jjk

he snorted, and for a second you forgot why you’d come here at all.

then your hand shook just enough for coffee to ripple over the rim.

nicholas reached out automatically to steady the cup.

neither of you commented on it.

he’d gotten good at that.

and you’d gotten good at pretending not to notice him getting good at it.

the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. it was crowded—full of everything neither of you were brave enough to hold at the same time.

there was no “tomorrow” that felt clean anymore.

just the fact sitting between you both, unspoken but never gone.

that you were going to die.

that there wasn’t a version of this story where it ended differently.

so you didn’t talk about it.

not because it wasn’t real.

because it was too real to touch directly.

so today, nicholas would point out a dog wearing a tiny yellow raincoat with absolute sincerity, and you both would spend five minutes arguing over whether the dog looked embarrassed.

it was a ridiculous conversation.

but it was perfect.

you found yourself watching him while he wasn’t looking.

the crease between his brows that had become permanent sometime in the last few months.

the way he smiled before he turned toward you, as if making sure you’d never catch whatever expression came first.

the exhaustion he thought he hid.

you wondered which memories would survive you.

whether he’d remember your voice accurately.

whether he’d forget the exact color of your eyes.

whether one day he’d hear a joke you’d have loved and instinctively reach for his phone before remembering there was nowhere left to send it.

the thought settled somewhere behind your ribs.

“what?” he asked, catching you staring.

you looked away.

“nothing.”

it was easier than saying:

i’m trying to memorize your face before i run out of time.

or even worse:

i’m terrified you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to remember mine.

—

by evening, the sky had softened into gold.

the kind of light that made everything feel like it was already turning into a memory while it was still happening.

you and nicholas ended up by the water without really choosing it—as if your day had quietly agreed for you.

he dropped onto the dock first, legs stretched out, leaning back on his palms. you sat beside him, close enough that your shoulder immediately found his.

“you know,” he said, squinting at the horizon, “i think the sun is just showing off at this point.”

“it does feel a little personal.”

“it is personal,” he said seriously. “it’s trying to emotionally manipulate us.”

you let out a quiet laugh. “it’s working.”

a moment passes.

then, lightly—

“hey,” nicholas said. “do you ever think about the first time we met?”

you tilted your head. “unfortunately, yes.”

“excuse me?”

“you were so shy i thought you were going to disappear on the spot.”

he groaned. “that’s not what happened.”

“it is exactly what happened.”

you shifted a little closer, your knee pressing into his.

this story came back easily between you two now, like one you’d imagined telling at your wedding someday—before either of you had realized how fragile “someday” really was.

“you weren’t even talking,” you continued, smiling at the memory. “you were just standing there while euijoo was trying to introduce us, like you’d completely forgotten how to be a person for a second—just staring at me in the cutest way.”

nicholas covered his face with one hand. “i was thinking.”

“you were totally malfunctioning.”

he peeked at you through his fingers. “i recall saying hello.”

“a whisper does not count as speech, nico.”

from somewhere deep in his chest, he let out a long sigh and dropped his hand.

“i still remember thinking i looked so stupid,” he admitted, eyes flicking away toward the water. “like… i couldn’t get a single word out. i kept replaying it over and over after. i was like, ‘that’s it. that’s how i die socially. in front of the prettiest girl ever.’”

your expression softened a little at that.

but then you smiled.

“did you know that i immediately asked euijoo about you after you left?”

that made him freeze.

“…wait,” he said slowly. “i thought i did that. i asked euijoo about you first.”

you hummed, still calm. “in your version of events? yeah.”

his brow furrowed a little. “what do you mean my version?”

“i mean,” you said, a little too casually, “you think you asked euijoo about me first, got my info, and then we started talking.”

he nodded immediately. “because i did.”

then you added, easy as anything, “i asked euijoo about you first.”

nicholas blinked.

once.

twice.

then his whole face shifted. “wait—what??”

you just shrugged, still tucked into his side like this wasn’t about to rewrite his entire personality.

“we met, then i asked euijoo about you, got your info, and then you messaged me later.”

his jaw dropped. “so you’re telling me i thought i made the first move this whole time?”

“correct.”

“for years??”

“correct.”

he stared at you for a second—then broke.

“oh my god,” he groaned, half laughing now. “you liked me first. you were obsessed with me first.”

“i was not obsessed.”

“you literally pre-ordered my existence.”

“that’s not—no.”

“you did. you were scouting me.”

you were laughing now too, fully, trying to hide your face against his shoulder. “see? this is exactly why i didn’t tell you.”

he wrapped his arm more securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

“i can’t believe this,” he said, still grinning. “i’ve been living a lie—”

then he kissed you.

gently, like he was careful not to rush it.

his hand steady at your waist while his other came up to your cheek, thumb brushing there like he was trying to memorize every detail of you.

like holding on a little longer might slow down the fact that he was running out of time with you.

