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no control

Sure, he was young. Almost classically handsome. But what truly mattered in that moment was that he was famous. Famous enough to draw the attention of everyone within ten metres. His presence alone would keep people at bay. He was the perfect repellent. No man would dare approach her with Kim Seungmin at her side. She would use him as a shield, whether he liked it or not.

pair: idol!seungmin x chaebol!oc genre: enemies to lovers, (sort of) fake dating, smut words: 21k

notes: I started writing this fic nearly four months ago and abandoned it after writing 90% of it because my brain decided to sabotage me, as always. however, I still kept thinking about this story and eventually decided to finish it so I could finally focus on something else. I reread and rewrote this hundreds of times, so I'm not sure it makes sense anymore. but I really hope it does! •⩊• anyways, I hope you'll like it ♡

The place Yoonsuk had chosen for their meet-up was one of those venues designed solely to make people feel important for no apparent reason. Seungmin followed his cousin inside, tugging the brim of his cap down over his eyes. They lingered at the entrance, but didn’t have to wait long before one of the waiters approached them with a determined yet unhurried stride, giving a polite nod to suggest they should follow him.

Seungmin didn’t like places like that. Oversized designer lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, moody light; uncomfortable sofas made from coarse fabric; tables far too small to be practical; and behind the bar, a wall stacked to the ceiling with dusty bottles.

Truth be told, Seungmin didn’t like most venues, unless they allowed him to blend in without drawing attention. But he’d had no choice but to accept the invitation, he had long since run out of excuses. He’d been given a couple of days off, and apart from visiting his parents, he had nothing planned. It had been his mother who’d called Yoonsuk, using the excuse of needing to discuss a birthday gift for some uncle Seungmin didn’t know, and was fairly sure didn’t even exist. “Yes, he’s here,” he’d heard her say on the phone. “Of course he wants to go out, he’s bored stiff!”

Seungmin had shot her a sideways glance to make it clear he had absolutely no intention of getting off the sofa that day. But it had been no use. Within minutes, he’d received a message from his cousin.

Choi Yoonsuk, two years older and born with a natural talent for social interaction that Seungmin had never developed, raised a hand in greeting towards four guys he appeared to know just enough to ask a few polite questions and wish them a pleasant evening. It came effortlessly to him, he didn’t even need to try. He had a job in finance, carried himself with quiet confidence, and wore Italian leather shoes. He was, without a doubt, the cousin his parents preferred: conservative with a hint of modern flair, always polite but undeniably charismatic, serious at work but still good company.

“You hate me a bit for dragging you here, don’t you?” Yoonsuk said as they walked past the bar.

“Not yet,” Seungmin replied, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets.

Yoonsuk laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him forward.

“Thanks for coming, anyway.”

Seungmin wasn’t sure why he was there, hadn’t even considered that there might be some ulterior motive behind his cousin’s invitation. But the moment he heard those words, he couldn’t help but start to worry.

~

Her first mistake had been arriving early. That wasn’t like her. She usually preferred to make her entrance with calculated precision, neither too punctual nor fashionably late. Being a little late, just slightly, gave her the illusion of control: not the one waiting, but the one to be waited for. It gave her time to observe, to assess the situation and decide how best to behave. A subtle difference, but one she considered essential.

Miok was seated with Sooyeon and Yoonmi at a table near the large windows overlooking a corner of Gangnam unfamiliar to most. She held a wine glass delicately between her fingers, taking small sips from time to time; her legs crossed at the ankles, just as she'd been taught since childhood. Years of etiquette classes and long family dinners had shaped her posture into something as elegant as it was austere.

Her parents hadn’t even tried to be discreet. She’d figured out their plan over a week ago, the moment her mother first mentioned Yoonsuk.

“He’s just come back from London. They’ve transferred him to Seoul,” she’d said with feigned nonchalance.

Her older brothers had already fulfilled their duty: two weddings, one official engagement; each one a business arrangement dressed up as true love. Now it was her turn. A member of the respectable Choi family would suit their purposes perfectly. That was her parents’ goal: someone respectable, someone they could boast about in their social circles and at formal dinners.

Miok had decided to play along. She’d agreed to attend this so-called friendly gathering, really just a disguised matchmaking attempt, simply to keep them quiet for a while. She’d learnt that pretending to obey often brought greater freedom. That was why she didn’t rebel openly. If she nodded and smiled just enough to please them, she’d come out on top in the end. As always.

“The evening hasn’t even started and you already want to go home, don’t you?” teased Sooyeon, stirring the ice in her drink with deliberate slowness.

“It’s just that I don’t understand why they keep insisting,” Miok replied, referring to her parents, before taking another sip of wine. “I’m not an investment.”

“Well, to be fair to them, you are quite the valuable asset,” Yoonmi joked.

The three of them laughed, keeping their voices at an appropriate volume and covering their mouths with their hands.

Then Miok saw them walk in.

~

Seungmin approached the table where the three girls were sitting, prompting an immediate and unintentional shift in atmosphere. Though simply dressed in a dark jumper and jeans, he had a presence that was hard to ignore. He didn’t carry the arrogance of someone who expected attention; rather, the quiet confidence of someone who knew he’d get it anyway. And from the look on his face, that attention seemed more of an inconvenience than anything else.

When their eyes met, something in their expressions stiffened. As though their bodies had already sensed the mutual dislike that was about to form. Neither of them smiled.

“Miok,” exclaimed Yoonsuk, opening his arms slightly. He seemed torn between a hug and a polite bow, settling at last for a brief, courteous nod. “It’s been ages!”

“Almost three years,” she replied, smiling with measured ease, the kind of smile she’d seen her mother wear since childhood, one she’d learnt to adopt whenever the situation demanded it.

Seungmin watched her, trying not to make it obvious, but he still caught her attention.

“Ah,” said Yoonsuk, noticing Miok’s gaze settle on the other boy. She caught a glimpse of his self-satisfied smile, as if getting her to notice Seungmin had been the plan all along. “This is my cousin, Seungmin.”

He raised a hand in greeting, a gesture the three girls found almost rude. “Hi.”

“Stray Kids, right?” asked Yoonmi, breezy and wide-eyed. Miok saw her twisting a strand of hair around her finger. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

He shrugged. “So they say.”

Yoonmi laughed, even though it wasn’t particularly funny.

Yoonsuk and Seungmin took the seats next to the girls, and Miok adjusted herself in hers, resisting the temptation to cross her arms. They ordered a bottle of wine, then another, as if the alcohol might help make everything feel a little more natural. Two of Yoonsuk’s friends joined them after half an hour, laughing too loudly, and the space around the table suddenly felt far too cramped.

As the wine kept flowing, the conversation grew livelier. The conversation bounced between them with the ease typical of people who barely knew one another. They talked mostly about work. But despite the rising noise, Miok couldn’t help but notice Seungmin’s consistent silence.

It wasn’t shyness. It wasn’t the awkward discomfort of someone unsure what to say, nor the embarrassment of feeling out of place. It simply seemed like he had no desire to speak, as though someone had glued his lips shut. His eyes stayed low, fixed on his glass, and when he did lift them, it was more to scrutinise than to observe.

When people asked him questions, his replies were monosyllabic or limited to a nod. “Yeah.” “Maybe.” “Don’t know.” He never returned anyone’s interest. He let the conversation wash over him.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Miok asked after her third glass. Her tone made her irritation clear.

He tilted his head slightly, as if debating whether to answer. “Do you always open with accusations, or is that saved for special occasions?”

Miok shrugged. “It was just an observation.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t look directly at her. “If you say so. Sounded more like criticism to me.”

“I’m just trying to be polite.”

A kind of smirk appeared on his face. “You’re not very good at it.”

Miok leaned back against her chair and let out a short, incredulous laugh. “If you planned to spend the whole evening in silence, you could’ve just stayed home.” His refusal to mask his discomfort irritated her. She didn’t want to be there either, but at least she was playing along. Smiling, pretending to be interested in what others were saying. But him? Not even trying. And that annoyed her more than she cared to admit.

Seungmin opened his mouth to reply, but Yoonsuk quickly cut in, visibly flustered, and changed the subject. He asked about her parents, about her brother Minseok, whom he’d gone to university with. It had been Yoonsuk who’d introduced him to his fiancée, he added proudly.

“He’s good-looking, though,” said Yoonmi about twenty minutes later, reapplying a clear lip gloss while checking her reflection in the bar’s bathroom mirror.

“Who? Yoonsuk?” asked Sooyeon, drying her hands.

“No, Seungmin,” Yoonmi answered, giggling a moment later.

Miok turned to look at her. “Are you serious?”

Yoonmi gave a little shrug and laughed again, covering her mouth with her hand. “He’s a bit shy, but you can’t deny he’s good-looking.”

Miok didn’t reply. She simply shook her head and left the bathroom.

Back at the table, Seungmin was drinking his wine as if it were poison. He looked up and met Miok’s gaze.

“Back already?” he asked.

Miok sat down. “Did you miss me?”

“No, I was enjoying the peace. I’d hoped it might last a bit longer.”

Miok leaned in slightly. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Unpleasant.”

Seungmin let out a short, sardonic laugh. As if pleased by his own ability to irritate. But once again, Yoonsuk jumped in before he could reply.

By the end of the evening, Seungmin was the first to get up.

“Good luck with your new job,” he said to Yoonmi, who looked surprised. He hadn’t seemed to be listening when she’d spoken about it. In fact, he’d seemed completely lost in his own thoughts the whole night, glancing around aimlessly and constantly bouncing his leg.

To Miok, he offered only a nod.

She gave a brief bow before turning back to talk to Yoonsuk. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Seungmin walk out of the venue.

And in that moment, she sincerely hoped she’d never see him again.

The way Yoonsuk had furnished his flat made it difficult to get any real sense of his personality. Metal-framed shelves decorated with eye-catching art catalogues, deliberately arranged; a worn-looking The Godfather poster hanging in the entrance; a black leather sofa that didn’t exactly invite anyone to sit down. On the marble countertop of the kitchen island, trays of overly European appetisers had been carefully laid out. An ambient music playlist played softly in the background, fitting for this sort of event, which felt less like a birthday party and more like a start-up networking night.

Miok had arrived right on time, accompanied by Sooyeon. Her brother Minseok, arm-in-arm with his fiancée, was already there, lingering in a corner by the window with old university friends. Miok had brought a bottle of fine wine, an impersonal gift, but one Yoonsuk would undoubtedly appreciate.

The birthday boy welcomed them with the ease of someone who had hosted many such gatherings. He accepted the wine with an almost exaggerated bow before handing it off to the first person who passed by, instructing them to put it in the kitchen.

“Welcome,” he said with a sly smile.

Since their last meeting, she and Yoonsuk hadn’t had many opportunities to see each other. But they had kept in touch. Whenever their work schedules allowed, they met for quick coffee breaks. There was no attraction between them. No romantic feelings. But Miok had decided that keeping him in her life was a useful way to keep her parents in check. Every time she mentioned his name, her mother’s eyes would light up.

She was certain she’d never call Yoonsuk a friend. Too much of a dandy, too opportunistic. But spending time in his company had turned out to be more entertaining than she’d expected. So, when he messaged her with an invitation to his birthday, Miok had accepted without hesitation.

She exhaled slowly before stepping into the crowd.

Sooyeon, far more at ease in these sorts of settings, had already drifted off to greet a group of people Miok vaguely recognised but couldn’t bring herself to care about. She joined her brother and greeted his friends with measured politeness, accepting a glass of prosecco. Then she took a moment to scan the room, quietly observing the people moving through the large living area.

When she didn’t see him, she turned, and smiled.

~

Seungmin arrived around eleven, visibly exhausted. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and a leather jacket which, though clearly expensive, looked out of place among the sea of starched shirts and faded polo tops. He pulled off his cap and tried to fix his hair, still damp from the shower. Rehearsals had run longer than expected, partly his fault, and he’d considered more than once just staying home.

He handed Yoonsuk a small black box without even looking at him. Then, in a low voice, he muttered, “What’s she doing here?”

She’d been one of the first people he’d seen upon entering. Lee Miok.

Yoonsuk followed his gaze but didn’t react. He simply shrugged. “Why do you care? Just ignore her.”

Seungmin sighed but said nothing more. He checked once more where she was, then walked off in the opposite direction, determined to follow his cousin’s advice.

~

But Yoonsuk’s flat, spacious as it was, didn’t leave much room to manoeuvre. They ran into each other in the kitchen. Seungmin had gone to grab another beer and found her sitting at the counter, gaze lost somewhere in the crowd. He ignored her, pretending she wasn’t even there.

