polite, reserved chuckle she usually employed; it was a genuine, melodic sound that softened the edges of the tension. She turned her gaze toward Ryujin, her expression one of elegant, calculated curiosity. “So,” Lia began, her voice calm but carrying a distinct edge of interest, “are you going to keep everything to yourself, or are you going to tell us what you did to the poor man when you took him hostage during the weekend?”

I immediately pointed a finger at Lia, my eyes wide. “See? This is exactly why emotional honesty was a mistake. I’m being framed as a victim in my own life.”

“Nobody asked you,” Ryujin replied instantly, not even glancing my way.

The movement was subtle, but I felt it. Yeji slowly turned toward Ryujin. It wasn't the look of a suspicious girlfriend; it was worse. It was the look of a lead investigator arriving at a crime scene involving her favorite person. Her eyes narrowed, her focus sharpening until Ryujin was the only thing in her field of vision.

“So something DID happen,” Yeji muttered, her voice low and dangerously curious. “Obviously something happened,” Lia added helpfully, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Ryujin looked completely shameless. She didn't flinch; she thrived. She just shrugged, her shoulders moving in a slow, casual motion that suggested she had all the time in the world to dismantle my dignity.

“That silence somehow made it worse,” I muttered. “It should,” Ryujin countered. I didn't wait for another prompt. I immediately started backing away toward the hallway, my hands raised as if I were retreating from a live bomb. “Nope. Absolutely not. I am professionally removing myself from this conversation for the sake of my remaining sanity and my employment contract.”

I almost made it. I was three steps away from the sanctuary of the hall when a hand clamped around my wrist with the precision of a steel trap. I looked down to see Yeji’s grip, her fingers locking around me. It was an outstanding betrayal from my beloved. “Sit back down,” she commanded.

“I actually have a work email I need to— I think there's a crisis with the stylists— I might have left a stove on in a house I don't even live in—”

Yeji didn’t even let me finish. She didn't raise her voice, but she gave me the coldest, most focused smile I had ever seen. It was the smile of a leader who had already won the war and was now just deciding how to distribute the spoils.

“Benjie, my love,” she interrupted calmly, “sit down.” The fight left me instantly. I slumped back into the seat beside her, my shoulders dropping in total defeat.

“Yes, babe. Whatever you want.”

I felt the weight of the moment. This was it. The exact second I realized I had been fully domesticated. Ryujin lost her composure entirely, letting out a loud, barking laugh that echoed off the kitchen tiles.

“Wow, hasn’t been an entire day and Yeji already has you on a leash,” Ryujin wheezed, pointing at me. I looked at Yeji, then back to Ryujin, and leaned into the absurdity of it.

“Oh yeah she does,” I admitted, pointing a thumb toward Yeji. “And I also bark for treats. I can do a little dance if the mood is right.”

Ryujin doubled over, her laughter becoming a series of breathless snorts, while Lia physically covered part of her face with her hand, though her eyes were crinkling with mirth. Yeji, meanwhile, looked horrifyingly pleased with herself. She leaned into me, a smug warmth radiating from her. “As you should,” she replied calmly. “This relationship has become psychologically dangerous,” I sighed, leaning my head back against the chair.

“That sounds like accountability,” Ryujin managed to choke out. Eventually, Lia looked back toward Ryujin. The humor was still there, but the curiosity had won. She leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand, her gaze fixed on the other girl.

“So seriously,” Lia continued, her voice returning to that soft, probing tone, “what exactly happened during that weekend?”

“I’m seriously leaving now,” I announced, attempting to slide out of the chair again. “No you’re not,” Yeji replied without even looking at me, her hand simply returning to my wrist to anchor me in place. “See, this is emotional imprisonment. I’m calling a lawyer. I’m calling the union.” “Benjie, heel.” “Yes, ma’am.”

Ryujin looked like she was seconds away from falling out of her chair. She finally leaned back, shrugging casually, her eyes flickering toward me with a memory that made my stomach flip. “Well,” Ryujin started, her voice taking on a narrative quality, “We drank. We argued. We fought for dominance a little.”

Lia blinked once. Yeji’s eyes narrowed further, her focus intensifying. “…You make that sound significantly more concerning than it should,” Yeji noted.

“It got competitive,” Ryujin added. “That somehow made it worse,” I muttered.

Ryujin looked entirely too entertained. She shifted in her seat, her voice dropping an octave, becoming more visceral.

“You should’ve seen how rough he was after the third round,” she said, her voice devoid of any hesitation. “RYUJIN,” I hissed, my face heating up.

“He had his way with me,” she replied shamelessly. She paused, glancing at me and then back to the girls, trying to put on a face of mock-fragility. She fluttered her eyelashes, her voice becoming a forced, breathy whisper. “I was just… a poor, helpless girl, completely overwhelmed by his… intensity. I couldn't help it. I was simply swept away by the tide of his masculinity.”

Lia let out a small, skeptical snort. It was a terrible performance; Ryujin looked less like a damsel in distress and more like a predator describing her favorite meal.

“You drained the life out of me,” I countered. “That’s not how my body remembers it,” Ryujin replied, her voice returning to its usual bluntness. “Oh my God,” Lia muttered, laughing into her coffee, though she didn't look away.

Yeji had gone suspiciously quiet beside me. The silence was heavy, a sudden vacuum of sound that felt more dangerous than any of Ryujin's shouting. Slowly, very slowly, Yeji looked toward Ryujin.

“…Wait,” Yeji said.

That tone made me freeze. It was the tone she used when she found a flaw in a choreography that needed to be fixed immediately. Ryujin smirked. This was mutual psychological warfare, and I was the battlefield.

“You let him throw you around that much?” Yeji asked carefully. Ryujin shrugged, her eyes gleaming. “I got curious.”

“That is NOT the wording to use,” I groaned. “And?” Yeji pressed.

Ryujin grinned, resting her chin in her hand. “And honestly? It was kind of insane. At first, I thought I could handle him. I thought I could keep the lead. I was riding him, trying to set the pace, thinking I had him figured out. But then the switch flipped. He didn't just take control; he seized it. He flipped me over like I weighed nothing, pinned my wrists above my head, and just… hammered into me. No more games. No more teasing. Just this raw, punishing rhythm that had me sobbing into the pillows.”

I wanted to professionally disappear. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. But the girls were leaned in now, the atmosphere in the kitchen shifting from comedic to electric.

“He wouldn't even let me breathe,” Ryujin continued, her voice becoming more detailed, more graphic. “The sound was the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. Just this constant, wet squelching every time he drove deep, the slap of his skin against mine. He didn't just fuck me; he claimed me. He had me on all fours in front of a mirror, forcing me to watch as he buried himself in me over and over again. I could see my own face in the glass—eyes rolled back, mouth open, completely broken. He spanked me until my skin was humming, and every time I tried to protest, he just drove deeper, hitting my cervix with a bluntness that made my brain go completely blank.”

Lia’s coffee cup stopped halfway to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, her breathing becoming a bit shallower. She was no longer just observing; she was visualizing.

“And the cum,” Ryujin added, her voice a low purr. “He didn't pull out. Not once when it mattered. He just kept filling me up. I could feel the heat of it pulsing deep inside me, over and over. By the end of the night, I felt like I was made of his cum. I was a complete mess, drenched in it, and the best part was that he didn't stop. Even in the morning, the second I woke up, he was already hard. I tried to be the one in control, tried to wake him up with my mouth, but he just took over again. He used my throat like a toy until I was gagging and watering, and then he just… erupted. It was everywhere. My face, my chest. I looked like a painting of absolute ruin.”

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared straight ahead, my jaw clenched, wondering if it was too late to flee to a remote village in the Alps and raise goats.

Yeji was motionless. She wasn't looking at me; she was staring at Ryujin, her pupils blown wide. There was a mix of shock and a very specific, shimmering kind of envy in her eyes. She wasn't jealous that Ryujin had been with me; she was envious of the sheer, mind-numbing pleasure Ryujin had described.

“He… he did all that?” Yeji whispered, her voice sounding slightly strained. “Every bit of it,” Ryujin replied, looking entirely too proud of herself. “He’s a beast when he stops thinking. You should see him when he stops being the ‘manager’ and starts being the man.”

Yeji slowly turned her head to look at me. The gaze was different now. It wasn't just love; it was a hunger that made my pulse spike. She looked at me as if she were seeing a stranger—or a version of me she had only glimpsed in fragments.

“…You know,” Yeji murmured, her voice a soft, dangerous caress as she glanced at me. “I kind of wish you’d lose control like that with me sometimes.”

My brain didn't just blue-screen; it suffered a total hardware failure. Lia actually choked on her coffee, a small spray of liquid hitting the counter, while Ryujin lost it, laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair again.

I stared at Yeji in complete emotional betrayal. “Babe, you can’t just ask me to manhandle you in bed like that in front of others!” I exclaimed, my voice a mixture of horror and desperation. “Benjie, please,” Yeji replied, her smile innocent but her eyes predatory. “The people who heard that already know. There's no point in modesty now.”

“That doesn’t make it safer!” Yeji smiled, leaning her weight against my shoulder, her warmth seeping through my shirt. “What?” she asked calmly. “I’m just saying it sounds fun. The idea of you… just taking over. No thinking. No professionalism. Just you and me.”

“Fun,” I repeated weakly. I felt like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, and Yeji was the one gently pushing me off. Ryujin, meanwhile, looked spiritually vindicated. She leaned back, crossing her arms with a satisfied grin.

“Oh, he is STRUGGLING,” she announced to the room. “I hate all of you,” I muttered. “No you don’t,” Lia replied immediately, her voice returning to its calm, melodic tone, though there was a new, shimmering heat in her eyes as she looked at me.

Lia laughed softly into her drink, her gaze lingering on my lap for a second too long before returning to my eyes. Yeji, however, didn't look away. She stayed pressed against me, her mind clearly already running through a list of "experiments" for the next time we were alone.

A few days later, the Top Floor had settled back into something dangerously close to normal again. Which, in hindsight, only made the whole thing feel more suspicious.  The schedules leading toward Waterbomb preparations had gradually started taking over everybody’s routines.

It was a whirlwind of chaos: outfit fittings that lasted six hours, rehearsals that left them drenched in sweat, frantic calls with stylists, and the kind of high-tension group discussions about stage arrangements that usually ended with someone sighing in defeat. It was the usual professional storm ITZY survived every comeback cycle, and I was, as always, the one holding the umbrella.