—

for a while, neither of you spoke again.

not because there was nothing to say.

because there was too much.

eventually—

“can i ask you something?” he said.

you already knew what it would be.

still, you nodded.

his voice came quieter now. “are you scared?”

you didn’t answer right away.

the water moved like it didn’t understand the question.

“…yeah,” you admitted finally. “i am.”

he exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that answer in his chest too.

“me too,” he said.

then, quicker, like honesty scared him more than anything else—

“i’m scared of such silly things,” he added. “like… forgetting your voice. or saying your name one day and realizing it doesn’t sound the same in my head anymore.”

that made your chest tighten.

you nodded slightly, like you understood more than you wanted to.

then, softer—

“and that’s what i scared of,” you said.

he looked at you.

you still weren’t fully facing him.

“i keep thinking about you doing that,” you said.

his brow furrowed. “doing what?”

you swallowed.

“trying to keep going,” you said. “like you always do. like you think you're supposed to.”

you finally turned your head toward him.

and your voice broke a little when you spoke again.

“i don’t want you to turn this into something you survive alone nico.”

nicholas’s expression shifted immediately.

“what?” he said, like he didn’t understand where this was going. “of course i won’t—”

but you shook your head, cutting him off gently.

“no,” you said. “listen to me.”

your hand tightened around his.

“i know you,” you continued. “i know how you get when you’re hurting. i know how you go quiet. how you act like you’re fine so nobody else has to carry it with you.”

his mouth opened, then closed again.

you took a shaky breath.

“and i need you to not do that with this,” you said.

your eyes finally met his fully.

“i need you to not disappear into it,” you said. “not make it into something you carry alone just because i’m not there to stop you.”

that hit him hard enough that his face changed completely.

“i’m not going to—” he started, immediate, defensive, like he could argue the future into behaving.

but it broke halfway through.

“…you don’t get to decide what i feel,” he said, but there was no anger in it. just fear trying to sound like control.

“i’m not deciding,” you said quickly. “i’m just—”

your breath caught.

“i’m just asking you not to let this become the only thing you’re made of after i’m gone.”

that word landed like a stone in still water.

gone.

nicholas went very still.

for a second, it looked like he might argue again.

then his shoulders dropped slightly, like something in him had given up pretending.

“…what am i supposed to do then?” he asked, voice rough. smaller now. “just… be okay?”

you shook your head immediately.

“no,” you said. “no, i'm not asking you to be okay.”

a pause.

“i just don’t want you to only be sad.”

his breath hitched.

you stepped closer without thinking, like your body needed to close the distance your words had opened.

“this might be selfish,” you whispered, “but i don’t want you to remember me as something that only hurts. i don’t want that to be what i turn into for you.”

his eyes were already glassy now.

“and i don’t want you to think you have to be broken to prove you loved me.”

then, softer—almost shaking, but gentler now:

“you don’t have to prove anything,” you added, “not to me. not to anyone. i already know how much you love me… everyone knows. anyone who’s ever looked at you for even a second knows how much you love me.”

that did it.

his expression cracked fully.

“…that’s not fair,” he whispered.

“i know,” you said, crying now too. “i know it’s not fair. i just—”

your voice broke completely.

“i just need you to live past this in a way that doesn’t break you…” you said, giving him a sweet, almost pleading look, like you were trying to make it feel lighter than it was. “…for me, okay?”

nicholas didn’t even hesitate.

he stepped into you like there was no other option.

his arms wrapped around you fast—tight, urgent, like he was afraid you might slip out of the moment if he didn’t hold on.

“i don’t know how to do that,” he said, voice breaking. “i don’t know how to do any of it without you.”

you held him just as tightly, trying to wipe his tears away, but it didn’t stop them.

“then don’t do it all at once,” you whispered, still holding him close. your hand moved slowly through his hair, gentle and steady. “just don’t leave yourself behind.”

and for a long time, that was all either of you could say.

until silence stopped being something between you

When you walk in dressed in white, everyone stands.

He does too.

He applauds when everyone applauds. Smiles when everyone smiles. Even laughs when someone beside him whispers, "They look so perfect together."

He thinks his heart forgets how to beat for a second.

After the ceremony, you find him in the crowd with that smile he’s always loved.

The same smile you've given him for years.

The one he was stupid enough to mistake for something more.

"I'm really glad you came euijoo."

He looks at you for a second too long.

Long enough to memorize the way happiness looks on you.