“You again,” she said, not even bothering to look at him.

Seungmin turned this time. “Unfortunately.”

There was a short pause.

“Didn’t have you down as the type for these sorts of things,” she added, picking up the glass she’d left beside her. She didn’t drink from it, though.

“These sorts of things? It’s a birthday party. For my cousin, no less. Why wouldn’t I come?” he replied, shutting the fridge door. “Didn’t know you two had become friends.”

“We’re not,” she said flatly. “We’re just useful to each other.”

Seungmin looked at her. Really looked. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the conventional sense. Short hair, a small oval face, eyes wide and just slightly too far apart. There was no real harmony in her features, and yet nothing seemed out of place either.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then someone nearby called Miok’s name, and someone else patted Seungmin on the back in greeting.

They drifted apart again. She went back to discussing a recent exhibition with a friend, he ended up talking to one of his cousin’s colleagues about the upcoming baseball season. They didn’t speak again that evening, but they remained in each other’s orbit.

Whenever she laughed, he noticed. Each time he headed to the kitchen for another drink, her gaze followed him.

At the end of the night, sitting in the back seat of the taxi on his way home, eyes fixed on the lights of the high-rises lining the road, Seungmin had to accept the bitter truth that he’d forgotten everything he’d said that evening, except for the few brief exchanges he’d had with her.

Miok, once back in her flat, stood in front of the large bathroom mirror, staring at her bare face. She touched her cheek. She could still feel Seungmin’s eyes on her, as if they’d never really left.

Seungmin hadn’t planned on attending the event. In truth, he hadn’t planned on doing anything at all. After returning from Japan, he’d been looking forward to spending a few rare days off doing absolutely nothing, the kind of days spent in pyjamas, mindlessly scrolling through his phone with not a single thought in his head and avoiding all human interaction.

But then his mother had called and more or less forced him. “We never see you,” she’d said in that tone of hers; half pleading, half reproachful. “And make sure you dress properly,” his sister’s voice had chimed in sternly in the background.

So, just a few hours later, he found himself sitting in the back seat of his parents’ car, like he had as a child, stiff in a midnight-blue suit.

“It’s some sort of charity evening,” his sister had explained, “hosted by the Lee family.”

“You know, the pharmaceutical company,” she added, as though that might help Seungmin figure out who she was talking about. “They’ve got this foundation that supposedly funds cultural events, but in practice it’s mostly a way to evade taxes.”

Seungmin had laughed, and their mother had scolded them both, eyeing them through the rear-view mirror. The rest of the journey passed in silence.

The gallery was the kind of place that, had it not been for the paintings on the walls and sculptures dotted here and there, might have faintly resembled a hospital. Bare concrete walls, resin flooring, wide spiral staircases connecting the floors. Seungmin followed his family in silence, already regretting giving in to his mother’s pressure. His hands were shoved into his trouser pockets and his head slightly bowed.

Then he saw her.

Miok stood ahead of him. She was wearing a forest-green dress, nothing extravagant, but far more elegant than anything he’d seen her in before. She was speaking to an elderly couple, smiling with that sort of polite friendliness that made it clear she wasn’t talking to them out of genuine interest, but out of obligation. Professional, poised. And that was when Seungmin finally realised who she was. Lee Miok. The Lee Foundation. The ones with the pharmaceutical company. A wry smile crept across his lips. It couldn't be otherwise.

“Do you know her?” his sister asked, noticing her brother’s gaze fixed on the unfamiliar girl.

“Not really,” he replied, quickly looking away. “She’s a friend of Yoonsuk’s. Sort of.”

His sister didn’t press any further, but the smug smile that appeared on her face was enough to make her younger brother roll his eyes.

~

Her heels were starting to hurt. She’d been on her feet for over two hours, weaving between one canvas and the next to make sure everything was running smoothly while also making polite conversation with the guests. But above all, trying to avoid being caught alone by her mother.

Her parents, having finally accepted that love would never blossom between her and Yoonsuk, had moved on to plan B: introducing her to an endless string of eligible bachelors from high society in the hope that at least one might win her over.

She and Yoonsuk had stayed in touch even after his birthday party, but after yet another orchestrated dinner to appease their respective families, it had become painfully clear there was no real interest between them. Her mother’s patience had officially run out.

So far, plan B had been a complete disaster. All the men she’d been introduced to were respectable, certainly, but overly polished. They flaunted expensive watches and tailored suits, and gave her compliments as though reading from a badly written script. One of them had even praised her for the “articulate” way she spoke. Miok had barely stopped herself from laughing in his face.

From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother approaching once more, this time with a man who looked like he’d lived through the 1997 financial crisis and hadn’t laughed since. Her stomach turned. She needed an escape route.

Then she saw him.

Seungmin was lingering near the bar, an expression of pure apathy on his face. He looked deeply bored, perhaps even irritated, as if he’d been dragged there against his will. Which, all things considered, was probably the case.

Miok smiled, satisfied.

Sure, he was young. Almost classically handsome. But what truly mattered in that moment was that he was famous. Famous enough to draw the attention of everyone within ten metres. His presence alone would keep people at bay.

He was the perfect repellent. No man would dare approach her with Kim Seungmin at her side.

She would use him as a shield, whether he liked it or not.

She walked up to him with purposeful strides.

“If anyone asks,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I’m here with you.”

He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Why would I say something like that?”

“To help me.”

“I’ve got no intention of doing that.”

“Oh, don’t be a prick, Seungmin.”

He seemed slightly taken aback by her sudden familiarity. Miok glanced back at the crowd until her gaze landed on her mother and the man beside her. Seungmin followed her eyes. And seemed to understand.

“What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Just smile and nod occasionally. Pretend you enjoy my company.”

He attempted a smile, but the result was more of a pained grimace.

“Maybe don’t smile at all,” she muttered, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. He recoiled instantly, as if burned.

“Don’t push your luck,” he said.

“Come on,” she replied, somewhere between a laugh and a plea. “Just for a few minutes. Until my mum goes away. Please be a good boy, Seungmin.”

He tilted his head slightly, a mischievous smirk curling at the corners of his mouth.

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll go to hell.”

“Well, hell sounds far more appealing than spending time with you.”

Miok rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Stop acting like a brat.”

A short laugh escaped Seungmin’s lips. He leaned in slightly. “You’re the one acting like a spoiled little girl. Should I call grandpa and tell him you’re still single?”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, turning her back to him. “I’ll find someone else.”

Almost without thinking, Seungmin reached out and gently caught her arm just above the elbow.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll help you. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. This event is bloody boring.”

Miok smiled again, triumphant. She lifted a hand and ruffled his hair. “Good boy.”

They stayed together for a while, not too long, just long enough for the people around them to notice. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. They didn’t speak much, simply sipped their drinks and pretended to laugh, watching the steady flow of guests drifting around them.

When her mother finally disappeared upstairs, Miok turned to Seungmin. “Well. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he replied with heavy sarcasm.

She walked away. He simply watched her go.

When his sister asked him at the end of the night whether he’d enjoyed himself, he just shrugged.

The restaurant was quiet. Miok sat opposite her mother, back straight and a neatly folded linen napkin resting on her lap.

Her mother was halfway through a barely dressed salad. She cut the lettuce leaves with calculated precision, so she wouldn’t have to open her mouth too wide, chewing slowly and nodding happily. Then she placed her cutlery beside the plate and dabbed at her lips with the napkin. She took a sip of water and lifted her gaze to her daughter.

Every week, Miok received a message from her mother inviting her to lunch at one of the many trendy restaurants recommended by her tennis club friends. Healthy food, meagre portions, outrageous prices. But the food was of little importance. During those lunches, Miok lost her appetite. Because the real reason her mother invited her weekly was not a simple desire to spend time together, but rather to make sure her daughter wasn’t straying too far from the path they had laid out for her.

They mostly talked about work. After all, besides being her mother, she was also, in a way, her boss. They discussed emerging artists, pieces they might acquire for their collection, events they could sponsor. Her mother didn’t care much for the artistic side, she left that to Miok. What mattered was that, at the end of the day, their reputation remained untarnished.

But from the look on her mother’s face, Miok knew she was about to start a conversation far removed from professional matters. Her mother cleared her throat and said, almost too casually, “Who was that boy you were talking to the other night?”

Miok took a sip of water to buy time. “The other night?”

“Yes. I saw you two by the bar. You seemed… comfortable.”

Miok shrugged. “Oh. That was Yoonsuk’s cousin. Kim Seungmin.”

“Ah,” her mother said, as if she didn’t already know the answer. “He’s a celebrity, isn’t he? A singer or something like that.”

Her words hung in the air, almost like an accusation.

Miok nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Yes, he’s part of a group.”

A small, almost imperceptible sound slipped from her mother’s lips. She dabbed again at the corners of her mouth even though she hadn’t resumed eating. “I hope you’re not taking someone like that in serious consideration.”

Miok had to stop herself from laughing in her face. “What kind of person would that be?”

“Someone whose life is constantly on display online. Always travelling the world like a nomad. Always in front of the cameras. That’s no life for someone like you.”

Miok set down the glass she was still holding. “And what kind of person am I, exactly?”

Her mother blinked slowly. She was getting annoyed but didn’t want to show it. “You know what I mean.”

Miok smiled at her. She knew. She knew how much her mother despised celebrities. She remembered clearly what she once said after reading about yet another scandal splashed across the tabloids: they only bring trouble. A life exposed to the public like a cheap soap opera.

Miok could have simply agreed, reassuring her that there was nothing between her and Seungmin and never would be. She could have steered the conversation back to work. But she felt something stirring beneath her skin. It wasn’t anger. More frustration. Or simply tiredness.

She imagined her mother’s reaction if she confessed she was seeing Seungmin. The shocked look she would try to hide.

It was an idea as terrible as it was amusing.

Miok was not reckless, she never had been. She’d always got what she wanted not by rebelling or throwing tantrums, but by pulling strings like a puppeteer, convincing everyone that what she wanted was exactly what they wanted too. She had pursued the studies she wanted, attended the university of her choice, promising to work for the family foundation. A promise she intended to keep only a little longer. She wore the dresses her mother gave her to the important events. She knew how to hold conversations with the right people. She behaved as expected so no one would suspect she was plotting behind their backs.

But lately, something had changed. Her parents were more than satisfied with her career, even though they were initially disappointed she hadn’t joined the family business like her brothers. Now it was time to focus on her private life. Her family expected her to date someone suitable. Someone from her own world. Someone who wouldn’t damage their reputation.

But what if she started seeing someone her parents would never accept? A name too exposed, too far from their universe. Seungmin was perfect. No privacy, no control. Too many eyes on him, too many fans, too many unknowns.

If she hinted that she was seeing him, her parents might realise the real risk of losing control over her. And the moment Miok presented them with a more appropriate figure, someone who fit within their acceptable parameters, they would sigh with relief. They might even let her choose, convinced they’d avoided the worst.

The idea amused her. It made her feel in control. Of the situation. Of her own life.

“We’re not dating,” she finally replied. “But he is… a pleasant person.”

“Oh?” was her mother’s only response. Miok saw her frown, clearly irritated.

And that reaction was enough. Miok said no more. She didn’t need to lie. It was enough to plant a seed and let her mother’s imagination run wild.

The brunch was taking place on the terrace of a hotel near Cheongdam, large white parasols shielding the guests from the early spring sun. That day, Miok arrived late.

That kind of brunch, which was little more than a poorly disguised networking event, wasn’t for her. The same faces, the same conversations repeated endlessly. Everyone forced smiles, posing for photos as if they were genuine friends, with the sole purpose of posting them on their social profiles and boasting about a fake social life.

It had been Yoonsuk who invited her, but Miok wasn’t keen on enduring hours of chatter with fake CEOs and influencers all dressed the same, as if wearing a uniform. It was Yoonmi who had persuaded her. She had turned up at her place unannounced, forcing her out of bed. “You have to show yourself once in a while, or they’ll think you’re irrelevant.” Which didn’t matter in the slightest to Miok. But her friend wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Now she stood under the sun, sunglasses firmly perched on her nose, surveying the terrace with a detached air. Then, to her great surprise, her eyes landed on a familiar figure she hadn’t expected to see.

Seungmin.

He stood near the bar, as usual, like someone who had stumbled into the wrong event and didn’t know how to leave without drawing attention. As always, his style clashed with the rest of the setting: a short-sleeved striped shirt tucked into a pair of baggy jeans. His hair was swept back messily, a pair of sunglasses twisting between his fingers.