Meanwhile, the emotional ecosystem underneath the Top Floor had quietly become catastrophic. Yeji had grown more openly affectionate around me when the others weren’t around. It started with small things—resting her head on my shoulder during five-minute breaks, casually stealing my drinks without asking, or holding my hand briefly whenever we crossed paths alone in the hallway. It was as if the conversation in the kitchen had unlocked a door she hadn't known was there. She didn't just want the emotional anchor; she wanted the fire.

And Ryujin? Ryujin had somehow become worse. She had decided that physically invading my personal space was now a constitutional right. It didn't matter where I was. If I was sitting on the couch, Ryujin would arrive and simply displace me, shoving me to the side to take my spot. If I was in a lounge chair, she’d practically climb into my lap just to reach the remote.

One afternoon, I was sitting in the common area, trying to review the final setlist for Waterbomb, when Ryujin wandered over. Without a word, she stepped between my legs and sat directly on my thighs, leaning back against my chest and stealing my tablet right out of my hands. “You’re doing it again,” I sighed, my voice muffled by her hair. “Doing what?” she asked, scrolling through the list with an expression of total indifference. “Treating me like a piece of ergonomic furniture.”

Ryujin shrugged, her back arching slightly against my chest in a way that felt entirely too deliberate. “Consider it the trade-off every time you make it difficult for me to walk. This is your responsibility now. You broke the machine, Ben. Now you have to provide the seating.” I looked up at the ceiling, wondering if any of this was covered under my health insurance.

“I’m a manager,” I whispered to the empty room. “I am a professional. I have a degree in psychology.” “You’re a footstool,” Ryujin corrected, her voice smug.

Just then, Yeji walked into the room. She stopped, her eyes landing on Ryujin perched on my lap. A few weeks ago, this might have caused a flicker of tension. Now? Yeji just smiled. It was a slow, knowing smile that told me she wasn't bothered—she was just calculating.

“Is he being a good footstool, Ryujin?” Yeji asked, her voice light and playful. “The best,” Ryujin replied, glancing back at me with a wink. “Though he’s a bit stiff. I think he needs another ‘reset’ soon.”

I felt Yeji’s gaze shift to me. The look was heavy, suggestive, and entirely too focused.

“I agree,” Yeji murmured, her eyes darkening. “I think we should schedule some… overtime.”

The air in the common area didn't just thicken; it solidified. Ryujin, still perched on my thighs, didn't move. Instead, she leaned back further, her spine arching, pressing her backside firmly against my crotch. I could feel the heat of her through the fabric of our clothes, a deliberate, grounding weight that made my heart hammer a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I tried to maintain my composure. I tried to reach for the sarcasm that usually served as my armor.

"I’m pretty sure overtime is against labor laws in this specific ecosystem," I managed, though my voice lacked its usual stability. Ryujin let out a low, throaty chuckle, her head tilting back to look at me. Her eyes were shimmering, predatory.

"Since when do you care about the rules, Benjie? Especially when the boss is the one requesting the shift?" Yeji didn't answer immediately. She stepped closer, her movements slow and feline. She didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of us, her presence enveloping me. She reached out, her fingers grazing my jawline, her touch light but electric. The scent of her—that familiar mix of vanilla and something crisp—filled my senses, warring with the scent of Ryujin’s proximity.

"I’ve been thinking about what Ryujin said," Yeji whispered, her eyes locked on mine. "About you… losing control. About the way you look when you stop managing everything and just… take."

I swallowed hard. My psychological defenses were starting to fray. It wasn't just the sexual provocation; it was the way Yeji was looking at me. There was no jealousy there. There was no hesitation. There was only a raw, shimmering curiosity that felt far more dangerous than Ryujin’s blatant lust.

"Yeji," I breathed, my voice rough. "You don't have to—" "I want to," she interrupted, her voice a soft command. "I want to see it. And I think," she paused, her gaze flickering to Ryujin, who was watching her with an expression of amused intrigue,

"I think I want to experience it with her."

The world seemed to tilt. My brain, usually so quick to categorize and analyze, simply stalled. I looked from Yeji’s affectionate, daring expression to Ryujin’s shameless, expectant grin.

"Wait," I stammered, the manager in me making one last, desperate stand. "Are we—is this actually happening? Like, logically, emotionally, are we crossing that line right now?"

Ryujin laughed, the sound vibrating through my thighs. She reached back, her hand sliding up my chest to grip the back of my neck, pulling my face closer to hers.

"Stop analyzing the line, Ben, and just cross it. Unless you’re too scared to handle both of us at once?" "I’m not scared," I countered, though my shaking hands betrayed me.

"Then prove it," Ryujin whispered. Yeji leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear, her breath hot. "It’s okay, Ben. We both want you. Just… let go."

That was the trigger. The emotional permission. The weight of their combined trust and desire crashed over me like a tidal wave. My composure didn't just slip; it shattered. I didn't think. I didn't plan. I simply reacted.

I gripped Ryujin’s waist with a sudden, bruising intensity, pulling her flush against me, while my other hand shot out to wrap around Yeji’s wrist, pulling her closer. "Fine," I groaned, the word sounding more like a growl. "You both want this? You have no idea what you’re asking for."

Ryujin’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine excitement crossing her face. "Oh? Is the beast finally waking up?"

Yeji didn't speak. She simply smiled, a slow, knowing expression, and pressed her lips to mine in a kiss that tasted of longing and liberation. The transition from the living room to the bedroom was a blur of frantic movement and desperate touch. We didn't make it to the bed without shedding half our clothes in the hallway. Ryujin was a whirlwind of physical greed, her hands everywhere—tugging at my shirt, sliding into my waistband, nipping at my neck. Yeji was the steady flame, her kisses deep and grounding, her hands tracing the lines of my muscles as if she were memorizing me all over again.

By the time we hit the mattress, I was emotionally spent and sexually starving. I collapsed onto the sheets, the two of them descending on me like beautiful, hungry predators. Ryujin was the first to escalate. She pushed me back, her knees pinning my arms for a fleeting second as she looked down at me, her chest heaving. She was completely naked now, her skin pale and glowing in the dim light, her nipples were fully erect.

"Look at him, Yeji," Ryujin panted, her voice thick. "He’s vibrating. He’s so fucking overwhelmed he can barely breathe."

Yeji crawled up beside me, her movements fluid. She rested her head on my chest, her hair spilling across my skin, while her hand slid down to the bulge in my trousers. "I can feel it," Yeji murmured, her voice a soft purr. "His heart is racing. He’s terrified and excited all at once."

I let out a shuddering breath, my head falling back into the pillow— I gasped.

"Good boy" Ryujin whispered. She shifted, her hand sliding down to unzip my pants and pull them down in one swift motion. My cock sprang free, already rock hard and leaking a thick bead of pre-cum that glistened under the lamp. Ryujin gazed at it with a hunger that was almost frightening. She didn't go for it immediately. Instead, she looked at Yeji.

"Do you want the first taste, or should I?" Yeji lifted her head, her eyes hooded. She looked at my cock, then back at Ryujin. A small, daring smile played on her lips.

"I think we should share," Yeji replied.

The first crossing was an explosion of sensory overload. Ryujin leaned down, her tongue swirling around the head of my glans, tasting the salt and the heat. Simultaneously, Yeji shifted, her mouth finding my other nipple, sucking it deep into her mouth with a rhythmic intensity that made my hips jerk upward.

The sounds filled the room—the wet, rhythmic slurp of Ryujin’s tongue, the soft, needy whimpers escaping Yeji, and my own ragged breathing. I felt like I was being pulled in two different directions, my nervous system unable to process the dual stimulation.

"Fuck," I groaned, my fingers digging into Ryujin’s hair. "You’re… you’re both… I can’t…" Ryujin pulled away for a second, her lips glistening with my fluids. She looked up at me, her expression smug. "You can’t what, Ben? You can’t handle two girls? The great manager is failing his performance review?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She slid down, taking the entire length of my shaft into her mouth. The suction was incredible, a tight, wet vacuum that threatened to undo me instantly. I could hear the squelch of saliva as she moved, the sound visceral and raw. While Ryujin worked on me, Yeji didn't stay passive. She shifted, her pussy rubbing against my thigh, the wetness of her arousal soaking through my skin. She reached down, her fingers finding Ryujin’s hair, guiding her, encouraging her.

"He loves it, Ryujin," Yeji whispered, her voice trembling. "Look at his face. He’s completely gone." and I was. It felt like floating in a sea of white noise and heat. The feeling of Ryujin’s throat pulsing around me, combined with Yeji’s soft, affectionate touches and the sight of them together—two women I cared for, collaborating to bring me to the edge—was overwhelming.

I reached out, grabbing Yeji’s waist and pulling her up so she was draped across my chest. I captured her lips in a messy, passionate kiss, our tongues battling for dominance, swapping saliva while Ryujin continued to milk me with a ruthless efficiency. The triangle was complete. The air was thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and an electric tension that felt like it could ignite the room.

"I can’t… I’m going to…" I gasped, my body stiffening. Ryujin felt it. She didn't pull away. She pushed deeper, her throat tightening, her eyes locking onto mine with a look of absolute triumph.

I erupted with a violence that left me breathless, thick ropes of cum flooding her throat. I felt every pulse, every spurt, my body shaking with the intensity of the release. Ryujin swallowed hard, taking as much as she could before finally pulling away with a wet, satisfying pop. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a predatory grin on her face.

"Round one goes to the beast," she whispered. But the release didn't bring the usual crash. Instead, the adrenaline remained, fueled by the sight of Yeji watching us, her eyes blown wide, her chest heaving. She looked at the remnants of my cum on Ryujin’s lips and then looked at me.

"My turn," Yeji breathed.

The shift in momentum was palpable. The first round had been about the shock of the crossing, but now, the restraint was gone. The manager had clocked out the moment the bedroom door closed. I rolled over, pinning Yeji beneath me, my movements sudden and dominant. I didn't ask. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, my body crushing hers into the mattress.

"You wanted to see me lose control, Yeji?" I growled, my voice an octave lower. "Look closely." Yeji let out a sharp, needy gasp, her back arching. The look of sheer, unadulterated desire on her face was the final nail in the coffin of my composure. I trailed my lips down her neck, biting the sensitive skin of her shoulder, while Ryujin crawled up behind me, her breasts rubbing against my back, her hands sliding down to grip my ass.