Long enough to wonder if there would've been a universe where you wore white for him instead.

The words gather in his throat anyway.

Don't marry them.

Look at me.

Please.

Please choose me just once.

But your eyes are so full of a future that doesn't have him in it that he can't bring himself to ruin it.

So he smiles.

Small. Careful.

"I'm happy for you."

You thank him with that gentle, absentminded warmth reserved for old friends and kind strangers.

But nothing more.

It should hurt less than it does.

Someone calls for pictures.

You step closer without thinking, your hand brushing his sleeve for the briefest second before instinct carries it back to the person waiting beside you.

The touch is so light he could almost convince himself it never happened.

The photographer counts down.

Three.

Two.

One.

He smiles for the camera, teeth showing—because you’ve always loved it that way.

Years from now, people will look at that photograph and say he looked genuinely happy.

They'll never hear about the drive home with one hand clenched so tightly around the steering wheel his knuckles turned white.

They'll never know he sat in the dark outside his apartment long after midnight because going inside meant accepting there was nowhere left in the world where you might still be waiting for him.

And they'll never know that, before he finally went to bed, he took your chat to the top of his screen one last time...

"you?"

"it has my face."

"it's a puppy."

"exactly."

you'd spent the next ten minutes listening to him bark at you to prove his point.

so now your sign reads, in giant glitter letters:

go maki 🐶🇯🇵

surrounding the words are at least thirteen terribly drawn little puppies. some have floppy ears, some have pointy ears, one somehow has three legs, and obviously another is wearing sunglasses.

you'd spent far more time making it than you'd ever admit out loud.

as the team runs out, you rise with the rest of the crowd, giving a small hop as you hold your sign above your head.

the moment maki steps onto the field, he spots it.

you actually watch the realization hit him from halfway across the stadium.

his eyes go impossibly wide.

his mouth falls open.

and then every ounce of composure leaves his body.

both of his arms shoot into the air, and he starts waving with enough enthusiasm to catch the attention of half your section. he’s bouncing on his toes, pointing at your sign, then at himself, then back again, similar to his reaction when he sees a free sample stand at the grocery store.

he's practically looking at everyone around him like,

"look! look! that's me! that's for me!"

you can't help but laugh.

neither can the people sitting around you.

somewhere in the stadium, a camera zooms in, because there's no way something this ridiculous escapes the broadcast, and the commentators are already trying to explain why one member of japan's starting lineup looks like he just reunited with his long-lost family.

and like a ripple spreading outward, maki’s reaction pulls the rest of his team into a wave of slight chaos as well.

jo is already doubled over laughing.

nicholas has his face buried in his hands.

yuma is actually applauding.

fuma looks like he's about two seconds away from falling over.

and even ej glances over, notices your sign, and sends you the sweetest little wave before looking back at maki with the expression of someone who absolutely saw this coming.

the entire line has turned to stare at him.

then, from somewhere behind them—

"maki!"

the coach's loud voice cuts through everything.

he freezes instantly.

"...yes, coach."

"stop jumping."

"...okay."

for exactly five seconds, he behaves.

then he sneaks another gigantic wave in your direction.

the coach pinches the bridge of his nose.

k, wearing the captain's armband and trying so hard to be the responsible one, reaches over with all the exhausted patience of someone who's dealt with this before and physically lowers one of maki's arms.

"save it until after the match."

maki nods with complete sincerity.

waits approximately half a second.

then immediately raises his other hand and waves again.

k just gives up.

by now you're laughing so hard you have to sit down before your knees give out.

the girl next to you watches the entire exchange, looks at your puppy-covered sign, then back at the boy on the field who's now very obviously trying to make a heart over his head before k shoves his arms back down again.

she leans over.

"...does he know you?"

you look back toward the field just in time to catch maki glancing over again.

the second your eyes meet, his face lights up all over again before he hastily disguises it by pretending to stretch with an expression that is, frankly, convincing absolutely no one.

you look back at the girl.

"...i mean..."

you let the sentence hang for a second.

"...we've definitely met before."

which is technically true.

and technically doesn't answer her question at all.