Miok didn’t hesitate for a second. She made her way over to him and stood beside him, looking up.

Seungmin immediately noticed her presence but didn’t acknowledge her. “Got something on my face?” he finally asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She tilted her head, pretending to inspect his face. She pressed her lips together to hold back a smile. “No.”

“Then why do you keep staring at me? Actually, why are you here?”

“I want people to see us together,” she said, as if it were obvious.

There was a brief pause.

“Together?” Seungmin repeated, as if checking he’d understood correctly.

She nodded. Her smile was enigmatic, almost a smug grin.

Seungmin turned fully to face her. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing you need to worry about. You just have to play along…”

A sceptical look crossed his face. “What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“Lee Miok.”

She chuckled. “Alright, but don’t get worked up. I might have… hinted to my mother that we’re seeing each other.”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“A little white lie, to mess with her a bit.”

He didn’t seem impressed by her explanation. “Not funny. I’d never go out with someone like you.”

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows, mockingly offended. “Why not? I’m a catch, you know.”

He laughed dryly but said no more.

“Do you hate me so much that even the idea of going out with me annoys you?” Miok asked, still smiling. She didn’t care what he thought of her.

He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples. “I’m not in a position to let baseless gossip about my private life spread…”

Miok laughed. She noticed his shoulders tense slightly. “That’s why my mother can’t stand you.”

He frowned, increasingly confused. “What do you mean? I don’t even know her…”

“Well, not you personally. The idea of you. What you represent. Being a celebrity. Your life constantly under the spotlight. No privacy, no dignity.”

Seungmin let out an ironic laugh. “Wonderful. Now I feel used.”

“Isn’t that what your career is about? Being used?” Miok shot back, too quickly. Her words came out sharper than she intended.

Seungmin’s face darkened immediately. He no longer seemed annoyed, but rather hurt.

For a moment, Miok thought about apologising but hesitated. Perhaps out of pride or simple embarrassment. Instead, she said, “Anyway, stick around for a few minutes. I’m sure someone’s already telling my mother.”

He sighed again. “You’re incredible.” Then he walked away.

She followed him, trotting happily.

“You’re really annoying, you know that?” he muttered, without turning around.

“Come on, Seungmin…”

“I need a drink.”

She laughed, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow. “This round’s on me.”

He said nothing. Sighed once more.

But he didn’t walk away.

The dim lighting and dark walls made it difficult to distinguish faces in the shadows. Everything had gone well. He had let the camera flashes dazzle him, posed with carefully practiced nonchalance in front of the lenses, said the right things without seeming too nervous. Now all that was left was to go home. He was waiting for his manager to return from the bathroom so they could finally leave.

Attending these kinds of events alone was new to him, but he was slowly getting used to it. He hadn’t realised the importance of the other members until he found himself in a room full of people with no one to rely on, no one to fill the awkward silences.

The guests were still chatting and sipping from their champagne flutes. The music, a syncopated rhythm with heavy bass, played softly in the background. Seungmin couldn’t stay still, despite his tired legs. His gaze was fixed on the wall in front of him, where bottles of Chanel perfume were displayed, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He barely registered what was happening around him, almost missing Hoshi, who passed by and wished him a good evening. Seungmin managed a polite nod before the other left the room. Everything blurred into the background.

His thoughts kept returning to the phone call he’d received that afternoon.

“Are you really seeing her?” his sister had asked, cutting straight to the point. Her tone was light, but it still put Seungmin on alert. What was she talking about?

“With who?”

“Lee Miok,” she replied, lowering her voice as if she’d just said a swear word she was ashamed of. Or maybe she simply didn’t want those around her to hear. “Mum found out from one of her friends. Apparently, someone saw you together and says you’re dating. Is it true?”

He felt something tighten in his throat. Not anger, not embarrassment. Something he couldn’t name.

“That’s not true. I don’t even talk to her,” he answered, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Well, someone must have started that rumour,” his sister said. “Maybe it was her?”

He felt the blood boil in his veins.

He had been clear: he couldn’t allow rumours about his private life to spread. Especially about his love life. He didn’t like people talking about him, especially if what was said wasn’t true. The thought that Miok had crossed a line despite his warnings, that she had disrupted his private life without his consent, made him feel exposed. In a way he couldn’t bear.

His entire life outside work was a delicate structure he had carefully built over the years. The same routine, the same old friends, the same kind of tea after breakfast. Everything was calculated and organised down to the smallest detail. Life in the spotlight was chaotic by nature: unpredictable interviews, technical issues during performances, sometimes inhuman schedules, the fickle attention of the public. For that reason, in his private sphere, he cultivated peace, routine. Stability. He didn’t fear change; he hated it when it arrived unannounced.

And Miok, with her high-society manners and the air of someone who always gets whatever she wants, had entered his story like an unforeseen plot twist. Like there had been a sudden hole in the script. The boundaries he had spent years defining had been redrawn without his permission.

Then someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

He turned, already annoyed before seeing who it was.

“Seungmin,” a familiar voice, too clear, too sugary.

He blinked, trying to remember who the girl in front of him was.

“Yoonmi,” she offered with a smile, trying to hide her disappointment at not being recognised. “We met a few months ago, at a party with your cousin.”

“Right,” he replied, cordial but distant.

She was radiant in an ivory strapless dress, her hair falling in perfectly styled waves over her shoulders. She leaned slightly forward towards him, striking a well-practised pose.

“You look tired,” she teased. “Can’t wait to get home, huh?”

He smiled and looked around again. She lingered beside him.

“You’re friends with Lee Miok, right?” Seungmin asked abruptly, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She shifted position, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, I think you could say that,” she answered cautiously. “Why?”

“Could you give me her number?”

There was a pause. Her eyes scanned his face as if trying to read something in his expression.

“Oh?” she said, feigning surprise. “Don’t you already have it?”

“No,” he said firmly. “We’re not that close.”

She pursed her lips to suppress a smile, clearly pleased. “Last time I saw you two together, you looked rather cosy. I must have been mistaken, then.”

He sighed slowly. “Believe me, we’re not.”

Yoonmi smiled, then covered her lips with a hand. Without another word, she pulled out her phone from her bag, searched her contacts, and then handed it to Seungmin.

“Here,” she said. “This is her number.”

He pulled out his own phone and quickly typed in the number without bothering to double-check. “Thanks.”

She lingered again.

When he looked at her, she smiled once more.

“Aren’t you going to ask for my number too?”

The tearoom at the MMCA was quieter than she had expected. Afternoon light filtered through the large windows, casting long shadows over the pale wooden tables. A soft murmur of voices gently broke the silence. A couple of tourists sat a few tables away, speaking a language Miok didn’t recognise, while an elderly man silently browsed through the exhibition catalogue.

She was seated by one of the windows, so she could take in the view, fingers wrapped around a porcelain cup of red berry tea. Opposite her, Yuna was checking something on her phone. She wore red lipstick, intricate rose gold earrings, and a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Even in her minimalism, she looked like an important person, or someone on the verge of becoming one. Miok looked at her with pride but also a touch of envy.

They had met in New York, at university, and from the start, Miok had known Yuna was going to go far. Unlike Miok’s family, Yuna’s didn’t have the means to support her. She lacked the right connections. But Yuna had passion, boldness, and courage. And a bit of luck. She’d applied for a simple internship, but a few months later a colleague retired and Yuna was offered the position. An opportunity she had obviously not let slip by.

“They want someone young, who knows the contemporary artists currently in vogue,” Yuna said, finally looking up from her phone. “And who can write in both Korean and English without making the texts sound like they were translated by Papago. That’s why I thought of you.”

Miok gave a faint smile. Those words should have encouraged her; they should have pleased her, but instead, they weighed heavily on her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, stirring her tea with the teaspoon. “If I could, I’d accept in a heartbeat. But I don’t know if I can afford to.”

Yuna nodded slowly. She knew all about Miok’s situation, they’d known each other for years by now. “You mean financially? Or emotionally?”

“Both.”

She thought back to her parents’ expressions a few days earlier, when she’d joined them for breakfast. She hadn’t mentioned the possibility of working at the museum but had told them she was meeting Yuna. Just as friends, to stay in touch. Her mother had pressed her lips together and glanced at her father, who had simply continued reading the news on his tablet. But Miok hadn’t missed how he’d wrinkled his nose in disapproval. They’d said nothing, but their silence had been unmistakable. The kind of silence that sounded more like a warning.

They’d only allowed her to study art history because, somehow, it would fit into the family project. The Foundation would be hers. With her pedigree, her NYU degree, and her network of curators and critics, she would bring legitimacy to the Foundation. Her role had always been, and only ever been, to elevate their image. Nothing more. Working for a museum, no matter how important, would bring them no benefit, no profit. On the contrary, it would almost be shameful.

She knew the job Yuna was offering wasn’t well paid. If she wanted to reach the top, she’d have to start at the bottom, work hard. Nothing would be handed to her on a silver platter as it had been so far. Her parents wouldn’t accept it.

But she was so tired. Tired of gala evenings. Tired of patrons who couldn’t tell an oil painting from a watercolour. Tired of pretending that art could be measured in tax deductions. Tired of seeing exhibitions reduced to mere backdrops for cocktail parties.

She wanted to be surrounded by people who cared as much as she did. She wanted to rediscover her passion for what she did.

“I just have to think it through,” she said. “If I were to accept, it could be a problem for my parents.”

Yuna’s expression didn’t change. “And would that be so terrible?”

Miok looked at her with tired eyes. “Everything I have, I have because I’m their daughter. There’s no denying it. If I abandoned the Foundation to work here, with you, they’d see it as an insult. They could take everything away from me if they wanted. Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t want to lose their support. I don’t know if I’m capable of living a life without all these privileges. But at the same time, I don’t want to live under their constant control anymore…”

Yuna raised her cup. “Then build a new one. A real life.”

Before Miok could reply, her phone began to vibrate against the table. She glanced at the screen.

Unknown number.

She decided to answer anyway. It could be someone important.

“Hello?”

“Mum just asked me about you,” said a voice. She recognised it immediately.

Seungmin.

No greeting. No hesitation.

“Is she already planning our wedding?” Miok asked neutrally, her eyes on Yuna, who was now watching her with curiosity.

“That’s not funny.”

There was tension in his voice. Controlled but unmistakable.

“You need to tell your mother we’re not seeing each other. Immediately,” he added.

Miok let out a brief laugh, throwing her head back.

“Don’t worry,” she said simply.

She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t tell him how her mother had started looking at her; with worry, disapproval, as if Miok was choosing to sabotage herself out of sheer spite. As if seeing her with calm, precise, responsible Seungmin was an act of extreme rebellion. As if he were a criminal. And that thought only amused her.

What had surprised her most, though, wasn’t her mother’s reaction. It was her own reaction to that reaction. The more her mother worried, the more Miok wanted to keep up the charade.

“Is there anything else?” she asked lightly.

There was a pause on the other end. Just a faint sigh.

“No,” he answered. “That’s it.”

He hung up. Miok set the phone aside, and turned back to look at Yuna, a perplexed expression on her face.

Miok just shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

They had arrived in New York on the third of May. The schedule was intense, as expected: fittings, interviews, rehearsals, content creation. They didn’t have a single moment to themselves.

Dinner came late, and the room service boy had apologised at least three times. Seungmin sat at the small table in the hotel room, the tray of food placed between him and Changbin. Burgers and chips. Not the healthiest meal, but it was exactly what they both needed.

At first, they ate in silence, the only background noise coming from a sitcom on the TV, one neither of them recognised. Then Seungmin’s phone vibrated once. Then again. A series of short, insistent buzzes against the glass table. Not loud, but enough to interrupt the moment.

Changbin squinted, leaning forward to glance at the screen.

“Who’s Lee Miok?”

Seungmin, who had just stood up to go to the bathroom, almost tripped over his own feet. He turned slowly, deliberately, to hide his surprise.

“Why?”

Changbin nodded towards the phone, which continued to light up with each new notification.

“She keeps messaging you.”

With a silent sigh, Seungmin returned to his seat, picked up the phone and stared at the screen. All the messages were from Miok. She was clearly trying to get his attention, probably to force a response. She must have been with his mother.

“So, who is she?” Changbin asked again, this time with even more curiosity as he chewed on a chip.

“No one,” Seungmin muttered, sinking back into his chair. “Just someone who keeps bothering me.”