"Yes," Ryujin whispered into my ear, her voice a low purr. "Break her, Ben. Show her exactly what you did to me." I moved down, my tongue finding Yeji’s clit. She was soaking wet, her juices tasting of sweetness and heat. I licked her with a rhythmic, punishing intensity, my tongue flicking against her most sensitive point. Yeji screamed, her body shuddering, her legs locking around my waist.

"Ben! Oh god, Ben!"

While I focused on Yeji, Ryujin wasn't idle. She shifted, sliding her hand between our bodies, her fingers finding my cock, which was already stirring back to life. She began to stroke me, her grip tight and fast, her nails lightly scratching my skin.

"You’re so hard again," Ryujin whispered. "You really are a monster, aren't you?" I pulled away from Yeji, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I looked at the two of them—Yeji, flushed and trembling, her eyes hazy with pleasure; and Ryujin, shameless and greedy, her body practically vibrating with need.

I grabbed Ryujin, flipping her over in one fluid motion and shoving her onto her hands and knees. I didn't waste a second. I positioned myself behind her, the head of my cock brushing against her soaking wet folds. The sound of the first plunge was a loud, wet squelch.

"FUCK!" Ryujin shrieked, her head snapping back.

I didn't hold back. I drove into her with a raw, punishing rhythm, the slap of my balls against her perineum echoing in the quiet room. I was no longer thinking about professionalism, or boundaries, or the emotional weight of the situation. I was simply a man responding to the overwhelming physical demand of the woman beneath me.

Yeji didn't just watch. She crawled forward, her body pressing against Ryujin’s side. She reached around, her hand finding Ryujin’s clit, stimulating her in sync with my thrusts. The sight was intoxicating. Ryujin’s face was buried in the pillow, her muffled moans filling the room, while Yeji’s eyes were locked on me, her expression a mix of awe and hunger.

"Do it harder, Ben!" Yeji urged, her voice strained. "Give her everything!" I accelerated, my thrusts becoming shorter and more violent. I could feel Ryujin’s insides clamping around me, her pussy milking me with an intensity that nearly pushed me over the edge.

"I’m… I’m coming!" Ryujin wailed, her voice breaking. Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, her entire body stiffening as she peaked. I felt the violent contractions of her pussy, and I surged forward, burying myself as deep as possible. I came with a violence that left me gasping, my cock pulsing inside her as I flooded her with a second torrent of hot cum.

I collapsed onto Ryujin’s back, both of us drenched in sweat, our breathing synchronized and heavy. But as I lay there, I felt a hand on my cheek. Yeji. She had moved, her body now sliding underneath me, pushing Ryujin aside with a gentle but firm insistence. She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with an emotional intensity that hit harder than any physical act.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love how you look right now. I love that you’re mine, even when you were flooding her insides with seed just now."

That was the moment the physical and emotional fully merged. The dominance, the greed, the shame—it all melted into a profound sense of connection. I looked at Yeji, then at Ryujin, who was still shaking from her climax but already looking up at us with a restless, hungry gaze.

I entered Yeji slowly this time. Not with the violence I had used on Ryujin, but with a deep, searching intimacy. I felt her walls clamp around me, hot and welcoming. We moved together in a seamless harmony, a slow grind that focused on the friction of our pubic bones rubbing together.

"You’re so tight," I murmured, kissing her forehead. "Because I’ve been waiting for this," Yeji whimpered, her arms winding around my neck, pulling me down.

Ryujin, unable to stay still, crawled back into the fray. She positioned herself in front of Yeji, her breasts brushing against Yeji’s chest. The two of them began to kiss, their tongues intertwining in a slow, rhythmic dance while I continued to drive into Yeji from behind. The image was a masterpiece of desire. The two women I loved most in the world, entwined and open, sharing me and each other. I felt a surge of emotional adrenaline that pushed me past the point of exhaustion.

"You're both so perfect," I groaned, my voice cracking. "Stop talking," Ryujin murmured against Yeji's lips, her eyes flickering to me. "Just keep fucking her, Ben. I want to feel you shaking while you do it."

I shifted my position, pulling Yeji up so she was sitting on my lap, her back to me, while Ryujin lay beneath us, her legs spread wide. I entered Yeji again, but as I did, I leaned forward, my mouth finding Ryujin’s. We were a knot of limbs and heat, a singular entity of pleasure. The sounds were a symphony of shlicking, squelching, and desperate gasps. I could feel Yeji peaking again, her body vibrating against me, and as she let out a high-pitched scream of release.

I pulled out of Yeji at the last second, the momentum carrying me forward. I gripped both of them, pulling them close, their bodies pressed side by side.

"Look at me," I commanded, my voice rough.

They both looked up, their eyes hazy, their faces flushed. I erupted, spraying thick, hot ropes of cum across their stomachs and chests. I didn't stop until I was empty, the white liquid stark against their pale skin, marking them both as mine in the most primal way possible.

We collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs and spent energy. But the silence didn't last. The air was still electric, and as I caught my breath, I felt Ryujin’s hand slide back down to my thigh. "You're not done," Ryujin whispered, her voice a challenge.

"Ryujin, please," I panted, a weak laugh escaping me. "I'm a human man, not a machine." "I don't care," she replied, her eyes narrowing with that insatiable hunger. "I can still feel you. I can feel that you want more. You're just trying to be the 'responsible manager' again. Stop it."

Yeji let out a soft, amused sigh, her head resting on my chest. "She's right, Ben. You're not the manager in this room. You're just ours. And look at you... you're already waking up again." I looked down. Despite the exhaustion, the sheer weight of their shared desire was acting like a stimulant. My cock was stirring, pulsing against the sheets. The sight of them covered in my cum, their skin flushed, their eyes longing—was too much to resist.

I sat up, the movement sudden. I grabbed Ryujin and flipped her onto her back, her legs flying up. I didn't enter her immediately. Instead, I looked at Yeji. "You wanted to see her lose it, right?" I asked, my voice low. "You wanted to see what I do to her?" Yeji nodded, her breath hitching. "Yes. Show me."

I drove into Ryujin with a sudden, brutal force that knocked the wind out of her. I wasn't being gentle. I wasn't being intimate. I was being a storm. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her skin, and hammered into her with a relentless, driving pace.

"Oh god! Yes! Right there!" Ryujin shrieked, her back arching off the bed. The sound was raw, guttural. Ryujin wasn't the poised idol now; she was a mess of desperation and euphoria. She was sobbing, her head tossing from side to side, her voice breaking into incoherent whimpers as I pushed her further and further toward the edge. While I destroyed Ryujin, I kept my eyes on Yeji. I reached out, pulling Yeji's face close to mine, my lips brushing hers.

"I love you, Yeji," I whispered, the words a stark contrast to the violent sounds of my body slamming into Ryujin. "I love you so much. You're my everything."

Yeji's eyes widened, a tear escaping as she witnessed the duality of the moment. I was giving Ryujin the physical ruin she craved, but I was giving Yeji the emotional devotion she lived for. It was a paradox that seemed to drive both of them wild.

"Ben... oh god, Ben..." Yeji whimpered, her hand sliding down to touch herself, her fingers working in rhythm with my thrusts. "Look at her, Yeji," I groaned, my pace accelerating. "Look at how much she wants it. Look at how she's begging for me."

Ryujin was indeed begging. "More! Please, Ben! Fill me up! I want your cum! Give it to me!" The shamelessness of her plea pushed me over the edge. I didn't pull out. I drove deep, pinning her to the mattress, and let out a roar as I came for the third time, flooding her depths with everything I had left. Ryujin's orgasm hit simultaneously, a violent, shaking release that left her limp and gasping, her eyes rolling back in her head.

I collapsed on top of her, the scent of our combined sweat and fluids filling the room. I was shaking. My muscles were screaming. But as I shifted to breathe, I felt a soft touch on my back. Yeji had crawled over, her body sliding against mine. She looked at Ryujin, who was in a state of absolute, horny euphoria, her chest heaving, a dazed smile on her face.

"She really is... something else," Yeji whispered, her voice full of awe. "She's a monster," I breathed, kissing Yeji's temple. "And you're the only one who can tame her," Yeji replied.

I felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, a need to ground us both. I rolled off Ryujin and pulled Yeji into my arms, entering her with a slow, agonizingly deep slide. This wasn't about dominance or ruin. This was about possession.

"You're mine," I murmured, my voice thick. "Always mine." "Always," Yeji gasped, her legs locking around my waist, pulling me deeper.

We moved in a slow, grinding circle, our bodies slick with sweat and cum. Ryujin, recovering quickly, didn't stay on the sidelines. She crawled up between us, her breasts pressing against Yeji's, her mouth finding Yeji's nipple.

The sight of the two of them— my lover and Ryujin— sharing a moment of intimacy while I was buried inside Yeji was the final break. I felt a heat build in my gut that I hadn't felt in years.

"I can't stop," I groaned. "I don't think I CAN stop." I shifted, pulling Yeji up so she was on her hands and knees, and I entered her from behind. I mirrored the intensity I had used with Ryujin, but with a layer of tenderness, kissing the small of her back, whispering how beautiful she was while I drove into her.

Ryujin shifted, sliding her body beneath Yeji's chest, her tongue working on Yeji's breasts, her hands massaging Yeji's thighs. The synergy was perfect. Yeji was screaming now, her voice joining Ryujin's in a chorus of pleasure.

"I'm coming! Ben, I'm coming! I can feel it!" Yeji wailed, her body shuddering. I didn't pull out. I wanted her to feel every pulse of my release. I surged forward, my cock throbbing inside her, and I came with a force that felt like it was draining the very soul out of me. I felt Yeji's internal muscles clamping around me in a desperate, rhythmic grip, milking me dry. As I slid out of her, a thick trail of cum followed, coating her thighs. I fell back, exhausted, but the cycle wasn't over.

Ryujin was already there. She had crawled over to me, her eyes flashing. She didn't say a word. She simply knelt between my legs and took me into her mouth. The sensation was electric. After the emotional intensity with Yeji, the raw, physical focus of Ryujin's mouth was exactly what I needed to reset. She worked me with a professional intensity, her tongue swirling, her throat tightening, her eyes looking up at me with a predatory hunger.

Yeji joined in, her hands guiding Ryujin, her own lips finding my chest, kissing the sweat and salt from my skin.

"We're not letting you go yet, Ben." Yeji whispered. "I don't think I could leave even if I tried." I managed to gasp.