—

the whistle blows.

and just like that, everything changes.

it’s almost unfair how quickly maki disappears into the game, like someone flipped a switch and turned all that chaotic, puppy energy into something sharp and unstoppable. one second he’s still grinning from your direction, and the next he’s gone into it completely.

he’s everywhere.

winning tackles that make the crowd inhale at once.

making runs that look impossible until he somehow turns them real.

slipping passes through spaces that definitely should not exist.

every time he gets the ball, your entire section erupts like it’s a personal event.

by the time halftime rolls around, your voice is gone, stolen somewhere between cheering and laughing and screaming his name with everyone else.

then the second half barely settles before it happens.

he scores.

of course he scores.

the stadium erupts into a roar.

it’s not even just noise anymore—it feels like the air itself is shaking, like the whole place has decided to forget how to be quiet at once. his teammates crash into him in a pile of celebration, dragging him down in a tangle of arms and laughter, but somehow he slips free almost immediately.

and instead of running back to the group—

he turns.

straight toward your section.

it’s not casual. not accidental. not even subtle in the slightest.

he finds you instantly.

like he was always going to.

without hesitation, he taps the badge on his jersey once, then points directly at you.

not the crowd.

not vaguely in your direction.

at. you.

your brain short-circuits on contact.

you instinctively point back, except it comes out more like a horrified accusation than a celebration.

for a half second, everything freezes.

then he breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face.

the people around you slowly start turning their heads.

you can feel it—the shift, the realization creeping through your section.

the dad behind you looks from maki…

to you…

back to maki again.

he pauses.

then, very quietly, like he’s just solved a puzzle:

“…oh.”

that single word is enough.

the girls sitting next to you immediately explode.

“he was looking at you.”

“wait—that was for you, right?”

“do you know him??”

your face is absolutely, catastrophically warm—somewhere between embarrassment and the exact shade of the jersey on the field.

down below, chaos is still unfolding.

k has maki by the shoulders now, trying—unsuccessfully—to redirect him back toward the actual team celebration while laughing so hard he can barely keep his balance.

harua is openly pointing up into the stands.

taki is absolutely looking right at you.

and maki is still trying to angle himself back toward your section like he has not, in fact, just been physically restrained by his captain.

the broadcast camera catches all of it.

every second of it.

and somewhere, without you needing to see it, you already know what’s happening—phones lighting up, clips being cut, reactions multiplying faster than anyone can track.

because within minutes, social media is no longer normal.

it has stopped functioning entirely.

—

after the win comes the press conference.

and for a brief, fragile moment, everyone tries to pretend they're being normal about it.

but they're not.

the first questions are exactly what you’d expect—strategy, formations, team chemistry, the usual careful post-match choreography of professional answers and polite nodding. the players slip into it easily, like muscle memory.

almost convincingly.

then a reporter smiles.

not the professional kind of smile either. the kind that already knows where this is going.

“maki…”

he immediately breaks.

a laugh slips out before he can stop it, small and betrayed.

“…yes?”

the reporter tilts their head slightly. “after your goal, there seemed to be someone very specific you were pointing at.”

that does it.

his ears go red almost instantly.

“um—”

he tries to recover, but he’s already giggling too much, like his face has completely stopped listening to him.

another reporter jumps in before he can escape.

“and before the match, you seemed very excited to see someone in the crowd.”

now he’s properly flustered. he looks down at the table like it might save him.

“i—”

a third voice, mercilessly calm.

“was there anyone in particular you were playing for today?”

that one lands completely.

he makes a sound that is halfway between a laugh and surrender, actually covering his face for a second as his shoulders shake. his ears are fully red now, and there is no coming back from it.

he cannot answer.

he is, unfortunately, nervously laughing too hard into the microphone to form human words.

at the end of the table, k slowly reaches over and slides the microphone toward himself with the quiet resignation of someone who has seen too much.

he straightens.

perfect posture. captain face. absolute professionalism.

“the entire team always appreciates the support of every fan in the stadium.”

clean. safe. untouchable.

a model answer.

the room nods like that settles everything.

but it doesn't.

because next to him, maki is still smiling down at the table like he’s trying—and failing—to look like someone who was not just emotionally destroyed by a single question. he keeps pressing his lips together like it might help.

but it doesn't help.

nicholas, two seats over, refuses to look at him at all, which is honestly worse, because his shoulders are already shaking like he’s one glance away from losing it on camera.

someone mutters something off-mic.

maki hears it.

laughs again.

k closes his eyes for half a second like he is asking the universe for strength.

the clip goes up almost immediately.

within minutes, it’s everywhere.

and the top comment, sitting there at the very top like a verdict delivered by the internet itself, reads:

bro is not beating the boyfriend allegations

—

after everything—the win, the noise, the interviews, the slow unraveling of maki on international television—you don’t actually expect him to appear so fast afterward.

but he does.

and he doesn’t slow down.

doesn’t wave.

doesn’t even attempt anything resembling composure.

just maki, suddenly there, walking (if you can even call it that) straight toward you like the world is something he can simply push through if he wants to.

he reaches out and pulls you into the biggest hug imaginable, like he’s been holding it in all day and finally ran out of patience for restraint.

it’s tight, immediate, a little breathless in the way only him and post-match adrenaline can be.

you’re tucked firmly in his arms, pressed in close enough that your voice comes out a little muffled when you finally speak, and you tilt your head up to look at him.