Changbin raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you tell the company then? If someone keeps bothering you?”

“Oh, no,” Seungmin replied quickly. “It’s not that kind of situation. She’s not a fan. She’s… a friend of my cousin’s. Or maybe not even that. I met her through my cousin and now she won’t leave me alone.”

“Sounds serious,” said Changbin with a smirk. “She’s got a crush on you?”

Seungmin speared a chip with his fork, staring at it instead of eating.

“No. Definitely not.”

“Then why does she keep texting you?”

“It’s a long story,” he replied. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter.”

Changbin resumed eating, though he kept glancing at Seungmin, who was still holding his phone, his thumbs brushing the screen without typing anything.

“Is she pretty?” Changbin asked after a while.

Seungmin didn’t look up. “Not really.”

“So she’s not pretty and she annoys you… and yet you’re still staring at her messages. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Don’t start. It’s not what you think.”

“Let me see her.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” said Changbin, raising his voice in protest. “Just a photo. What’s the harm?”

When Seungmin didn’t answer, Changbin leaned in, closing the space between them. The food tray wobbled dangerously as he threw an arm around Seungmin’s neck and pulled him into a headlock, laughing.

“Alright, alright!” Seungmin protested, laughing despite himself. “Let me go! I can’t breathe!”

He tapped on Miok’s contact and brought up her profile photo. He held the phone at a distance so Changbin couldn’t grab it.

Changbin leaned closer, still clinging to his shoulders.

“Oh, come on, Seungmin. She’s cute.”

“She’s not,” Seungmin replied automatically.

“She is.”

Seungmin looked again. It was the same photo he’d seen before. A neutral background, her hair longer than it was now, chin slightly raised, an unreadable but confident expression. A professional headshot. Cold, distant. He’d seen it countless times, but had never really looked at it.

She is quite pretty.

He blinked. Swallowed. Locked the phone without another word.

“She’s not,” he said again, this time more quietly.

Changbin laughed.

“If she bothers you that much, why don’t you block her?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Changbin countered, amused. But when he saw his friend remain silent, he added, “Do whatever you want. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Seungmin didn’t respond. He picked up another chip, more out of habit than actual hunger, and turned to the TV. Laughter echoed from the screen. Beside him, the phone lit up again with another message.

He didn’t reply.

Not yet.

~

He should’ve been happy. Thrilled, even. The Met Gala. A proper dream. The kind of thing you imagine while staring at your bedroom ceiling. It should’ve been a moment of celebration, a milestone in their career, something they’d talk about for years to come. And he was sure they would, but not for the reasons he’d hoped. Now, lying on the stiff hotel bed, Seungmin felt the heat rising beneath his skin.

The evening had been exhausting.

The photographers had been aggressive, shouting at them like animals, hurling comments as if convinced they wouldn’t understand. But they had. The words had reached their ears loud and clear. The magic of the evening, the anticipation he’d carried for that long-awaited moment, vanished in an instant. Nothing had gone to plan. Seungmin had felt things slipping out of his control.

But he had smiled the entire time, of course. They all had. It was their job. It was what they’d been trained to do.

Hours later, the night finally behind him, his tux draped over a chair and his make-up wiped away, Seungmin lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The sheets were too heavy, the pillow too firm. His jaw ached from how tightly he’d been clenching it all evening. He got up and showered again, hoping the hot water would soothe the irritation spreading through his body. It didn’t.

He went back to bed. Closed his eyes. Turned. Rolled over. Sighed.

Unlocked his phone.

Dozens of unread messages he didn’t have the energy to go through. He tapped the first conversation at the top.

Miok.

He read through their old messages, scrolling slowly. Stared at her name. Then, without thinking, almost as if his fingers had acted without his brain, he hit the call button.

The phone rang once before he ended the call, suddenly aware of what he’d just done.

“Idiot,” he muttered, letting the phone drop onto his chest. He rubbed his face with a hand, exhaling deeply.

But barely two minutes later, the phone began to vibrate.

Miok’s name appeared on the screen.

He hesitated. Then answered.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, his voice slightly hoarse. “Wrong call.”

There was a small pause. Then her amused voice replied, “I figured.”

He closed his eyes.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Why would I worry?” she asked, laughing.

“You shouldn’t,” he replied quickly. “I… misspoke. It’s been a long day.”

“How did it go?”

“What?”

“The Met Gala.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh.

“And how do you know about that?”

“Oh, come on, it’s the Met Gala! My feed’s full of pictures from the event.”

“Right,” he sighed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It went well. I suppose.”

“Oh, you sound like you had a blast,” she replied sarcastically, still laughing.

“I mean, it was nice. Really. Just not how I imagined it.”

“Didn’t live up to expectations?”

“Not quite,” he murmured, rubbing his face again, frustration creeping in. “I don’t know.”

She waited, not trying to fill the silence.

“It was just flashing cameras and noise,” he went on. “People shouting over each other. Being pushed from one place to another, one interview to the next. I feel like I had an out-of-body experience. My body was there, but my mind wasn’t.”

She was silent for a few seconds.

“That’s a bummer,” she said eventually. Her tone had softened. It sounded more sincere. “I’m sorry it went that way.”

“It’s fine. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because you called me,” she said simply.

Seungmin swallowed. “Right.”

Then she added, “You looked good though. If that helps.”

She couldn’t see him, but Seungmin frowned all the same. “What?”

“I saw your photos,” she said. “I didn’t go looking for them. They just popped up while I was checking the outfits.”

Seungmin said nothing.

“You looked good,” Miok repeated. “Not the best. But definitely not the worst.”

“Thanks, I guess. So, who was the best, then?”

“Out of the eight of you? The one in white. Felix, right?”

“Yeah, Felix.”

“He looked like a prince from a fairy tale.”

Seungmin sighed. “Yeah, Felix is handsome.”

“So are you,” she replied, still in that teasing, amused tone. “Your problem is that you’re grumpy and annoying. Kills the effect.”

Seungmin laughed. For real, this time. Maybe he was just too tired to hold it in.

Silence followed, not the awkward kind, but the kind that felt easy.

Then, gently, she said, “You should go to sleep, Seungmin.”

“Yeah. I should.”

“Goodnight.”

She laughed again. “It’s three in the afternoon here. But thanks anyway. Sleep well.”

He smiled into the darkness. “Thanks.”

He didn’t hang up straight away. Neither did she. But eventually, the call ended. He wasn’t sure who had hung up first.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately.

But the silence didn’t feel quite so hostile anymore.

The music throbbed low and steady in the club. Dim lights bathed the room in amber tones, reflecting off glass tables and polished mirrors. It was late, well past midnight, and the crowd had begun to thin out, leaving behind empty glasses and a few stubborn customers unwilling to call it a night.

Miok was sitting on one of the velvet sofas tucked into a corner of the venue, Yoonsuk beside her, legs crossed and a half-finished gin and tonic in hand. Sooyeon, just a few steps away, was chatting with someone she’d met that night, occasionally breaking into laughter that rang just above the music.

Yoonsuk, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed, leaned lazily forward, letting one arm drape over the backrest behind her. He glanced at her phone’s lit-up screen, watching her fingers tap rapidly across it.

“You’re texting Seungmin, aren’t you?” he asked with a half-smirk, his words slightly slurred.

Miok didn’t even look up. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, the ice in his glass clinking softly. “You’ve been messaging him all evening. Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two?”

She sighed and set her phone face down on the table. “No. Not really. There’s nothing going on. Not like that.”

Yoonsuk slowly turned to face her, leaning in so close she had to lean back. “Not like that?”

She placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. “If you must know, I’m using him to keep my mum off my back.”

“You’re using him?” he repeated, wearing an expression so baffled it made her laugh.

“Yes. You know what my mum’s like. Once she realised nothing was going to happen between you and me, she started introducing me to this parade of bachelors, hoping one of them would win me over. But they were all worse than the last. And then one evening she saw me talking to Seungmin, and made it abundantly clear she’d never approve of me dating him. Not that there’s anything wrong with Seungmin. He’s a decent guy. A bit odd, but still decent. But, you know, he’s a celebrity. And celebrities are nothing but trouble.”

Yoonsuk stared at her without blinking. He said nothing, as if he needed a few more seconds to process what she’d just told him.

“So I let her believe we’re seeing each other. That’s all,” she added at last.

“And does my cousin know about this?”

Miok nodded casually, sipping her drink. “Yes. More or less. He’s not thrilled about it. But I don’t really care.”

Yoonsuk leaned back against the sofa, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Wow,” he said. “You’re actually… ruthless.”

“It’s harmless,” she said quickly, suddenly defensive. “It’s just a game. That’s all.”

He stared at her for a moment, then slowly shook his head. His usual joking tone was gone. “Miok,” he said, suddenly sober. “You said it yourself. Seungmin’s a good guy. He might be a bit harsh sometimes. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she cut in, irritated by the sudden mood shift. She’d come out to have fun, not get lectured by someone she didn’t even really consider a friend.

“Seungmin’s never been good at showing his emotions. He bottles everything up, hides behind sarcastic jokes and crap banter. He’s not someone who gets attached easily,” he went on, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp.

“I think you’re overthinking it,” she replied sharply. “He doesn’t even like me. I doubt there’s any risk of him getting attached.” She laughed, a sound that came out almost bitter.

“He wouldn’t be replying to your messages if that were true,” he said firmly. “Just… be careful. His life’s already messy enough, he doesn’t need someone making it worse.”

Miok stood up abruptly. She hadn’t finished her drink, but she felt the need to order another. “God, you’re so dramatic,” she muttered. “Being unbearable must run in the family.”

Yoonsuk let out a dry laugh. But he said nothing more. He didn’t need to. Miok walked away briskly, but no amount of distance could shake the strange tightness in her stomach.

She noticed him the moment she walked into the room.

The party wasn’t particularly crowded. It had that air of forced sophistication she knew all too well: dim lighting, bland jazz tracks no one truly appreciated, cocktails with exotic names made with unnecessary theatrics. Some of Yoonmi’s friends had invited her, people with too much money and not a care in the world. She had only accepted after one of them had mentioned knowing a famous gallery owner she’d been hoping to meet for some time.

What she hadn’t expected, however, was to see Seungmin.

He stood next to Yoonsuk, dressed better than usual. Not flashy, just more refined, a collared jumper, properly fitting jeans, hair slicked back. For a long moment, she stared at him from across the room before he even noticed she was there.

“What’s going on between you two?” Yoonmi asked, appearing at her side and handing her a glass of wine.

Miok didn’t turn to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“You and Seungmin,” she clarified. “You’ve been texting, haven’t you?”

Miok finally turned to her friend, surprised. “How do you know?”

“Oh, we bumped into each other at an event,” Yoonmi said, unable to hide a smile. “He asked for your number, so I assumed he’d messaged you.”

Miok nodded, turning her gaze back to the boy across the room. It had never occurred to her how Seungmin had got her number. She’d assumed he’d asked Yoonsuk. The fact that Yoonmi had given it to him without asking first annoyed her, but she let it slide. “Yeah, we’ve been texting. Sort of,” she said nonchalantly. “But not for the reasons you think.”

She didn’t see her expression, but Miok sensed Yoonmi shifting closer. “And what reasons would those be?”

Miok didn’t answer right away. She watched Seungmin, tense beside his cousin. “I’m working on something,” she said at last. “And I need him. That’s all.”

Yoonmi looked doubtful. Miok saw her shake her head. “I don’t get you,” she said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t think twice about going for him.”

Miok didn’t respond. Seungmin had finally spotted her. And he didn’t look pleased to see her. His expression held irritation, but also something else. Resignation. As if, deep down, he’d expected her to show up. Or perhaps even hoped she would.

She walked over to him calmly, making a point not to look like she was in a rush.

“I swear this wasn’t planned!” she laughed before he could speak.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. “Pure coincidence.”

They fell into silence. She looked at him longer than she meant to. He was different that evening. More polished than usual, more distant. He resembled the celebrity she’d seen online. But he also couldn’t hide his discomfort at being there, at a party where he didn’t know how to behave. Where he didn’t belong.

“You must have a thing for this sort of thing,” she said finally.

He gave her an annoyed look. Then sighed. “What the hell are you on about now?”

“Being used, I mean,” she replied lightly, sipping her drink. “It seems to happen to you a lot.”

He frowned. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she said, still smiling. “Just that your cousin’s rather clever. He invites you to these events, makes sure everyone sees you, and then fades into the background while basking in reflected glory. I think it’s brilliant.”