I felt myself hardening again, the sheer adrenaline of the situation overriding my physical limits. I grabbed Ryujin's hair, pulling her head back, and then I looked at Yeji.

"I want to see you both together," I commanded. "Right now."

I pushed them together, their bodies colliding. I watched as Ryujin kissed Yeji, a deep, hungry exchange of saliva and desire. I felt a surge of power, a sense of absolute ownership and trust. I moved between them, my hands gripping their waists.

I entered Ryujin again, but this time, I held Yeji close, her breasts pressed against my chest. I was the bridge between them, the center of their shared world. The rhythm was hypnotic. The sounds of shlicking and squelching filled the room, accompanied by the desperate whimpers of two women who had found their match. "You're so... fucking... good," Ryujin gasped, her head snapping back against my shoulder. "I fucking love this." I groaned, the words a mantra.

I felt the build-up again, a tidal wave of sensation that felt larger than any before. I pulled out of Ryujin at the last second, the momentum carrying me upward.

"Open up," I commanded.

They both looked up, their mouths open, their eyes hazy. I erupted, spraying thick, hot ropes of cum across their faces. It coated their cheeks, their lips, their chins. I didn't stop there. I grabbed Yeji's chin, pulling her toward Ryujin.

"Kiss her," I whispered. "Share it."

They didn't hesitate. They pressed their lips together, their mouths meeting in a messy, passionate kiss. I watched, mesmerized, as they swapped the taste of my cum, their tongues intertwining, their faces smeared with the evidence of my release. It was the most vulgar, honest, and intimate thing I had ever seen.

As they finally pulled apart, breathless and coated in white, I collapsed beside them. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn't the silence of exhaustion alone. It was the silence of a boundary that had been not just crossed, but demolished. I lay there, my chest heaving, the world slowly coming back into focus. I felt emotionally hollowed out, but in the best way possible. The manager was gone. I was just Ben, and for the first time, that was enough.

Yeji curled into my side, her head resting on my shoulder. Her breathing was slow, her body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of her orgasms. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head.

"You okay?" I whispered. "I'm perfect," she breathed, her voice small and contented. "I've never felt so... seen."

I held her, giving her the tenderness she needed. I traced patterns on her skin, whispering promises of love and stability, anchoring her back to the world after the storm. This was the aftercare she required—the emotional reassurance that despite the chaos, she was still the center of my world.

Ryujin, however, was not the type for quiet cuddles. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, her chest still heaving. She looked over at us, a smirk playing on her lips. "You know," Ryujin murmured, her voice still raspy. "That was a good start."

Yeji lifted her head, looking at Ryujin with an expression of genuine shock. "A start? Ryujin, we've been at this for hours. Ben has cummed... how many times? Six? Seven?"

Ryujin shrugged, her hand sliding down to her own hip, her fingers tracing the line of her muscle. "I'm still a little restless," she admitted, her eyes flickering toward my cock, which was finally, mercifully, beginning to soften.

"I mean, she's incredibly insatiable. This guy’s finally blacked out, but I THINK I could try push for another round.” “Make it two, AT LEAST." Ryujin slowly reached for my dick, demanding the impossible from it.

Yeji stared at her, then looked at me, then back at Ryujin. A look of utter defeat crossed her face.

"I give up." Yeji whispered, a soft laugh escaping her. "I officially admit defeat. I didn't think it was biologically possible to be that hungry for sex. I don't know how your body even works, Ryujin." "It works perfectly," Ryujin replied, leaning over to kiss Yeji's cheek, a gesture of unexpected tenderness. "And it works even better when we have Ben’s magical cock to keep up with me."

“Can you at least try to sound like my dick is the only thing you like about me?” I groaned, burying my face in the pillow, but I couldn't stop the smile from forming on my lips. "Don't even think about it, Ryujin," I mumbled into the fabric. "I am officially retired for the next forty-eight hours."

"We'll see about that," Ryujin whispered, her hand tried to jerk my cock awake, giving it a playful squeeze.

As the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room, the three of us drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep. The world outside—the schedules, the fans, the professional chaos—still existed, but for the first time in my life, it felt irrelevant. In the silence of the room, wrapped in the scent of sex and the warmth of two women who truly saw me, I finally found the only thing I had ever actually been looking for: a place where I didn't have to be the manager. I just had to be theirs.

The next morning, I woke up feeling like my soul had been used as blunt force trauma. Somewhere beside me, Yeji was still asleep against my chest, one arm lazily wrapped around my waist while Ryujin remained sprawled across the other half of the bed like a battlefield survivor who somehow won anyway.

Meanwhile my body felt approximately ninety percent muscle pain and ten percent emotional regret. Actually no. Correction. Zero regret. Physical regret only.

I carefully tried slipping out from underneath Yeji’s arm afterward with the stealth of somebody attempting tax fraud under government surveillance. Unfortunately—

“Benjie,” Yeji mumbled sleepily without even opening her eyes. I froze instantly. “Heel.”

Outstanding.

Ryujin immediately started laughing into the pillow while I slowly stared at the ceiling in spiritual defeat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Yeji finally opened one eye afterward, clearly amused now.

“Where are you going?” “To disappear permanently.” “Denied.”

I sighed dramatically before leaning down to kiss her cheek anyway.

“Yes babe” I muttered weakly. “Good boy.”

Ryujin nearly fell off the bed laughing. “This is actually insane,” she wheezed. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and she already trained you like a golden retriever.”

“I volunteered emotionally,” I defended immediately while pulling a shirt back on. “There’s a difference.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night, footstool.” “I hate this building.” “No you don’t,” Yeji replied instantly.

Unfortunately? Emotionally accurate. Eventually, the three of us managed to migrate out of the bedroom. We walked in a strange, quiet formation—Yeji leaning into my side, her hand interlaced with mine, and Ryujin trailing slightly behind, walking with a slow, deliberate gait that suggested she was still feeling the aftershocks of the previous night.

The moment we stepped into the common area, we stopped.

Lia was sitting alone at the kitchen table. She looked like someone who had survived a prolonged campaign of psychological warfare. There were dark, bruised circles under her eyes. A half-finished cup of coffee sat before her, stone cold. She was staring into the middle distance with the expression of a woman who had witnessed things beyond human understanding and was currently deciding if she could ever un-see them.

I stopped in my tracks.

“…Lia?”

Slowly—very slowly—Lia shifted her gaze toward us. Her eyes narrowed, her pupils reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and deep, simmering judgment.

“Oh good,” she said, her voice flat and devoid of hope. “The demons are awake.”

Ryujin instantly lost her composure, leaning against the wall and barking out a laugh. I, however, felt a genuine surge of fear.

“Wait,” I said carefully. “What happened?” Lia stared at me in complete disbelief. She slowly put her coffee cup down, the ceramic clicking against the table with an ominous finality.

“What happened?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “Ben, the three of you were loud enough to qualify as a public emergency. I didn't just hear you. I felt the vibrations in the floorboards. I’m reasonably sure the neighbors a few floor below are currently discussing the sudden onset of seismic activity in the Top Floor.”

Yeji immediately buried her face into my shoulder, a flush of deep crimson staining her cheeks. Ryujin, meanwhile, looked completely unrepentant, her grin widening.

“I had to stop Yuna from coming upstairs twice,” Lia continued, pointing an accusing finger with her coffee cup. “The first time, she thought she heard a cat being murdered. The second time, she was genuinely concerned that a piece of furniture had collapsed. And Chaeryeong? Chaeryeong literally asked me why somebody kept hitting the wall with such rhythmic, violent persistence.”

I covered my face with my hand, the heat radiating from my skin.

“Oh my God.” “You’re welcome,” Lia replied flatly. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I spent six hours as an unpaid security guard and a professional liar. I deserve financial compensation.” “You deserve a medal,” I corrected immediately. “That too.”

Ryujin casually dropped onto the couch, sprawling herself out with a shamelessness that was almost admirable. “Honestly, at this point, Ben should just build us a soundproof sex dungeon somewhere else,” she suggested.

Lia blinked once. Yeji choked on a breath. I physically pointed at Ryujin in utter disbelief. “See?” I exclaimed. “THIS is why professionalism died in this building! We are discussing architectural plans for a dungeon before breakfast!”

“Professionally speaking,” Ryujin replied calmly, “your walls are too thin. It’s a structural failure, Ben. Not a moral one.” “That sentence alone should get you fined by the company,” I muttered.

Lia rubbed her forehead, her eyes closing for a moment. When she opened them, the judgment was still there, but it was now accompanied by a shimmering, dangerous curiosity. She looked between Yeji and Ryujin, her gaze lingering.

“…Okay, but seriously,” she muttered. “How bad did things actually get? Because based on the acoustics, I’m assuming there were things involved that aren't covered in a standard health manual.”

“No,” I replied instantly. “Yes,” Ryujin replied at the exact same time.

I immediately started backing away toward the hallway, my hands raised in a gesture of surrender. I needed to escape. I needed to find a hole and crawl into it for a decade. Unfortunately, Yeji’s hand clamped around my wrist without her even looking at me. Her grip was firm, an anchor that dragged me back into the line of fire.

“Benjie,” she said calmly. I froze. “Heel.”

Ryujin collapsed sideways on the couch, laughing so hard she was practically vibrating. Lia physically covered her face with both hands, though I could see her eyes peeking through her fingers, eager for the details. I slowly returned to Yeji’s side, leaning down to kiss her cheek in a desperate attempt to buy some mercy. I sighed dramatically.

“Yes babe,” I muttered. “I love you too.” “Good,” Yeji replied softly, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. She finally looked back toward Lia, her expression shifting into something that looked like she was about to reveal classified military intelligence. I had never felt more emotionally outnumbered in my entire life. Lia narrowed her eyes, pointing toward me with a stern look.

“No,” she repeated. “He’s staying right there. He is the primary witness and the main attraction. He doesn't get to flee the scene of the crime.” “This is emotional imprisonment,” I protested. “This is accountability,” Lia countered. “That sounds legally questionable.”

Ryujin looked entirely too comfortable, curled into the cushions, while Yeji rested against me, clearly enjoying my suffering significantly more than any partner should. Then, slowly—dangerously—Lia leaned forward.

“I spent an entire night protecting all three of you from discovery,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, probing tone. “I think I’ve earned the right to ask questions. I want every single detail. The good, the bad, and the parts that make me want to bleach my brain.”

I looked toward Yeji desperately. My beloved traitor immediately avoided eye contact, humming a small, innocent tune. Outstanding. Ryujin, however, looked delighted. She sat up, her eyes gleaming.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.” “It absolutely is not,” I groaned.

Lia ignored me completely, looking toward Ryujin first. “…Okay,” she said carefully. “How exactly did this even start? Because the noise didn't start at a simmer. It started at a rolling boil.” Ryujin grinned.

“Technically? Ben blue-screened first.” “That is not what happened,” I snapped. “You literally stopped functioning when Yeji suggested overtime,” Ryujin countered. “I watched the light leave your eyes for a second. You looked like your soul had just been evicted from your body.” “Because both of you were behaving like psychologically dangerous women!”

“That’s fair actually,” Lia admitted quietly, a small smile touching her lips. Yeji finally spoke, her voice softer, more reflective. “It wasn’t really planned,” she murmured, playing lightly with my fingers. “I think… after everything became more open between us, I just got curious. I wanted to see if the fire Ryujin talked about was something I could handle too.” Ryujin smirked.

“Oh, she was VERY curious. She didn't just want a taste; she wanted the whole buffet.”

Yeji physically shoved Ryujin’s shoulder, laughing in embarrassment.

“Stop helping!” “No.”

Lia was now dangerously invested. Curiosity had officially defeated her morality.

“So what,” Lia continued, her voice fascinated. “You just suddenly decided to share him? Like, in the moment?” My brain attempted a second evacuation. Unfortunately, Yeji tightened her grip on my hand.

“Sit down.” “Yes babe.” Lia stared at me in complete disbelief. “You actually listen every time. It’s almost impressive how quickly you fold.” “I value my survival,” I replied. “That is the least convincing thing you’ve ever said,” Ryujin snorted.

Yeji sighed softly, looking at Lia. “It wasn’t really about sharing him,” she admitted. “At least not in the way it sounds. I already knew Ben cared about Ryujin. And I’d already accepted that Ryujin wanted him physically. I think I just realized I wasn’t scared of it anymore. I wanted us to be… a unit. For one night.”

The room went quiet for a few seconds. Even Ryujin stopped joking. Lia looked at Yeji with an expression of emotional understanding mixed with complete psychological exhaustion.

“…That’s actually kind of insane,” Lia whispered. “I know.” “And weirdly healthy.” “That part scares me more,” I admitted.

Ryujin burst out laughing again, the tension breaking. Then Lia looked toward Ryujin, her eyes sharpening. “…Okay, but seriously,” she muttered. “How bad was he? Because based on the screams, I’m assuming he went full beast mode.”

“LIA!” I hissed. “What?” she replied instantly. “I’m curious now! I spent six hours listening to enough noise pollution to qualify as trauma. I deserve context. I need to know what exactly was making those sounds.” “That’s unfortunately fair,” I sighed, defeated.

Ryujin leaned back, her expression one of pure, unadulterated mischief. She looked at me, then back to Lia.

“Oh, he was gone,” Ryujin started, her voice taking on a descriptive, narrative quality. “The second we hit the mattress, it was like a switch flipped. You know how he is—all managed, all polite, all 'yes, this is professionally acceptable'? Yeah, that guy died. In his place was this… animal.”

Lia leaned in, her coffee forgotten. “Tell me,” she commanded. Ryujin grinned. “Well, for starters, he didn't just fuck us. He claimed us. He started with Yeji, and God, it was like he was trying to merge their souls. He pinned her wrists above her head, his body crushing hers into the mattress, and he just… hammered into her. I could hear the wet, rhythmic slap of his skin against her backside, that thick, squelching sound of him burying himself deep in her over and over. Yeji was just a mess, sobbing into the pillows, her voice breaking into these high-pitched, needy whimpers.”

Yeji hid her face in my shoulder again, but she didn't stop Ryujin. In fact, she let out a small, shaky breath.

“It was… intense,” Yeji whispered. “Intense?” Ryujin laughed. “He was ruthless! And then I got in. I crawled up behind him while he was still driving into Yeji, and I just started tasting him. I was licking the sweat off his back, biting his shoulders, while he was still filling Yeji up. The sound was the best part—the combination of Yeji’s screams and the wet noises of him sliding in and out of her. It was like a symphony of desperation.”

Lia’s eyes were wide, her breathing becoming a bit shallower.

“And then,” Ryujin continued, her voice dropping an octave, “He flipped the script. He grabbed me and just… launched me. He had me on all fours, my face pressed into the sheets, and he entered me from behind with a force that literally knocked the wind out of me. I felt the head of his cock hit my uterus with this blunt, punishing rhythm. I was just shaking, my internal muscles clamping around him like a vice. Every time he thrust, I could hear the air being pushed out of my lungs in these ragged gasps.”

I tried to interject. “I think that’s enough context for one morning!” “Shut up, Ben,” Ryujin and Lia said in unison. “The best part,” Ryujin added, ignoring me. “Was when he had us both. He had Yeji sitting on his lap, her back to him, while I was underneath them, my legs spread wide. He was buried deep in Yeji, but he was leaning down, his mouth on mine, our tongues fighting for dominance while he just… grinded into her. I could feel the heat of them both, the smell of sex and sweat filling the air. Yeji was arching her back, her nipples rubbing against my chest, and she was screaming his name like it was a prayer.”

Lia let out a small, shaky laugh, her gaze lingering on my lap.

“And the finish?” Lia asked, her voice almost a whisper. Ryujin’s grin became predatory.

“Pure chaos. He didn't just cum once. He came over and over. The last time, he pulled out of Yeji and just… erupted. He sprayed thick, hot ropes of cum across both of our stomachs and chests. We were just lying there, drenched in it, shaking, completely ruined. I’m pretty sure I forgot where I was for about twenty minutes. I just lay there in a puddle of his cum, feeling like my brain had been completely reset.”

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared straight ahead, my jaw clenched, wondering if it was too late to move to the Alps. Lia looked at me. Her expression wasn't judgmental anymore. It was a mixture of awe and a very specific, shimmering kind of hunger.

“You growled?” she asked softly. “I did not growl,” I lied. “He totally growled,” Ryujin confirmed. “It was like a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat right before he hit the finish line. It was honestly the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Lia choked on a small sip of her coffee, a bit of liquid spraying onto the counter. Yeji physically folded into my shoulder, laughing silently.

“I hate this floor,” I muttered. “No you don’t,” Yeji murmured affectionately, her hand tracing a slow circle on my arm.

Then, quietly—far more softly this time—Lia looked toward me. The teasing had vanished, replaced by something raw and honest.

“…Were you happy, Ben?” The question caught me completely off guard. The room softened immediately. Ryujin stopped joking. Yeji looked up at me. The conversation didn't feel like a roast anymore; it felt like an admission. I looked between the three of them, exhaling slowly.

“…Yeah,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “I was overwhelmed. I was emotionally terrified the entire time. I felt like I was breaking every rule I ever set for myself. But yeah. I was happy.”

The silence that followed was warm. It wasn't the silence of embarrassment, but the silence of a boundary that had been demolished and replaced with something stronger. Then, naturally, Ryujin ruined it.

“Cool,” she announced casually. “Anyway, I still think we need a soundproof sex dungeon. Like, with leather restraints and maybe a mirror on the ceiling so we can watch Ben’s face when he’s losing his mind.” “RYUJIN!” “What? I’m thinking long-term here! We have a brand to maintain, and 'Extreme Bedroom Noise' isn't part of the image.” “You are never allowed near architectural planning again,” I groaned. “That sounds oppressive,” she countered.

Lia finally gave up, burying her face into the couch cushion while laughing tiredly. Yeji stayed comfortably pressed against my side, her warmth seeping through my shirt. As the morning sunlight filled the common area, I looked at the three of them. The sex had been wild, the aftermath had been embarrassing, and the lack of professionalism was catastrophic. But for the first time, the ecosystem didn't feel fragile. It felt real.

“I’m still waiting for my financial compensation, by the way,” Lia murmured from the cushion. “I’ll buy you a very expensive coffee,” I offered. “Make it a bottle of wine and a massage,” Lia replied, glancing up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Because I think I’m going to need a lot of support to handle the next time you three decide to have a 'public emergency'.”

Ryujin laughed, Yeji squeezed my hand, and I simply leaned back, accepting my fate as the most emotionally outnumbered man in the building.

The laughter eventually settled into something softer afterward. Ryujin had somehow migrated halfway across the couch while still complaining about being hungry enough to “financially ruin a steakhouse,” Lia looked one sarcastic comment away from collapsing into a medically concerning coma, and Yeji remained comfortably attached to my side like separating from me had become personally offensive overnight.

Meanwhile my body still felt catastrophically destroyed. Honestly? Deserved.

Then quietly— somewhere in the middle of the chaos I realized something. The three of them looked exhausted. Not emotionally. Physically. Which honestly made sense considering

Lia spent the entire night running covert damage control. Ryujin apparently treated sex like an Olympic endurance sport. And Yeji somehow emotionally and physically overloaded herself simultaneously.

Outstanding ecosystem management all around. So eventually I sighed before reaching for my phone. Lia immediately narrowed her eyes.

“…Why do I suddenly feel nervous?” “I’m exercising managerial authority.” “That sentence has literally never improved any situation.”

So, this how it feels to be on the receiving end of that line… Huh. I ignored her completely afterward while opening the schedule planner. Then calmly—

“I’m suspending the rest of today’s activities.” The room immediately went quiet. Ryujin blinked once. “…You can do that?” “My job title is literally your manager.” “That feels deceptive.” “It’s called executive privilege.”

Yeji smiled softly against my shoulder afterward while Lia stared at me like I had just announced the collapse of capitalism.

“Wait,” Lia said carefully. “You’re serious?” “Yes,” I replied while already sending messages into the staff group chats. “The three of you need recovery.”

Ryujin looked deeply offended.

“Excuse you. I feel fantastic.” “You couldn’t walk correctly thirty minutes ago.” “That sounds judgmental.” “Because it is.”

Right then the front door opened. Yuna stepped inside first looking mildly exhausted from schedules while Chaeryeong followed behind carrying drinks and snacks for everyone.

Both of them immediately stopped after seeing

Lia spiritually deceased, Ryujin horizontal, Yeji attached to my side, and me looking like I survived military combat.

Yuna narrowed her eyes immediately.

“…Why does this room feel suspicious?” “Don’t worry about it,” Lia replied instantly.