Seungmin laughed, but it was short and joyless. “That’s rich, coming from you. Weren’t you the first one to use my name for your own gain?”

Miok recalled Yoonsuk’s words from a few nights earlier and smiled to herself. Remembered how he’d practically scolded her, warned her to be careful, when he wasn’t acting all that differently himself. What a hypocrite. “Oh, I’m not judging,” she finally replied. “It’s admirable.”

He shook his head and headed towards the bar without another word. She followed.

“Are you planning to follow me all night?”

She didn’t reply. Just smiled, slightly amused. Bumping into him at an event and hovering near the bar had become something of a ritual for them. She’d lost count of how many times it had happened. A scene that kept repeating itself, but she wasn’t tired of it yet.

He ordered a beer, took a sip. Then his gaze drifted past her shoulder, into the crowd, with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

She turned slightly, following his line of sight until she spotted a boy holding up his phone, apparently in their direction. But then she realised he was just showing something to the person next to him. They were both laughing. Still, it unsettled Seungmin enough to make him pull away from the crowd.

She found him a few metres away, hidden behind a large fake plant.

“It must be hard,” she said.

“What?”

“Always feeling watched. Not knowing if someone’s taking a photo or just checking their phone. Always having to be careful about how you act.”

He glanced at her. “You should know how that feels. Your life’s not so different from mine, in that sense.”

She laughed. “You think so?”

“Yes,” he replied with certainty. “You act like you’re always one step ahead. Like you’re playing everyone. But you’re not.”

“Oh no?” she said, tilting her head slightly.

Seungmin stared at her. His voice was calm, but his tone hit hard. “Isn’t your life still basically controlled by your parents?”

Miok held her breath slightly. She hadn’t expected that. She swallowed, trying not to show it had affected her. But her fingers gripped the stem of her glass tightly. He noticed. And she knew he had.

“I’m working on it,” she said flatly. “That’s why I need you.”

“You assume too much; that I’ll go along with your stupid game.”

“Funny, you don’t seem too bothered by the rumours about us,” she replied, smiling again. “Maybe you don’t mind them as much as you let on.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“Bullshit, is it? I don’t think so.”

Miok moved closer, as if approaching a skittish dog that might bolt at any moment. Her fingers brushed the fabric of his sleeve, a barely-there touch, but enough. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but she sensed him stiffen, just slightly. His expression remained unreadable, composed and mildly sulky as always. She noticed how hard he was trying to stay in control, how just letting her near him felt like a concession. He didn’t push her away like he had that time at the Foundation. That gave her a strange sense of power.

“You act like a spoiled child,” she said softly, low enough that no one else could hear. “But in the end, you always do as you’re told.”

His eyes narrowed. She gently pinched his cheek, like one would a toddler. He swatted her hand away with a sharp gesture.

“If you say so,” he muttered, turning and walking off.

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest. She wasn’t supposed to care. But as she watched him walk away, she found it unusually difficult to look elsewhere.

He hadn’t said he would be coming that day. When she saw him walk into her office, without warning, without even knocking, her first thought was that someone must have told on her. Her father wasn’t the type to waste his time on courtesy visits. It was always her who went to him. Never the other way around.

“I didn’t know you were stopping by,” she said, rising from the desk chair where she’d been sitting for hours.

The man looked around without replying. He stayed silent for so long that Miok found herself counting the seconds. He was wearing a charcoal grey suit, the one reserved for important occasions. He must have been on his way back from a board meeting. He didn’t seem particularly annoyed or agitated, but Miok had never been good at reading his emotions.

Eventually, he spoke. “I was thinking of giving your brother a painting, for his wedding.”

Miok looked at him blankly. “A painting?”

“Something to hang in the new house, once they move in. Something meaningful, but not too heavy or eye-catching.” He paused, then added, “I want you to choose it. You surely know more about these things than I do.”

Miok nodded. “Alright. I’ll do some research.”

He didn’t thank her. He continued to glance around, as if he were seeing the space for the first time. And in fact, Miok couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited her. He might never have actually been inside her office before now.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

He stepped closer to the desk and sat down in the chair she had only just vacated, without so much as asking permission. “Do you enjoy working here?”

The question caught Miok off guard. She knew her father, this wasn’t just casual small talk. There was always a hidden motive behind his words. She stared at him for a moment, uncertain. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Really?” he replied, as if addressing one of his employees. “Are you truly satisfied with this job?”

Miok took a slow breath. She couldn’t tell what he was getting at. Perhaps someone had actually said something. But who? The only person who knew about the MMCA offer was Yuna. It couldn’t be that her parents had found out. Could it?

“Yes,” she lied, smiling faintly. “I find it very stimulating.”

“Then why haven’t I received anything about the new projects yet?” he asked, leaning slightly forward.

She opened her mouth to answer but couldn’t find the words. She bought herself some time. “I’m working on a proposal for next quarter, but I’m still waiting for some responses from…”

He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. He didn’t believe her. He knew they were just excuses. He leaned back in the chair, maintaining that impersonal attitude, as if he were conducting an interview with a stranger, not his own daughter.

“I only hope your lack of focus isn’t due to that boy you’ve been seeing. The singer.”

Miok’s heart skipped a beat, not from surprise, but from the way her father had said those words. She opened her mouth to respond, but he raised his hand again to silence her.

“I know you’re not a foolish girl, Miok. And I’m not saying I disapprove. I know his parents, they’re respectable people. But you have responsibilities. To your family. To your mother, in particular. We’ve never let you want anything, have we?”

We’ve never let you want anything. It was a phrase she’d heard a thousand times, always used to make her feel guilty. Every word delivered with the calm certainty of someone who believes himself unquestionably right.

“Don’t cause her this disappointment,” he continued. “I think you already know, but your mother is very worried.”

“She doesn’t have any reason to be,” Miok said, though her voice was barely audible.

Her father stood. He adjusted his jacket slowly, smoothing the creases with his hands. “I want you to think about it carefully. Whatever it is you’re planning to do.”

“I’m not planning to do anything,” she replied, a little too quickly.

He paused for a moment, as if giving her the chance to hear her own words echo back at her. Then he smiled, that thin-lipped expression she had always despised. “Every choice carries consequences. Keep that in mind.”

He turned to leave but stopped at the door. “I expect a proposal for the painting soon. I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. As always.”

When the door closed behind him, Miok remained seated for a few minutes without moving. Her hands resting on her knees, her head bowed. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath the entire time.

The air that evening was warm, but not stifling. A light breeze slipped through the hedges surrounding the garden, making the candle flames on the table flicker. The scent of jasmine and grilled meat hung in the air. There was no music, only the constant hum of voices from those seated around him, conversations he couldn’t quite catch, except for the occasional word spoken with more emphasis than the rest. It was nearly midnight, but no one seemed in any rush to leave, lulled by the early summer night.

Seungmin sat at one end of the table, a nearly full glass of wine in his hand, wearing a linen shirt he’d felt embarrassed to unbutton. On the surface, he appeared relaxed, as if perfectly at ease in this strange setting. But the tight line of his jaw and the faint crease between his brows told another story. He’d arrived late, dragged along by Yoonsuk with the promise of good food and fresh air. After a long day of rehearsals, he’d thought it might be just what he needed.

Miok was sitting next to him.

She had been one of the first people he saw upon arriving. She was seated opposite Sooyeon, her back perfectly straight. She wasn’t speaking, just listening, her gaze fixed on the centre of the table. The usual attentive, unreadable expression. She hadn’t said much since he arrived, in fact, she’d barely looked at him at all, offering only a polite nod and a brief smile before turning her attention back to Sooyeon.

And yet, she hadn’t moved, not even when others had begun to get up with glasses in hand, strolling through the garden and gathering in smaller groups. She had remained where she was, motionless.

Seungmin kept pretending to check his phone, scrolling through notifications he’d already read, but his eyes kept drifting back to her. To the way their elbows brushed occasionally when she reached for her glass. To the way she tilted her head forward, letting her hair fall across her face. Her silence irritated him. Maybe because he couldn’t understand why she was ignoring him. Or maybe because that silence made him feel strangely uneasy, out of place.

Or maybe simply because he couldn’t seem to ignore her tonight.

He took a long sip of wine, then said, in a serious tone, “Well, they’ve seen us together now. I’m sure your mother’s already pulling her hair out.”

Miok didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on one of the candles in the middle of the table, as though afraid the flame might reach the floral centrepiece and set it alight.

“You can go to your friends,” he added, feigning a yawn. “You’re getting on my nerves.”

“I don’t feel like it,” she replied simply.

Her words made him turn to look at her.

The candlelight cast a soft glow on her cheekbone. There was something unreadable in the way she stared ahead, unmoving. He was used to her calculated ease, her composed gestures, never out of place. But tonight there was something different. Something slightly off that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

She was beautiful.

The thought hit him without warning. But he shook it off at once. Not the time.

He was about to say something, then bit the inside of his cheek and stayed silent. He looked at the wine left in his glass, then back at her. His throat suddenly felt dry.

His leg had started bouncing restlessly beneath the table without him noticing. He’d been sitting too long. Miok’s hand moved, calm and deliberate, and pressed lightly on his knee.

Seungmin froze instantly.

It wasn’t a heavy touch, just the weight of her hand resting there for a second, maybe two. But it unsettled him. The warmth of her fingers seemed to seep into his bones. He cleared his throat, coughed once or twice. As if trying to warn her off. But when she withdrew her hand, he almost frowned, as though its absence had left behind something hollow, something that annoyed him.

He finished his wine in a single go, faster than he meant to, and poured himself another glass.

Maybe it was the wine. Or the exhaustion. Or the way she kept ignoring him while somehow still being acutely aware of him. It was driving him mad.

He could have stood up, walked away. Even gone home if he’d wanted to. But it was as if he were glued to that chair.

It had always been her who sought his attention. Not out of real interest, of course. But she was the one who used to reach out, speak to him first, send him messages nearly every day. Maybe she didn’t need him anymore. Maybe she’d finally sorted things out with her parents. Maybe she’d found someone else, someone her mother actually approved of. She had no reason now to keep talking to him. So why hadn’t she left? Why was she still sitting there, staring straight ahead, saying nothing? And why did he care so much, when until tonight he’d sworn he wanted nothing to do with her?

The conversation around them grew louder. Yoonsuk was retelling a story Seungmin had heard a thousand times, but it still drew laughter from those who hadn’t. Someone stood to stretch their legs before dessert arrived. A waiter brought over new bottles of wine and refilled their glasses with elegant precision. Seungmin didn’t even notice.

His eyes had drifted to Miok’s legs, crossed neatly under the table, the hem of her skirt brushing her thigh.

He wasn’t thinking, the alcohol had fogged his brain. Or maybe he was thinking too much.

He wanted a reaction. Her stillness irked him.

His hand moved on its own. He let his fingers brush her knee, tracing the shape slowly, then went further. With the backs of his knuckles, he lightly grazed the line of her thigh. Slowly. Deliberately.

Miok didn’t move.

He stole a glance at her face. She was still looking ahead, but her lips had parted slightly, her breathing slower, deeper. There was a tension in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. When she finally turned to face him, her look was sharp. Annoyed, but not exactly angry.

“Stop it,” she murmured, barely audible.

But she still didn’t pull away.

He didn’t stop. Not right away. His fingers moved higher, brushing the inside of her thigh, nearing the edge of her skirt. A smug smile crept across his face, just enough to show her he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he meant to provoke her.

Then, catching him completely off guard, her hand was in his hair, tugging just enough to make him jolt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, voice low but stern.

He looked at her, breath caught in his throat.

“Nothing,” he said, unable to hide a flicker of amusement that made her nose wrinkle in distaste.

Miok studied him. Her hand didn’t let go. “Stop it,” she repeated.

Seungmin withdrew his hand, just as entertained as he was disappointed. Then she added, without removing her fingers from his nape. “Good boy.”

A flush rose instantly to the tips of his ears. She finally let go.

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. His gaze fixed on the hedges across from them, the leaves swaying gently in the wind. His mouth felt dry again, but he drank only to silence the thoughts buzzing in his head like mad bees.

Minutes passed. They didn’t speak. Someone handed him a plate of dessert, but he ignored it.

“You alright?” he found himself asking her, without meaning to.

She didn’t look at him. Just nodded, curtly. “It’s nothing.”

He didn’t push it.

But his hand found her knee again. This time, his fingers didn’t wander, they simply tapped out a rhythm stuck in his head.

And this time, she didn’t tell him to stop.