That somehow made it significantly more suspicious. Chaeryeong blinked toward me afterward. “…What happened?”

“Nothing,” I answered immediately. “Too fast,” Yuna replied. “That was way too fast.”

I pointed toward her immediately.

“Stop inheriting Ryujin’s behavior.” “Impossible,” Ryujin replied proudly from the couch. “I’m inspirational.”

Yuna narrowed her eyes again afterward before glancing between me and Ryujin suspiciously.

“…Did Ryujin finally apologize for busting your balls twenty-four seven or something?”

The room went completely silent. Lia immediately folded into the couch laughing. Yeji physically buried her face into my shoulder while Ryujin looked moments away from falling off the couch entirely. Meanwhile I stared directly at the ceiling because apparently God enjoyed watching me suffer personally. Chaeryeong blinked once.

“…Why is everybody reacting like that?” “No reason,” four different voices answered immediately.

Outstanding teamwork honestly. I immediately redirected before the ecosystem collapsed permanently.

“Anyway,” I continued quickly while reaching toward Yuna afterward. “Your schedules are cancelled for the rest of today too.”

Both of them froze.

“…What?” Chaeryeong asked. “You’re free,” I repeated calmly. “Go relax. Go shopping. Go eat somewhere expensive. I genuinely don’t care.”

Yuna looked suspicious immediately.

“…You’re being weirdly generous.” “That sounds accusatory.” “Because it is.”

I sighed dramatically before forwarding a contact toward her phone. Yuna looked down at it. Then slowly back up at me.

“…Why is your accountant saved as ‘Emotional Damage Control?’” “Because it’s accurate.”

Lia physically started laughing again while Ryujin nodded approvingly like this was completely normal behavior. Then finally I pointed toward Yuna’s phone once more.

“Tell him it’s under the ITZY recreational fund.” “That’s a REAL thing?” Lia asked in disbelief. “Yes.” “There’s absolutely no way JYPE approved that.” “They didn’t. It’s from my own pocket.”

That somehow made the room significantly quieter. Then calmly “Today’s password is ‘Sorry Not Sorry.’” Ryujin immediately started wheezing into the couch. Meanwhile Yuna looked moments away from financially abusing freedom irresponsibly. Which honestly meant this was probably a terrible decision. Chaeryeong however looked at me softly afterward.

“…You’re really okay with this?”

I looked around the room afterward:

Ryujin finally relaxing properly, Lia smiling despite the exhaustion, Yeji warm against my side, Yuna already plotting expensive chaos, Chaeryeong looking lighter than usual.

“Yeah,” I admitted softly. “I think all of you deserve a day where you don’t have to think about work for a while.” The room softened afterward. That was probably when the idea stopped feeling temporary. The six of us existing together without pretending to be okay for once. Then naturally the peace lasted approximately four seconds.

“Hotpot,” Ryujin announced immediately. “No,” Lia replied just as fast. “You’ll order enough meat to financially destabilize a country.” “That sounds like quitter mentality.” “I watched you eat three ramyeon cups at three in the morning.” “That was recovery nutrition.” “That was demonic behavior.”

Meanwhile Yuna was already scrolling through shopping apps beside Chaeryeong like somebody who had just been granted legal permission to become economically dangerous.

“…Wait,” Yuna muttered suddenly while looking up from her phone. “How rich ARE you exactly?” “That question has never ended safely.” “Because this recreational fund thing sounds fake.” “It’s not fake,” Lia replied immediately. “I’ve seen him use it before.”

I slowly turned toward her.

“…Why do you know that?”

Lia blinked once. Then calmly “You bought Yeji an entire luxury mattress after comeback week last year because she kept sleeping on the couch.”

The room went silent. Yeji immediately looked toward me.

“…You never told me that.”

I stared directly at Lia in betrayal.

“That was classified information.” “You named the receipt ‘leader preservation initiative.’”

Ryujin completely folded over laughing while Chaeryeong looked moments away from emotional collapse from secondhand affection.

Meanwhile Yeji’s expression softened in the most dangerous way possible.

“You’re ridiculously soft.” “That sounds slanderous.” “It’s literally documented.”

Yuna slowly lowered her phone afterward before looking at me suspiciously.

“…Wait. So all this time you’ve secretly been emotionally micromanaging everybody?” “That sounds significantly more manipulative when you phrase it like that.” “That’s because it IS manipulative,” Lia replied calmly. “I prefer ‘supportive infrastructure.’” “Psychology major detected,” Ryujin muttered.

Unfortunately? A fair criticism. Then eventually I clapped my hands once before the conversation spiraled again.

“Alright,” I muttered. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Ryujin narrowed her eyes. “…Where exactly are we going?” I looked toward her calmly. “Somewhere expensive enough that none of you can emotionally recover there for free.”

Yuna gasped immediately.

“Oh we’re committing luxury today.” “Stop making it sound illegal.”

The private spa resort somehow looked even more expensive up close. Not flashy expensive either. Worse. The kind of rich where the lobby smelled faintly like luxury candles, the staff spoke in calming voices,  and there was apparently an indoor waterfall for absolutely no practical reason.

Yuna stopped walking first.

“…Oh this place has generational wealth.” “That sounds judgmental.” “There’s a waterfall INSIDE the building, Ben.”

To be fair— there WAS a waterfall inside the building. Meanwhile Ryujin looked dangerously energized already, which immediately activated my survival instincts. I pointed toward her instantly. “No.” Ryujin blinked innocently.

“I didn’t even do anything yet.” “That sentence alone proves malicious intent.”

Then calmly— very seriously— I pointed toward her again.

“If you fuck around too much today or even THINK about trying something, I’m going to make your entire schedule filming TikTok aegyo challenges with JYP for the rest of the year.”

The silence afterward was immediate. Ryujin stared at me in genuine horror.

“…You wouldn’t.” “I absolutely would.” “Ben,” Lia muttered quietly beside us. “That might legally qualify as psychological torture.”

Even Yeji looked disturbed. Meanwhile Yuna physically folded over laughing while Chaeryeong nearly dropped her bag from secondhand emotional damage. Ryujin pointed at me accusingly.

“You can’t weaponize that man against me.” “Someone here clearly wants to post TikToks with JYP doing aegyo.” “That is NOT funny.” “It’s a little funny.”

Ryujin looked spiritually betrayed. My inner peace restored immediately. Then eventually the staff guided us farther inside while explaining the recovery packages, massage rooms, hot springs, and private lounge areas. Yuna immediately looked toward Ryujin afterward.

“You’re coming with me.” “That sounds dangerous.” “I want to see how rich people waste money properly.”

Ryujin looked emotional instantly “…You understand me.”

Meanwhile Chaeryeong quietly looked toward the calmer side of the resort before exhaling softly. Then almost immediately Lia noticed.

“You want the quiet area too?” Chaeryeong looked mildly embarrassed at being read that quickly “…A little.”

“That’s fair honestly.”

Then naturally the two of them drifted toward the tea lounges and garden spa section together while Yuna immediately dragged Ryujin toward whatever expensive chaos waited deeper inside the resort.

Which somehow left me and Yeji standing alone beside the massage reservation desk. Outstanding. Absolutely survivable situation. Then the receptionist smiled politely.

“We still have one couples treatment room available if you’d like.”

My soul immediately left my body. Meanwhile beside me Yeji stayed suspiciously calm.

“Oh?” Yeji said casually. “That sounds relaxing.”

I slowly turned toward her in complete disbelief. Meanwhile Yeji looked entirely too innocent. Which honestly meant she was about to psychologically destroy me somehow.

The receptionist smiled politely again.

“Would you like me to reserve it?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Outstanding professionalism.

“You’re overthinking again,” Yeji murmured quietly enough that only I could hear. “That sounds emotionally invasive.” “That sounds accurate.”

After all this chaos a quiet room with Yeji suddenly sounded dangerously tempting. So eventually I sighed in defeat. “…Fine.” Yeji immediately smiled to herself like somebody who had already expected victory from the beginning. Terrifying woman honestly.

The massage room somehow looked calmer than the rest of the resort combined. Low lighting. Warm stone floors. Soft music somewhere in the background. The kind of environment specifically designed to emotionally disarm people against their will.

I hated how effective it was immediately. Meanwhile Yeji looked entirely too comfortable already while settling into one of the lounge chairs near the window.

“You look nervous.” “I’m alone in a couples room with you after the week we’ve had. Of course I’m nervous.” “That sounds like a you problem.” “That IS a me problem.”

Yeji laughed quietly afterward before the staff eventually returned carrying robes and explaining the treatment setup. Then naturally the universe decided my suffering still wasn’t complete.

“Would you prefer side-by-side massage beds or the private relaxation setup afterward?”

My brain physically stopped functioning. Meanwhile Yeji calmly answered before I could process language anymore.

“Side-by-side is fine.”

Then eventually the staff finally left us alone briefly while the room settled quiet again. For a few minutes neither of us really spoke while the sound of water echoed faintly through the room. Then quietly Yeji looked toward me again.

“…You really needed this too, you know.”

I leaned farther back into the chair afterward before exhaling slowly.

“Coaches don’t get to play, and managers don’t get recovery settings.” “That sounds unhealthy.” “It’s the entertainment industry. Everything is unhealthy.” “That’s fair honestly.”

Then softly Yeji reached over afterward before lightly fixing the collar of my robe where it had folded awkwardly. Small gesture. Easy to miss. But instinctive. And somehow that hit harder emotionally than it should’ve. Because she wasn’t doing it to flirt. She was just— taking care of me back. Then quietly she smiled faintly afterward.

“You take care of everyone so automatically that I think you forget people can do the same for you.”

That shut my brain down significantly faster than expected. Outstanding. I looked toward her afterward while she rested her chin lightly against her hand, watching me with that same calm warmth that always made me feel emotionally transparent against my will.

“…I think I’m still getting used to it.”

Yeji’s expression softened immediately afterward. Not dramatic. Just gentle.

Then naturally— because the universe apparently refused to let sincerity survive uninterrupted— the room door suddenly opened. Ryujin walked in holding two luxury dessert boxes while Yuna followed behind looking violently excited about something financially irresponsible.

“There you are,” Ryujin announced immediately. “We found gold-covered cheesecake.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“…How did you even find this room?” “I followed emotional tension.” “That’s not a real navigation system.” “It worked though.”

Meanwhile Yuna pointed directly at me afterward.

“Your accountant approved unlimited dessert spending.” “What the fuck kind of vixen magic did you do to convince him?” “Firstly, rude. Secondly I just told him that you told me to go crazy today.” “He also called me ‘young miss.’ I think I’m inheriting wealth now.” “I am so firing him.”

Then finally Ryujin narrowed her eyes toward the massage beds. The room went silent. Absolutely catastrophic silence. Then slowly—

“…Oh.”

I immediately pointed toward her.

“Don’t.”

Ryujin looked moments away from spiritual ascension.

“Oh this is a COUPLES room.” “RYUJIN.”

Meanwhile Yeji physically folded into the couch laughing while Yuna looked between us suspiciously again. Not fully understanding. But definitely observing. Then Chaeryeong quietly appeared behind them holding tea with Lia beside her looking significantly more emotionally alive than earlier.

Lia took one look at the room. Then at me. Then at Yeji. Then immediately sighed.

“…I leave you people alone for ONE hour.” “That sounds judgmental.” “That’s because I’m judging you.”

Meanwhile Ryujin had already opened one of the dessert boxes without permission.

“Oh this is expensive-expensive.”

Chaeryeong immediately leaned over her shoulder.

“…Wait why is there gold on the cheesecake?” “Because rich people fear seasoning.” “That somehow makes sense.”

Chaeryeong quietly laughed into her tea while Lia physically pinched the bridge of her nose again.

Watching the five of them naturally fill the room with noise somehow made the entire place feel less sterile immediately. Then eventually Yuna suddenly pointed toward the hallway outside.

“Wait there’s a rooftop infinity pool.”

Ryujin looked up instantly.

“…We’re financially abusing this resort.” “That’s the spirit.”

Then naturally chaos resumed immediately. Ryujin grabbed the desserts. Yuna grabbed Ryujin. Chaeryeong apologized to the staff out of instinct. And Lia looked moments away from accepting death peacefully. Before leaving, Lia paused beside me briefly afterward.

“You owe me another spa day after this.” “That sounds extortionate.” “For baby-sitting them on your behalf so you can play ‘married’? That sounds earned.”

Then finally the door closed behind all of them again. And for the first time all afternoon— silence returned properly.

Outside the windows, the city skyline glowed softly beneath the late afternoon light while the sound of distant water echoed faintly through the room. Then quietly beside me, Yeji exhaled softly before leaning back against the chair again.

“…There,” she murmured. “Finally.”

I laughed quietly under my breath afterward.

“You sound relieved.” “I am.”

Then after a pause she glanced toward me again.

“I like them.” “That sounds concerningly emotional.” “I mean it.”

Her voice softened slightly afterward. “I like seeing everyone relaxed like this.”

Truthfully, so did I. Maybe that was why the room suddenly felt warmer now that everything finally slowed down. No schedules. No pressure. No pretending. Just us existing for once. Then quietly Yeji shifted closer again before resting her head lightly against my shoulder. No teasing this time. No hidden agenda. Just comfort. And after the emotional disaster of the past few days, that alone felt dangerous enough already.

For a while neither of us moved afterward. The room stayed quiet except for the soft music somewhere beyond the walls while the city lights slowly brightened outside the windows. Then eventually Yeji shifted slightly beside me before glancing upward.

“…Come here.” “That sounds suspicious.” “Ben.”

I sighed dramatically afterward before finally giving in and sliding farther down beside her on the lounge seat. Immediately Yeji curled comfortably against my side like she had been waiting for that exact outcome the entire time.

Then softly she reached up afterward before brushing part of my hair back from my forehead. It was a gentle feeling, the kind that somehow felt more intimate than everything else that happened this week combined.

“You look tired,” she murmured quietly. “That sounds observant.” “That sounds concerning.”

I laughed quietly under my breath afterward before leaning farther back into the chair.

“I think my body is filing formal complaints internally.” “That’s fair honestly.”

Then softly— Yeji smiled to herself afterward before resting her chin lightly against my chest.

“You know,” she murmured quietly, “this is probably the most normal we’ve felt in weeks.” I looked down toward her afterward. “Normal?”

“Mhm.” “You’re in a luxury spa hiding from schedules while your members have coerced my accountant into commit financial crimes somewhere upstairs.” “That sounds pretty normal for us actually.”

Fair point honestly. Then eventually the room settled quiet again afterward. Not empty. Comfortable. And somewhere in the middle of it, Yeji suddenly laughed quietly to herself.

“What?”

She shook her head slightly before looking up at me again.

“I just realized something.” “That sounds dangerous.” “You always look at everyone else first.”

That caught me slightly off guard. Yeji noticed immediately.

“Whenever we walk into a room,” she continued softly, “you check if Lia’s stressed first. If Ryujin’s too restless. If Chaeryeong’s comfortable. If Yuna’s causing problems.” “That last one feels medically necessary for my sake too.”

Yeji laughed quietly again before her expression softened.

“But when it’s just us…” she murmured quietly, “you finally relax.”

That hit harder than expected. She wasn’t wrong. And apparently my silence answered enough already because Yeji’s expression softened even more afterward.

Then gently she reached up and held my face lightly between her hands. Her expression full of warmth.

“I’m really happy,” she admitted quietly.

My chest tightened immediately. Not because the words were dramatic. Because they were honest. Then softly she smiled again afterward.

“And I know things are complicated,” she murmured. “But when it’s you… I don’t really mind anymore.”

That almost destroyed me emotionally on the spot. So naturally I coped the only way I knew how. “…You realize saying things like that should legally require a warning first.” Yeji immediately laughed again before leaning upward just enough to kiss me softly.

A real kiss. The kind couples share when nobody’s asking anything from them. Then afterward she stayed close enough that our foreheads rested together naturally. And quietly for the first time in what felt like forever— neither of us needed to pretend we were okay. Because somehow, somewhere along the way we actually became okay.

By the time all six of us regrouped for dinner, the sun had already disappeared behind the skyline completely. Everybody looked significantly more human again. Yuna returned carrying enough shopping bags to qualify as organized crime while Ryujin looked spiritually refreshed for the first time in days. Meanwhile Lia had apparently slept long enough to regain basic faith in humanity again and Chaeryeong looked calmer than she had all week.

That was worth every financial crime committed today. Then immediately upon sitting down, Yuna pointed toward me across the private dining table.

“I need you to know your accountant fears me now.” “That sounds earned.” “He asked if there was a spending limit.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “…And?” Yuna smiled proudly. “I told him you said ‘follow your dreams.’”

“I absolutely did not say that.” “The emotions implied it.” “I am going to start looking for a new accountant tomorrow.”

Ryujin immediately raised her hand.

“In her defense, the vibes WERE generous today.” “That sentence alone lowered my credit score.”

Meanwhile Lia quietly sipped her tea while watching the entire conversation unfold with visible emotional exhaustion. “I think this is the first meal in weeks where nobody’s mentally preparing for schedules afterward.”

The table actually went quiet for a moment. She was right. No rehearsals afterward. No meetings. No interviews. No flights. No cameras waiting somewhere outside. Just dinner. Then softly beside me, Yeji smiled faintly to herself while looking down at the menu. And the way she looked so calm and at peace, that alone made the entire stupidly expensive day feel worth it.

Then naturally the peace lasted approximately twenty seconds. Ryujin looked up from the menu afterward. “…Can we order irresponsibly?”

“No.” “…Oppressive.” “You already abused the dessert section of this establishment, even the staff is traumatized.” “That sounds judgmental.” “Because it is.”

Meanwhile Chaeryeong quietly laughed into her drink while Yuna immediately started trying to negotiate luxury beef quantities like a woman preparing for economic warfare. Watching all of them relaxed like this felt strangely surreal. Not because they looked different. Because they finally looked off-duty. No idol masks. No pressure sitting behind their eyes constantly. Just them.

By the time we finally left the restaurant, the city outside had already gone fully quiet. Yuna immediately started complaining about being too full to walk correctly while Ryujin argued that “second dinner” should still legally exist.

Meanwhile Lia looked one warm blanket away from falling asleep standing upright. And beside me, Yeji stayed close enough that our hands brushed briefly once while walking back toward the car.

The ride back to the Top Floor ended up significantly quieter than the rest of the day. Not awkward quiet. Just tired.

Yuna had fully crashed halfway through the drive and was now asleep against the window while still loosely holding one of her shopping bags like a financially irresponsible security blanket. Meanwhile Ryujin somehow remained awake entirely through spite alone. Honestly medically fascinating.

“…I still think we should’ve ordered more steak.” Lia slowly looked up from where she’d been resting her eyes. “You said that after the third platter too.”

“And I stand by my values.” “That cow already died just for you to show biblical levels of gluttony.” “No better death for beef cattle, honestly.”

Chaeryeong immediately started laughing quietly again while Yeji leaned back comfortably in her seat beside me, exhaustion finally catching up to her properly too. Seeing all of them felt strangely grounding.

Then eventually we finally made it back to the building sometime close to midnight. The second the elevator opened onto the Top Floor, Yuna groaned dramatically.

“…I’m too rich and tired to function.” “That sentence alone makes me want to calculate which one of my businesses I need to sell to financially recover.”

Ryujin immediately pointed toward me.

“This is YOUR fault.” “That sounds inaccurate.” “You introduced her to luxury.” “That sounds educational.”

Meanwhile Lia had already started slowly walking toward her room before pausing briefly afterward. Then quietly she looked back toward me “…Thanks for today.” a simple sentence.

Softly said. But honest. I smiled faintly afterward.

“Get some sleep, Lia.” “That’s the plan.”

Then naturally Ryujin ruined the emotional atmosphere immediately.

“Don’t let them start cardio again tonight.” “RYUJIN.”

Chaeryeong physically froze. Yuna blinked once in confusion. And Lia immediately folded against the hallway wall laughing into her sleeve. Meanwhile I stared at Ryujin with the exhausted expression of a man reconsidering every life choice that led him here. Ryujin looked completely unrepentant.

“What?” she asked innocently. “I’m advocating for adequate rest.” “That’s definitely one TikTok with JYP.”

The silence afterward was immediate. Ryujin’s expression dropped instantly into genuine horror.

“…You wouldn’t.” “Oh I absolutely would.” “But I behaved all day” “First of all, barely. Secondly, the day isn’t technically over.” “You’re evil.” “You brought this upon yourself.”

Then calmly I pointed toward her again.