~

In the past few months, nothing had changed, and yet everything had begun to shift in an irrevocable way.

She had spent countless nights in silence, pacing back and forth along the perimeter of her living room, the city’s glittering skyline reflected in the tall windows.

The offer from the MMCA seemed like the perfect escape route. Freedom. A life she could finally claim as her own, far from her family’s stranglehold. She should have grabbed that opportunity with both hands. She should have been happy. But instead, she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff: to move forward and reach her goal meant risking the loss of all the privileges she’d always taken for granted. Her job, with all its benefits. Her apartment, paid for by her parents. Her circle of friends, the sons and daughters of her parents’ friends and colleagues. Her life.

None of it truly belonged to her. And she had always known that. But she had always believed that, if she played her cards right, she could have everything she wanted without having to give anything up. But to get what she really wanted now, she couldn’t skirt around the obstacle anymore.

Her parents had always been clear: they would support her as long as she worked for the family, as long as she married the right man, as long as she behaved appropriately. They could take everything back. And they would. No ifs or buts.

She had thought she’d built something for herself, on her own. But now she realised that without her parents, she’d have nothing. No status. No friends. No influential contacts. No home. She would no longer have control over anything.

Nothing except Seungmin.

That was what she kept telling herself. That at least with him, she could assert control. That she could use him without consequence. He complained, told her to stop with her lies, and yet he always did what she asked. He always replied when she messaged him, as if he were waiting. He hadn’t even made an effort to have the rumours about their relationship shut down. And she liked it, the way he made her feel. But even that illusion had begun to crack.

It had started with something small.

The way his fingers had brushed her leg that night, under the table, surrounded by people who might have seen.

His touch had been light, almost casual. But it had travelled through her like lightning in a clear sky. Sudden. Almost stealthy.

It hadn’t been part of the plan. It hadn’t been her idea. It had been a way for Seungmin to rebel. And she couldn’t allow that. Not now. Not when everything else was already slipping out of her hands.

She needed to remind him who held the reins of whatever this was. So later, as the evening wound down and the conversations began to fade, she went looking for him. She hadn’t seen him in over half an hour, he’d abruptly left to join Yoonsuk and his friends. She found him alone, wandering through the garden with his eyes lifted to the sky, though there wasn’t a single star in sight.

That’s when she walked towards him, deliberate, silent. They were alone, hidden from the others, the light coming from the villa casting soft shadows across their faces.

“You were bold,” she said, breaking the silence, her voice neutral, but sharp enough to make his shoulders tense.

He turned to face her, then frowned slightly. “What?”

“At the table. When you touched my leg.”

Seungmin hesitated. A pause filled only by the faint sound of laughter somewhere in the distance. He didn’t answer.

“Why did you do it?”

His eyes met hers for a brief second. “I don’t know,” he said at last. He shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. “I wanted to.”

Too casual. Too thoughtless. Miok narrowed her eyes, almost annoyed.

“Because you wanted to?” she echoed, her tone laced with a hint of mockery. “That’s it?”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” he replied, looking back up at the sky. “Seeing as you want everyone to believe we’re seeing each other.”

Miok stepped closer, stopping just one pace from him. “Do you want to touch me again?”

His mouth opened in surprise, as if she’d completely caught him off guard. “What?”

She took his hand. Lifted it. Guided it to her cheek, then downwards, over her jaw, along her neck, stopping just shy of the swell of her breast.

“Miok,” he said, voice low and uncertain. “What are you doing?”

She looked at him. And saw something she hadn’t expected. Surprise. Disorientation. Confusion. But also something else. Something deeper. Desire, perhaps. She smiled, satisfied.

“Do you want me?”

His breath caught. His hand, still held in hers, moved of its own accord, grazing her skin, his palm now cupping her cheek. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers. But just before he could kiss her, she whispered,

“Then say please.”

He froze.

“What?”

Her lips brushed his again, a provocation.

“If you want me, say please.”

He hesitated, puzzled. Looked at her, as if trying to work out whether she was mocking him. “Forget it.”

So she kissed him. Without hesitation, without warning. Deep. Almost rough. Seungmin responded instinctively. His hands stayed on her face, as if, in contrast to a moment earlier, he was too shy to go further. Miok found it adorable. Almost sweet.

She pulled away with the same intensity with which she’d kissed him. Took his hand. With quiet urgency, she led him inside the house, through empty corridors, slipping into the nearest guest bathroom. She locked the door behind them, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him again. This time her fingers slid beneath his shirt, grazing his skin.

He let out a low, desperate sound when her hips met his. And Miok felt it: how much he wanted her, how much power she held in that moment. She felt in control again, like she hadn’t in weeks. This moment belonged to her. This boy was entirely under her power. He was hers.

In a life where everything else had been dictated by strict rules, inherited, handed down, Seungmin was the one thing she had taken. No one had handed him to her on a silver platter. He hadn’t been assigned. She had chosen him, and she could control him.

So when her hips moved against his again and Seungmin let out another moan, her lips curled into a pleased smile.

“Say please,” she whispered into his ear, her breath warm.

He shuddered. She felt it.

“Say it.”

Seungmin swallowed hard. His voice cracked. “Please.”

That was enough.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, her eyes never leaving his. There was a flicker in her gaze, something that made him swallow again before she even touched him. Her fingers undid his trousers with steady, deliberate movements. She parted her lips and took him into her mouth, slow and purposeful.

He jolted, caught off guard by the intensity of it. His head thudded back against the wall. One hand instinctively tangled in her hair.

A moan escaped his lips, echoing faintly in the small, almost claustrophobic room. She moved with intent, her mouth warm, her rhythm controlled. Slow at first, then more insistent, more knowing. She heard the curse that slipped from his mouth, felt the tremors beginning to build in his thighs.

He was falling apart. And she watched him, carefully.

Just as the tension reached its breaking point, she stopped. Abruptly. Without explanation. She stayed on her knees, amused, as he stared down at her, stunned.

“You’re such a bitch,” he muttered.

She laughed, standing up slowly and taking his jaw in her hand. Her eyes sparkled.

“If you want more,” she said, brushing his lips.“Say please.”

This time, he smiled. As if he’d been expecting it. As if it no longer bothered him. As if he liked it.

He pulled her towards him. Kissed her again. “Please.”

That was all she needed. She pushed him gently until he sank to the floor. Lifted her skirt. With one hand on his chest to hold him still, she sank down onto him in one smooth, claiming motion. Her breath caught, sharp and involuntary. She let the sensation settle inside her. Then she began to move. Slow at first, deliberate, as if testing the limits of her power. Every movement was precise, a rhythm she set and he had to follow.

He moaned, the sound deep from his gut, and his fingers dug into her hips as if trying to anchor himself. Her movements grew more urgent. He buried his face in her shoulder.

“Don’t come yet,” she said.

His breath hitched. He clung to her.

“Fuck,” he whispered, trying to hold back, his face twisted in effort.

“Please,” he gasped, the word slipping from his mouth before he could stop it. “Please.”

She kissed him again, open-mouthed, unrestrained, and let go. Release hit her like a slow, consuming wave. Her body tensed. She trembled as it coursed through her. She clung to his shoulders, panting.

Only then, once she’d taken what she wanted, she whispered, “Now it’s your turn.”

And he didn’t need to be told twice. He let go. His whole body arched up into her, his breathing shallow and ragged as he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She smiled, then whispered, satisfied, “Good boy.”

June and July had swept Seungmin up in a whirlwind, tossing him from one stage to another, from city to city, through strobe lights, applause and the frenzied screams of fans. From Milan to London, then Chicago. He had danced, sung, smiled for the cameras, but no matter how many time zones he crossed, one thought refused to leave him.

Miok.

He had tried to hate her with every fibre of his being. She was overbearing, bossy, and far too good with words. She made decisions for both of them, never asked for permission, never apologised. And yet, when she had touched him that night as though she owned every inch of his body, he hadn’t felt as shaken as he had expected to.

He had braced for vulnerability, for confusion, even discomfort. But instead, something inside him had remained completely still. A terrifying sensation, and yet oddly peaceful. She had taken full control, and rather than resist, he had let himself fall into her, as though his resistance had only ever been a game he never truly wanted to win.

Still, for weeks he had promised himself not to call her. Maybe out of pride, or sheer stubbornness. Not while the tour offered the perfect distractions: endless rehearsals, dawn alarms for airport transfers, intercontinental flights, interviews, the rush of performing, the physical exhaustion that hit him after every show. He’d let it all shield him. But in the quiet moments, in departure lounges, trying to focus on a film, or staring at hotel ceilings before falling asleep, she was there. Always.

So, when the plane landed at Incheon, the early August humidity clinging to his skin, he didn’t even pause to think. He just called her. No greeting. No pleasantries. Just her address.

She opened the door of her flat as though she had always known he’d come back. She smiled like she’d just won a bet. They barely made it to the sofa. Then the bed. Then again. And again.

They found their rhythm. His days were filled with choreographies and recording sessions, his nights full of her. A craving he couldn’t shake. He tried to convince himself it was just sex. But every time he left, something inside him broke.

Because it wasn’t just physical. Not when she looked at him like that: vulnerable, sharp, and tired all at once. Not when she said cruel things with a tremor in her voice she didn’t know how to hide.

One night, their legs tangled in the sheets, he flipped her over, grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. A suggestion of pressure. Just enough to reverse the dynamic.

She froze. Instantly.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, startled by her reaction.

“No. It’s nothing.”

He didn’t let go. “Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her eyes locked onto his, defiant. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

He let her go immediately. “Sorry,” he whispered.

She brushed her fingers against his temple. “Keep going.”

Seungmin hesitated, then lowered his face to hers and smiled. “Say please.”

For a moment, she became a stranger. Like a frightened child trying not to show it, trying to muster courage. He saw her part her lips, then close them again.

Then her expression shifted. The mask returned.

“Be a good boy, Seungmin, will you?” she whispered, lifting her hips to meet his.

He obeyed. Because when she spoke to him like that, she always got what she wanted.

The night before the tour began, they were lying side by side in her bed, skin still warm, sheets tangled at their feet. The air conditioning brushed over them. He saw her shiver.

Seungmin spoke first. “Does your mum actually hate me?”

Miok didn’t look at him. “I told you. It’s not about you. She just doesn’t like celebrities.”

“So, hypothetically,” he said with a half-smile. “If I ever met her, do you think she could like me? As a person, I mean.”

She turned her head towards him. “Why would you ever meet her?”

“I said hypothetically.”

There was a pause.

“She might like you,” she admitted at last. “If you weren’t a singer. You come from a good family. You’re polite. Handsome. If you had a respectable job, she might like you.”

He smiled and turned towards her. Propped himself up on one elbow and kissed the tip of her nose. “So, let’s say we started dating. For real. She’d never accept me, would she? Even if she liked me as a person.”

“That’ll never happen. Us, I mean. Dating.”

Something shifted in his expression. He pouted, like a child. “Why not?”

“We don’t actually like each other.”

He laughed, more to cover his disappointment than out of amusement. “Then what’s this?”

She traced the lines of his face with a finger, slow and deliberate. “I’m just using you.”

The words hit him like a bucket of ice water. Not because he didn’t know. But because despite everything, she kept repeating them, over and over, as if trying to convince herself as much as him. But her voice betrayed her: too calm, too controlled. It was obvious she was lying.

He bent down, his mouth brushing against her throat. He kissed her neck, slow and deliberate, until he felt her pulse quicken.

“Stop it, Seungmin,” she said. “You should go. It’s getting late.”

He didn’t stop. His mouth moved lower, tracing her collarbone, the curve of her breast, pausing where her pulse throbbed beneath thin skin. He moved further down, kissing her ribs, her stomach, lingering as he felt her squirm beneath him. Miok let out a sound, barely audible, and shifted restlessly. She parted her legs slightly, an involuntary invitation he answered by brushing his lips against her hipbone, anchoring her with one hand as she leaned towards him, suspended between anticipation and surrender.

“You do like me,” he murmured, smiling.

“I just like having sex.”

“With me.”

Miok opened her mouth to protest, to tell him he was arrogant, full of himself, completely wrong, but the words died in her throat the moment his mouth found her. His tongue moved between her folds with a slow, deliberate pressure that stole her breath. Her hands reached for the sheets, clutching them tightly as her back arched sharply. Her thighs trembled, instinctively trying to close. A cry broke from her throat, helpless and loud, as heat surged through her in waves. Every thought dissolved in the space between them, chased away by the ruthless precision of his mouth, the way he devoured her like he had something to prove. Like he already knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him, not when he touched her like that.