“And if you refuse, I’m shutting down the recreational fund permanently.”

Yuna gasped immediately.

“Okay no, she crossed the line. I side with Ben.” “TRAITOR,” Ryujin yelled immediately. “You threatened my luxury lifestyle.” “That’s fair honestly,” Lia admitted while still laughing weakly.

Meanwhile Chaeryeong looked completely lost now.

“…Why does the recreational fund sound illegal every time you mention it?” “Because it spiritually is,” Yuna replied immediately. “You didn’t seem to think like that when you traumatized my accountant. He filed for an emergency leave.”

Ryujin however narrowed her eyes afterward before crossing her arms dramatically. “…Fine.” I relaxed slightly. Then she pointed toward me.

“But I’m ONLY doing it if JYP suffers too.”

I immediately nodded once.

“That can be arranged.” “NO IT CAN’T,” Lia protested instantly before breaking into laughter again.

Meanwhile Yuna physically collapsed against the hallway wall while Chaeryeong looked moments away from actual concern.

“I’ll buy JYPE if I have to just to make it happen.”

That finally shut everyone up. Including Ryujin. Then slowly Lia looked toward me again afterward. And what visibly scared her wasn’t the joke itself. It was realizing from my expression that I had already mentally considered the logistics.

Apparently I had become the type of person capable of hostile corporate acquisition out of spite. Lia pointed toward me immediately.

“That right there is EXACTLY why nobody should encourage you financially.” “That sounds judgmental.” “That sounds CORRECT.”

Meanwhile Ryujin looked horrifyingly emotional now.

“…You’d really psychologically destroy JYP for me?” “You started this.” “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Marry me, now.” “Your standards for marriage concern me deeply.”

Yuna physically grabbed Ryujin afterward before the conversation could somehow become even more catastrophic.

“Nope. We’re leaving before Ben starts discussing shareholder percentages.” “That sounds responsible honestly,” Lia admitted.

Eventually the group naturally started dispersing afterward. Yuna dragging Ryujin away before financial crimes escalated, Chaeryeong still trying to process whether any of that conversation had been real, Lia retreating for self-preservation, and the Top Floor finally settling back into quiet.

Then finally it was just me and Yeji left standing near the hallway. Soft city light spilled faintly through the windows while the silence slowly returned after the chaos of the day. Then quietly Yeji adjusted the sleeve of her hoodie before glancing toward her room briefly.

And honestly the thought of ending the night alone suddenly felt strangely heavy. So before I could overthink it into oblivion— I reached out quietly and caught her hand. Yeji immediately looked back toward me. Then softly enough that nobody else could possibly hear “…Stay with me tonight?”

Very softly— she smiled. The kind of smile that always made something in my chest loosen instantly. “…Okay.” That was it. No dramatic confession. Just certainty.

Then naturally Yeji stepped slightly closer before lightly squeezing my hand once. Small gesture. Easy to miss. But somehow it still felt like the most intimate moment of the entire day.

As the two of us quietly disappeared down the hallway together while the Top Floor finally settled into silence— I realized something. Maybe peace didn’t always have to be grand. Maybe sometimes it was just knowing someone chose to stay.

The Top Floor stayed quiet afterward. No arguments from Ryujin. No suspicious questions from Yuna. No teasing from Lia. No schedules waiting tomorrow morning. Just soft city light spilling through the hallway while the rest of the world kept moving somewhere far below them. Then eventually Yeji disappeared into my room beside me without another word, her fingers still loosely intertwined with mine like letting go simply wasn’t necessary anymore.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” she muttered without looking up. “That sentence makes absolutely no medical sense.” “You still understood it.”

Fair. I glanced briefly toward her afterward before returning my attention to the road again.

“You know normal people usually ask before abducting somebody in front of a crowd.” “You got into the car voluntarily.” Ryujin snorted softly beside me. “That feels legally debatable.” “You’re being dramatic again.” “You stole my keys earlier.” “Yet you’re the one driving.”

The silence settled comfortably again afterward. Not the softer kind I shared with Yeji. Different. Sharper. Like both of us were constantly waiting to see who would provoke the other first. That dynamic somehow suited Ryujin disturbingly well.

A few minutes later her eyes shifted away from the phone briefly toward me again.

“…So how many houses do you actually own?” “That sounded financially judgmental.” “That sounded like avoidance.” “That sounded invasive.” “That sounded correct.” I sighed softly afterward. “Enough that I don’t actively think about it anymore.”

Ryujin slowly lowered her phone now.

“…That’s the most rich person answer you’ve ever given me.” “In my defense, you people profile me constantly.” “Because you act suspiciously wealthy.” “I literally accepted minimum wage from JYPE.” “You bought an entire floor.” “That was emotional support architecture.” “Nope, that sentence still sounds fake.”

Another quieter silence settled between us afterward while the city lights slowly gave way to darker roads and quieter neighborhoods. “Why this house?” I kept one hand against the steering wheel while answering honestly “Closest one”.

“That somehow concerns me more.” The corner of Ryujin’s mouth twitched slightly afterward before she leaned her head back comfortably against the seat again. For somebody who spent most of her life constantly observed by cameras, fans, staff, and schedules— she looked strangely relaxed disappearing into the dark like this.

By the time we finally arrived, the neighborhood itself had already gone almost completely silent. Ryujin stared openly out the window while I pulled into the driveway. Then paused.

“…Ben.” “That sounded like another comment.” “What the hell is this?” “That sounds judgmental towards the architect who designed the place.” “This is a rich villain house.” “I feel like villains usually have more sinister lighting.” “You absolutely have hidden wine cellars in here.” “That’s ridiculous.”

A pause.

“…There IS a wine cellar though.” “Oh my god.” Ryujin immediately folded forward laughing against the dashboard. “In my defense, it came with the house.”

The inside of the house felt significantly colder than the Top Floor. Less lived in. Expensive in the way old money usually tried pretending it wasn’t. Ryujin noticed immediately. “You don’t stay here much”. More observation “…Not really.”

“Why?” I set the car keys down near the kitchen counter before answering honestly. “It’s too quiet.”

That earned a glance from her. A smaller one this time. Less teasing. Then eventually she walked farther into the living room area before dropping onto the couch casually while kicking her shoes off without asking permission. At this point I respected the consistency.

“Alright emotional support manager,” she muttered while looking around the house afterward. “Where’s the alcohol?” “There’s something deeply concerning about how comfortable you are saying that title now.” “You made it your whole personality.” “That feels unfair.” “But is it inaccurate?”

Unfortunately? She’s right. I grabbed two glasses afterward while Ryujin wandered toward the massive windows overlooking the dark city lights below “…It’s weird”. I glanced toward her briefly “What is?”. Ryujin folded her arms loosely while still staring out the glass “You. You’re ridiculously rich. You could literally disappear and never work again if you wanted to.” She glanced back toward me afterward. “But instead you willingly spend your days getting yelled at by five emotionally unstable women.”

“That description feels incredibly biased.” “It’s also true.”

I handed her a glass afterward before leaning back lightly against the kitchen counter “You’re all worth the headache”.  There it was. The smallest shift. But noticeable. Because Ryujin looked away first afterward.

Ryujin eventually wandered back toward the kitchen island afterward before taking a slower sip from the glass in her hand. Then she narrowed her eyes slightly.

“…You know what bothers me?” “You have never used that sentence on me with good intentions.” “Well that’s cause you answer questions like a politician.” “That feels professionally offensive.” “You dodge everything.” I took a slower sip from my own drink afterward. “That’s because you ask questions like an interrogator.” “Because you act suspicious constantly.” “I manage idols for a living. Suspicion is survival.”

Ryujin pointed at me immediately. “See? That.” She leaned lightly against the counter afterward. “Normal people don’t say things like that.”

“Normal people also don’t survive entertainment companies.” “That sounded deeply experienced.”

Ryujin studied me quietly for another moment afterward before continuing “So what’s the actual story with you?” Dangerous question. Invasively a very dangerous question.

I already knew “actual story” could mean family, money, education, why I took the job, or why I seemed emotionally exhausted at thirty despite technically being successful enough to disappear from society permanently.

The problem with observant people was that they eventually noticed the shape of the things you avoided. Ryujin especially.

“You’re gonna need to narrow that down significantly.” “Nope.” She took another sip casually. “I want all of it.” “That sounds emotionally greedy.” “That sounds correct.”

Then she started counting lazily with one finger. “Why are you rich?” “Why psychology?” “Why do you look emotionally tired all the time?” “Why tattoos?” “Why do you care so much about wellbeing?” “Why are you weirdly good at reading people?” “And why do I feel like half your personality is professionally curated damage control?”

Silence. An interesting sequence of observations. I stared at her slowly afterward. “…You’re alarmingly perceptive after alcohol.” Ryujin grinned slightly “You’re alarmingly avoidant while sober”.  Another unfortunately correct observation.

I leaned lightly back against the counter afterward while debating internally how much honesty I was willing to survive tonight. Then eventually I decided to partake. “My mother.” Ryujin blinked once. She probably didn’t expect an actual answer that quickly. I rotated the glass once slowly in my hand afterward before continuing. “She worked herself into the ground most of her life.” I shrugged lightly afterward. “Smartest person I knew. Also the worst at resting.” The teasing atmosphere softened slightly. “She died younger than she should’ve”.

The room went quieter afterward. No pity from Ryujin. No dramatic reaction. Which honestly made it easier to keep talking. “I spent a long time realizing most people don’t collapse all at once.” I looked down briefly at the amber liquid in the glass afterward “Usually it happens slowly enough that nobody notices until they stop functioning”.

Ryujin stayed quiet. Actually quiet. Very rare for her. “So now,” I continued more lightly afterward, “I annoy emotionally exhausted celebrities professionally.”

“That sounds like emotional deflection.” “Still an accurate description.”

The corner of Ryujin’s mouth twitched slightly again afterward. But this time the teasing didn’t fully return. Instead, she leaned lightly against the opposite side of the counter while looking at me differently now. Not softer. Just understanding something new. “That’s why you bought the floor.” Not question. Observation. I exhaled quietly through my nose afterward “Partially why”. Ryujin stared at me another second before taking another sip. “Okay now I feel slightly bad for bullying you financially.”

“That implies you’re stopping.” “I’m absolutely not stopping.”

Well, she’s back. Psychological stability restored. I laughed softly under my breath afterward while Ryujin walked around the island counter closer now before casually stealing the bottle directly out of my hand.