“You’re such an arsehole,” she hissed.

“Just say you like me,” he said again, voice muffled. “Because I like you, Miok.”

She turned her face to the side, jaw clenched, hands gripping the sheets tighter. He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with agonising precision, relentless, circling and pressing until her hips lifted off the bed in a desperate, involuntary rhythm. Miok bit her lip hard, trying to stifle the moans threatening to escape. Her legs clamped around his shoulders, her thighs trembling violently as she unravelled beneath his mouth, a broken cry of his name echoing in the room.

When he finally pulled away, she stared at him, her face flushed, expression unreadable.

“Please don’t like me, Seungmin,” she pleaded.

And this time, he had no clever reply. No sarcastic remark. He stayed silent, curling up beside her. Because that was a promise he knew he couldn’t keep.

~

Seungmin had fallen asleep beside her, his breath soft against the pillow. Miok lay on her side, hair still damp from the shower, watching him in the dim light. He looked younger in his sleep, more like a boy than a man: eyebrows relaxed, lips slightly parted, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. But what caught her attention wasn’t his face. That she knew well. It was his body.

He was thinner. His collarbones jutted out, his wrists looked too slender, his ribs were visible at his sternum beneath pale skin. She knew the past few months had been relentless, just as the upcoming tour would be. The schedule, the travelling, the pressure. And yet there he was, asleep in her bed as if it were the only place he could truly rest.

She pushed the thought away. Coldly. No. She couldn’t afford that. She couldn’t become that kind of person. The kind who cares. Who looks after someone. She couldn’t lose control. Not when control was the only thing she had left. At first, Seungmin had been a tool to deceive her mother. Now, he was her buffer against collapse. A comfort she allowed herself because he made her feel strong.

She knew that if she kept looking at him, she’d feel dangerously close to him, so she sat up and shook his shoulder. “Go home,” she said flatly. “You can’t sleep here.”

He groaned, face pressed into the pillow. “Come on, it takes me almost an hour to get home.”

“I don’t care.”

She grabbed his shirt and trousers off the floor and tossed them at him.

He didn’t move. Stayed where he was.

“I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t want you in my flat.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t,” she said too quickly, her words a defence mechanism. Her voice betrayed her again. Uncertain. Shaky. And the moment her mouth snapped shut, she felt it: control slipping through her fingers like water. The way he stood his ground, the way he looked at her, forced her to take a deep breath, as though she’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. This was her game. Her rules.

She spun on her heels and walked to the front door, yanking it open with too much force. “Leave.”

He followed but stopped in the middle of the living room. Stared at her, motionless. Jaw clenched, chest rising and falling as though restraining words he knew he’d regret.

Still, he didn’t argue. Didn’t raise his voice.

He got dressed in silence. Didn’t look at her, not once. Grabbed his backpack and walked to the door. He didn’t slam it. Didn’t linger.

“You’re such a bitch,” was all he said.

And then he was gone.

Miok stood there for a long time after the door shut, staring at the space he had just occupied, her heart pounding. She didn’t cry. She didn’t open the door to run after him. She simply slid down to the floor, her hands trembling in her lap, and repeated to herself that she didn’t need him.

Miok was spiraling.

The phone call had come that morning, brief and devastating. Yuna’s voice on the other end had sounded polite, composed, almost too calm. She had reminded her that the offer still stood. That they were still willing to consider her, if she was still interested. But they couldn’t wait much longer. A few more days at most. The position needed to be filled. They really needed someone extra, right now.

Miok had thanked her, trying to stay calm. She’d replied that she still needed some time to think, to reflect properly. And she did. Or at least, that’s what she’d believed. But the more the hours passed, the more she realised she wasn’t thinking at all, she was just falling apart. Her mind had become a spinning top, mad and uncontrollable, flying in every direction with no logic.

If she turned it down, nothing would change. Her life would stay exactly as it was: comfortable, cushioned, and entirely subject to the will of her family. She would keep the penthouse overlooking the Han River, the limitless credit cards, the invitations to exclusive events she barely cared about, the ability to buy whatever she wanted without checking her bank balance at the end of the month. No challenges, no hardship. She would remain the perfect daughter, her parents’ daughter. The flawless product.

If she accepted, all of it would be taken from her. Everything would change. She’d have to leave behind the life she had always known; her privileges, her safety net. She’d be on her own for the first time in her life. Without protection. But also free. Free to choose for herself. And most of all, she would finally have the chance to become someone else.

Perhaps even herself.

The thought tightened her chest. Because despite the fear, something dangerous was beginning to bloom inside her, something that felt dangerously close to hope. A feeling she’d never allowed herself to experience. She could build a new life, completely different from the one her parents had spoon-fed her since birth. A life that was hers. Not inherited. Not coordinated. Hers.

She could choose the people she wanted around her.

She could go out with Seungmin without worrying about her mother’s disappointment, if she wanted to.

She shook her head, as if to push that thought away. No. She shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not when her mind was just a chaotic mess of fogged-up thoughts.

Later that evening, she sat across from Sooyeon and Yoonmi in a restaurant as flashy as it was sterile, picking at a salad she didn’t want. She’d lost her appetite hours ago. Her head was just noise, swirling with imagined futures and possible regrets. She hadn’t even noticed her leg was shaking beneath the table.

She set her fork down. “Would you still be my friends if I weren’t me?”

Sooyeon blinked slowly, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean me as my parents’ daughter.”

Sooyeon tilted her head, furrowing her brow slightly. “Well, your life would probably be different, and maybe we wouldn’t have ended up in the same class, so… probably not?”

“No, I mean…” Miok exhaled sharply, frustrated by her own inability to articulate what she meant. “If we had met anyway, but my parents weren’t who they are. Say I was the daughter of office workers, or… I don’t know. Just anyone else. Would you still be my friends?”

Yoonmi shrugged, clearly bored of the whole conversation. “Middle-class kids can’t afford our school.”

Miok stared at her. “Oh God,” she sighed, lowering her gaze to her half-full plate. “You do know what I mean, don’t you? Are we… are we actually friends?”

There was a pause. A silence thick with discomfort.

Sooyeon and Yoonmi exchanged a quick glance, one of those silent conversations girls like them had been trained in since they were small. Miok knew it well, that language, and it didn’t take her long to guess what they were thinking.

“Have you gone mad?” Sooyeon asked, lightly, trying to mask the unease with a smile.

“Yes,” Miok murmured. “Maybe I have.”

She speared a piece of lettuce and forced herself to eat it. It tasted of nothing.

They weren’t truly friends. Not in the way she had secretly envied in other people. She liked Sooyeon and Yoonmi. They were familiar. Part of the architecture of her life. But their friendship had been arranged, not chosen. Their mothers had introduced them before they could even write their names or count to ten, hoping their futures would align.

They’d gone to the same schools, learned to play the same instrument, spent summers at the same international camps. But what did they really know about each other? What secrets had they ever dared to share? Had Miok ever cried in front of them or told them anything that mattered?

She wasn’t so sure.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Yoonmi said, narrowing her eyes. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry.”

“Is it because of that boy?”

Miok looked up, surprised. “What boy?”

Yoonmi smiled, almost mockingly. “You know who. Kim Seungmin. Ever since you started seeing him, you’ve been acting strange.”

She didn’t answer right away. She had tried to ignore it, to reduce him to something insignificant; a distraction, a pastime, a way to keep control. She used to be good at that. At using people, moving them like puppets. But Seungmin didn’t cooperate. He was unpredictable. Disarmingly honest. He said things he wasn’t supposed to say. He told her he liked her. He made her feel wanted, not for her image or her name, but for who she was.

He should have hated her. She was cruel, calculating, despicable. A manipulative bitch, even. And yet, somehow, he didn’t. He looked at her like she was a person. Not someone’s daughter. Not a trophy. A person.

“No,” she finally said in a quiet voice. “There’s nothing between us.”

“So you’re not seeing each other?”

Miok met Yoonmi’s gaze again, ignoring the glint in her eyes. “No, we’re not seeing each other.”

But the words came out uncertain, like a truth she had already stopped believing in.

It was the end of August, and the air had grown unbearably stifling even after the sun had dipped below the horizon. The first two concerts of the tour were over, and the next ones were scheduled for the end of the week. In theory, Seungmin ought to have been resting: sleeping in, avoiding any strain, protecting his voice. But resting was out of the question when Miok kept ignoring him.

She hadn’t replied to his messages, nor returned his calls. And he’d found himself pacing his flat like a caged animal, phone in hand, rereading the last message from days earlier as if it contained some secret code he had yet to decipher. Felix had watched him for a few minutes, visibly concerned, before retreating to his room.

Eventually, he had caved and rang Yoonsuk.

“Are you up to anything these next few days?” he’d asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

He had heard Yoonsuk sigh, as if he already knew exactly where this was going. “There’s some sort of party tomorrow. Sooyeon mentioned it, so there’s a good chance Miok will be there.”

“Can I come too?”

Yoonsuk had hesitated. “Sure, if you really want,” he’d said. “Not exactly your scene, but…” He’d left the sentence hanging, then ended the call.

It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but Seungmin decided it would have to do.

The venue was on the second-to-top floor of a vast skyscraper, with one of those terraces boasting a view grand enough to justify the overpriced cocktails. People floated between groups with drinks in hand, their conversations never quite sparking, always following the same slow, languid rhythm. Seungmin didn’t bother trying to blend in. He’d arrived early. Miok wasn’t there yet. So he waited.

Wandering the space was easier than standing still. He focused on the rhythm of his own footsteps, trying to relax, to avoid thinking about the tight knot at the pit of his stomach. Then a hand brushed his arm, stopping him, and a voice softly called his name.

He turned. Yoonmi. A too-tight smile painted across her face; a gust of vanilla perfume, almost sickly sweet, washed over him as she gave a polite little bow. Seungmin took a step back.

“Are you looking for Miok?” she asked after a string of empty pleasantries to which he’d responded coolly. He hadn’t come there for her and had no interest in anything she had to say. Useless small talk that would lead nowhere. But that question caught his attention, and from the satisfied way Yoonmi was looking at him, she seemed to have noticed that too.

He stared at her. “Yes.”

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head in a deliberately frivolous, almost childlike way.

“I need to talk to her,” he replied simply.

Yoonmi looked vaguely amused. “Honestly, I don’t think she likes you very much.”

His gaze narrowed, his expression suddenly harder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just being nosy, really. The other day I asked if there was something going on between you two, if you were seeing each other, but she said no,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulders with a sharp movement. Her shoulders were so angular they almost looked artificial. Seungmin wondered if she’d had something done to make them that way. “I don’t think she needs you anymore.”

Seungmin stayed silent, absorbing her words. She leaned forward slightly, close enough for the cold rim of her glass to brush against his forearm. He flinched at the sudden chill.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time on someone like her,” Yoonmi added after a pause.

Seungmin’s expression darkened further. “Aren’t you two supposed to be friends?”

“Yes, sort of,” she replied with a sigh, as if the thought annoyed her somehow. “I’m not sure she sees me that way, though. She only lives for herself. Doesn’t care about anyone else. I like her, but… well, you know what she’s like. Everything depends on whether you’re useful to her. As long as she needs you, everything’s fine. But the moment she gets what she wants, she’ll throw you away without a second thought.”

Seungmin couldn’t quite figure out what her real aim was. If it was to make him think less of Miok, she had failed. He only felt pity. Pity for Miok, forced to move through a world filled with people who didn’t think twice about speaking behind the backs of those they called friends. And he wanted to say something, to tell Yoonmi she was wrong. But he stopped listening before she could finish her sentence, because from the corner of his eye, he saw her walk in. Miok. And she was staring at them with that usual composed expression she always wore, barely concealing an irritation Seungmin had learned to recognise but never quite knew how to read.

He didn’t hesitate. He headed straight for her, ignoring Yoonmi’s protests.

“Why are you here?” she asked the moment he reached her.

“Yoonsuk invited me,” he replied.

Miok looked around. “I don’t see him.”

Seungmin shook his head, more out of frustration than as an actual answer. “Maybe he’ll show up later.”

The conversation stalled for a few seconds. She folded her arms across her chest, raising her eyebrows slightly. Seungmin had come to that party for one reason only: to see her. To speak to her, even if only for a few minutes. Nothing more. He’d spent days imagining how their encounter might go, what to say, what tone to use, how to carry himself. But now that she was right there in front of him, in the flesh, he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

What was it he actually wanted to say? What was he hoping for? Did he want to convince her to come back to him, to change her mind? Or did he just need a sign that she wasn’t erasing him completely, that somewhere deep down she still needed him? He didn’t know. The only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t leave without knowing for certain that she wouldn’t vanish from his life for good.

Maybe he hadn’t come to win her back. Because, despite everything, being without Miok felt more unbearable than any other outcome.

“Why were you talking to her?” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“To who?”

“To Yoonmi,” she replied through clenched teeth.

Seungmin turned to look back in the direction he’d come from. Yoonmi had joined a nearby group but was still sneaking glances their way, not even trying to be subtle about it.

“Oh… she approached me first. I barely listened to half of what she said,” he replied.

“She was flirting with you,” said Miok, her voice flat. “I think she’s got a crush on you. Or she wants people to think she does.”

“So what?” he said. “I’m not interested.”

Miok let out a nervous laugh. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what?”

“Made sure I saw you with her,” Miok said, as if it were obvious. “You did it to get under my skin.”

It was Seungmin’s turn to laugh, bewildered. He looked at her. On the surface, nothing seemed off. But if he paid closer attention, he could see how anxious she was; the way her fingers kept pinching the skin on her elbow, the way her voice faltered just before the end of each sentence.

“She was the one who came up to me, I was just being polite,” he said, nearly annoyed. “I’m not the kind of person who plays stupid games.”

Miok’s gaze turned darker, sharper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh for God’s sake, it doesn’t mean anything!” he exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Miok glanced around, as if checking to see whether anyone was watching them. It was obvious she was holding back, keeping a lid on her emotions just to avoid making a scene. But Seungmin didn’t know how to break the stalemate. They weren’t getting anywhere, not like this. Not when she seemed constantly on guard, bracing for a blow that might never come.

“I don’t understand why you’re ignoring me,” he said at last, stepping closer to draw her attention back to him.

“I wonder why…” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Could you stop being a bitch for just one second?”

She snapped her head up, as if to scold him. “Why? I don’t even know why you came here. Isn’t it obvious I don’t want to talk to you? Why can’t you just accept that?”

Seungmin sighed. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

She gave a bitter smirk. “Yes, I can. If I want to.”

“But do you really want to?”

Miok didn’t reply. She turned away without another word and walked off. Not in anger, but with calculated composure. As if she’d rehearsed the scene a hundred times. And somehow, that made it worse. The way she moved, as if nothing could touch her, as if none of it mattered, made Seungmin clench his fists until his nails dug into his palms. Her apparent calm only highlighted the chaos inside him. He decided to follow her, slipping into the corridor that led to the lift.

“Miok!” he called, sharply.

She stopped in her tracks and turned; her expression so cold it almost stripped her of all humanity. “Can you tell me what exactly it is that you want from me?”

He didn’t answer but held her gaze.

“Whatever it is,” she went on, “I can’t give it to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t be part of the plan anymore,” she said at last, almost resigned. “You’re a risk I can’t afford. I can’t feel anything for you.”

He let out a laugh. A nervous, almost hysterical laugh. Painful. “Because your parents don’t approve? Because I’m not some fucking CEO of a multinational?”

“No, it has nothing to do with them,” she shot back, more sharply now. “It’s me. I’m the one who doesn’t want you.”

“Why?” he pressed, stepping closer again. His hands were shaking. “What exactly are you so afraid of?”

And with those words, something cracked. Until that moment, Seungmin had felt like he was witnessing an internal war, her relentless fight to suppress every emotion, every flicker of weakness. But for the first time since he’d known her, Seungmin saw Miok truly fall apart.

~

Miok collapsed, as if something inside her had broken. It wasn’t a theatrical gesture. She sank to the floor as though, all of a sudden, nothing was holding her up anymore; her knees folding beneath her, hands covering her face, fingers pressed into her skin, her eyes beginning to burn, though she hadn’t yet started crying. A strangled sound escaped her throat, somewhere between a held breath and a stifled moan. Her body trembled slightly, as if it were trying with all its might to resist the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her.

Seungmin had always seen her as someone who held herself together, constantly in control. Even in moments when he’d glimpsed some vulnerability in her expression, Miok had always seemed protected by a carefully constructed barrier, designed to keep the world at bay. But now, there was none of that. And in this sudden moment of fragility, perhaps Seungmin saw her for the first time. The real Miok.

He called her name, quietly, almost uncertain. It came out as a whisper, as if he were afraid of frightening her.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t lower her hands from her face, as if the very idea of being seen in that state was unbearable. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled. “Everything’s slipping out of my hands, Seungmin.”

He hesitated before taking a step forward.

“I could lose everything, do you understand?” she went on. Her voice broke, as though she no longer had the strength to continue. “And you... you come here, expecting to be a part of my life, as if it wasn’t already complicated enough.”

It wasn’t what Seungmin had expected to hear. She couldn’t see him, but his expression changed, grew more serious, more tense. “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer right away. She just tried to catch her breath, tried to calm the rhythm of it, which had grown shallow and rapid. Her gaze was fixed on her feet, her shoulders tense. Seungmin crouched down in front of her and gently took hold of her wrists, his hands warm, his touch light. He moved hers away from her face, forcing her to let herself be seen.

“What are you talking about?” he repeated. His voice was firmer now, but not harsh.

Miok let him touch her. She didn’t pull away, but she still avoided his eyes. She looked up at the ceiling, as though searching there for an answer. She tried to speak, but the words tangled on her tongue. “I... I don’t...” she whispered, then closed her eyes. “Please, Seungmin. Leave me alone. I can’t do this. I really tried. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

Seungmin didn’t move. He held her wrists a little tighter, just enough for her to feel he was still there.

“Miok, please. Tell me what’s going on. You’re starting to scare me.”

She looked at him, only for a moment, as if even that glance required a huge effort. A brief contact, but enough. There was something different in Seungmin’s eyes, they were shinier, a little red at the edges. It wasn’t pity, not quite. Tenderness, maybe. An uncomfortable tenderness that she didn’t know what to do with, and that she didn’t believe she deserved.

Miok felt a pang that started in her stomach and spread across her chest. It was absurd that he was looking at her like that, right now, after everything she’d done to him. She felt she owed him an explanation. The words formed in her mouth before she even had the chance to decide whether or not to speak. And finally, she did.

“I just wanted to be independent. I wanted to be free of everything. My parents, their expectations, their stupid rules. I received an offer... a job offer, from the MMCA. And I thought maybe it was finally the right moment to... to leave the Foundation. To stop working for my parents and do something I genuinely cared about, something that gave me a sense of purpose. I thought that if I played my cards right, I could have everything I wanted, like always: the job I dreamed of and my family’s support. Without losing anything. But it’s not possible. They won’t let me choose.”

She paused, running a hand through her hair, maybe to buy herself a bit of time to organise her thoughts. Then she continued.

“And then there’s you. You were just a tool. A strategy to keep them quiet. It was all calculated. You didn’t even like me, you found me annoying. There was no risk, because there was no way you’d get attached. But then you started saying strange things. That you liked me. Me, who only used you for my own ends. Me, who’s nothing but selfish. I didn’t push you away when I should have, I kept you close because it made me feel better. I didn’t think for a second about how you might be feeling, and now I feel like shit. Because you don’t deserve that.”

Only after she’d finished, breathless now, did she dare look up. And what she saw disarmed her. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he didn’t try to hide them. There was no sadness in his eyes, only frustration. Miok stood up abruptly, almost angry.

“Why the hell are you crying?”

He stood as well. Wiped his face with the back of his hand, almost embarrassed. “Because you’re talking absolute rubbish.”

She shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. “It’s true. Without them, without my parents, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

“Then start building something. From nothing!” he burst out. “What exactly are you afraid of losing? That world, the one you live in, you don’t even like it.”

Miok tried to reply, but he cut her off before she could speak.

“What would you actually miss?” he pressed. “The parties you find dull and pointless? The friends who don’t think twice about slagging you off behind your back? Your family, who won’t let you live your life? Who expect you to marry someone just to protect their image? Tell me, Miok. Are you really afraid of losing all that?”

She stared at him. The tears finally began to fall, and she didn’t even notice. She’d almost forgotten what crying felt like. It was like a new sensation. She didn’t try to stop them. “And what if I fail?” she asked, with a sincerity that made Seungmin realise she wasn’t pretending anymore. That the girl in front of him was the one Miok had spent a lifetime hiding. “What if I end up in a situation I can’t... I don’t know how to handle?”

Seungmin placed his hands on her arms, as if afraid she might collapse again. His expression had softened.

“I’m scared,” she said again, more quietly. “Scared that the job might go badly. That I’ll fail. That I’ll have to go back with my tail between my legs. Admit my parents were right all along. That without them, I can’t do anything.”

She looked at him and stepped closer, grabbing a fold of his T-shirt and holding onto it between her fingers. “And I’m scared to admit that I like you too, Seungmin. That I don’t just need you for convenience. But I’m not sure I can give you that kind of power over me. If I did, I really wouldn’t know what to do.”

“It’s not about having everything under control,” he said. “No one does. And I know it’s hard, I struggle with that too. But we have to learn to live with it. With the fear of messing up.”

She nodded, but didn’t look convinced. Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching his shirt tighter now, her thumbs brushing against the skin of his stomach.

“I don’t want to have control over you, Miok,” he went on, letting his hands fall from her arms to rest at his sides. Her grip on his shirt tightened even more, as if to keep him from pulling away. “I just want to be with you. In spite of everything.”

She bit down hard on her bottom lip. New tears welled up in her red-rimmed eyes. “And what if I ruin everything?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Then it means that’s how it was meant to be.”

Miok rested her forehead against his chest and let out a sigh. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Seungmin wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. She could hear the fast but steady rhythm of his heart. As ridiculous as it was, it calmed her.

“You can do it,” he whispered, brushing her hair with his lips. “We can.”

It was late by the time he finally landed, and he didn’t bother stopping by his place first. The flight from Tokyo had left him sore and slightly dazed, but it didn’t matter. Not when he was finally going to see her again after weeks apart.

He rang the doorbell twice before the door opened and she appeared in front of him. She blinked a few times, surprised, before breaking into a smile.

“Well,” he said, once inside the flat. “This is a big change.”

She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest and leaning a shoulder against the wall. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do,” he replied, letting the door close behind him. “It suits you more, somehow. It feels more yours.”

For a while, she didn’t say anything. She just tilted her head slightly, a faint, amused smile on her lips. It wasn’t the flat they used to meet in, the one with open spaces and clean, austere lines. This one was small, intimate. Warm. There were art catalogues stacked on the floor next to an old sofa, and mugs left in the sink. A drying rack had been abandoned by the window, waiting to be put away.

Seungmin dropped his backpack next to the little kitchen and, without warning, leaned in and kissed her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, laughing against his lips.

“I missed you.”

She paused for a moment, as if the statement had caught her completely off guard. Then she smiled, placing the palm of her hand against his chest to steady him. “I missed you too. But you must be exhausted. Why don’t you sit down? Do you want a cup of tea? Or are you hungry? Did they feed you on the plane?”

He didn’t answer. He kissed her again, slower this time, then his lips wandered to her neck and her laughter melted into a soft sigh.

“Seungmin…”

“Please,” he murmured, his mouth warm against her skin. “I’ve missed you so much.”

She was still smiling when he guided her toward the bedroom. They undressed without rush, without urgency. His shirt, her shorts, fell along the way. They were down to their underwear when he knelt, brushing his lips against her stomach. His fingers slid beneath the fabric of her panties, teasing her until she gasped.

He stopped.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, breathless.

A sly smile curled his lips. “If you want me to keep going,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Say please.”

She let out a soft groan, then gave in with a laugh. “Please.”

That was enough. He touched her slowly, deliberately; his fingers stroked and pressed, coaxing gentle moans from her lips. He kissed her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, until she trembled beneath him.

When he kissed her again, she reached for him, sliding her hand beneath the waistband of his briefs. He was hard against her, and Miok didn’t hesitate.

“I need you,” she whispered.

He kissed her mouth, intoxicated by her touch. “You know what you have to say.”

She looked at him, this time without a smile. Without teasing.

“I love you.”

He froze, just for a second. But those words, spoken plainly but not lightly, hit him harder than he’d expected. Her eyes were on his, clear and sincere.

“I love you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He lined himself up and she welcomed him, eager. There was no game this time, no resistance, only them. They moved together, and for the first time there was no control, no distance, no need to pretend.

Just two people in love.

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