“you literally pointed straight at me,” you say, like you’re reminding him of something deeply incriminating.

his hand pauses before he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear while looking down at you, like he’s already decided there’s no real defense for this.

“…i know,” he answers immediately.

“in front of the entire world.”

“…i know.”

“maki,” you try again, but it doesn’t carry much weight when you’re still leaning into him, cheek pressed against him like you’ve forgotten how to stand on your own.

he goes still for a moment, then sighs softly.

“…i got excited to see you,” he admits, quieter now, his head resting lightly on top of yours as he holds you a little closer.

that, unfortunately, ruins your attempt at being serious.

you look up at him properly, and there it is again—that same boyish expression, a little sheepish, a little too pleased, like he’s already forgiven himself and is just waiting for you to catch up.

you reach up and poke his cheek.

not hard. just enough to make him blink.

“you looked so happy,” you say softly, like you can’t quite stop the pride from showing, your voice full of quiet affection.

“i am,” he says right away, completely honest, no second thought.

“the coach had to tell you to stop waving,” you continue, voice lighter now, like you’re trying not to laugh.

“…yeah.”

“k physically had to hold your arm down,” you add.

“…you're not wrong.”

“and the press conference?” you say, already smiling.

that finally gets him.

he lets out a quiet laugh, and it breaks you too, the two of you dissolving into it together—standing close, shoulders brushing, like you’ve forgotten there’s anyone else around.

it fades slowly, but not all the way.

he leans in first, resting his forehead gently against yours, like he’s been doing it forever and will keep doing it long after this moment is over.

“did i do okay?” he asks, quieter now.

the question is so simple it almost feels out of place after everything.

you don’t even hesitate.

“you were incredible,” you say, and there’s no teasing in it for once, just certainty. “you were everywhere. that goal was ridiculous. i was screaming so much i genuinely don’t think i have a voice left.”

“…i heard you,” he says.

that makes you pause.

“wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes a little, “you could hear me?”

he nods like it’s obvious. “the whole time.”

there’s something about the way he says it—so matter-of-fact, so quietly pleased—that makes your chest feel strangely warm.

so you do what you always do when you don’t trust your emotions to behave properly.

you fix his hair.

it’s still messy from the match, still refusing to cooperate, and he leans into your hand without even thinking about it.

“you looked really cool,” you murmur.

that’s when he finally starts to fall apart again.

“stop,” he says, but it’s weaker this time.

“you did,” you continue anyway, because of course you do. “you were so, so cool… world cup goal scorer maki. i don’t think i’ll ever get over that.”

“…stopppp,” he repeats, but now he’s definitely red again.

“and,” you add, lightly nudging him until his eyes meet yours, “pretty handsome too.”

that one finishes him.

he lets out a weak, failed protest before immediately hiding his face against your shoulder, utterly defeated.

“you’re making fun of me,” he mumbles into you.

“no, i’m not,” you say quickly, voice soft and steady. “i really am proud of you. i’m so so so proud of you.”

then, after a pause that feels softer than everything before it, his voice drops.

“… i’m really proud of you too.”

that makes you go quiet for a second.

for a moment, your mind flickers back—late nights during his world cup training, when everything was exhausting and time barely felt real. when he barely had time to breathe, let alone anything else. and still, you showed up. still waited. still stayed through all the hardest parts without asking for anything back.

he adds quietly, softer now. “thank you… for staying. for all of it.”

so you just squeeze his hand a little tighter in return.

when he finally speaks again, it’s almost hesitant.

“…can i keep the sign?”

you glance up at him.

“the puppy one?”

he nods immediately.

you tilt your head slightly, studying him. “are you sure? it’s not even that cute.”

“of course it is,” he says right away, like there’s no question at all.

you just stare at him for a second.

he doesn’t budge under your look. “it's mine.”

he takes it carefully, like it’s something far more fragile than paper and glitter and questionable art skills. both hands. serious now.

he smooths it out gently, folds it with more care than it probably deserves, and tucks it against his chest like he’s decided it belongs there.

when the team starts calling for him again, he still doesn’t let go right away.

like he’s stretching out the last few seconds without even thinking about it.

then he steps back.

looks at you for a moment—nothing dramatic, just steady, familiar.

and before you can even react—

he leans in and kisses you. quick, soft, unthinking, like it’s just something he’s always done and always will.

and then he’s gone, sprinting off toward the bus before anyone can fully react.

because the rest of the team is already at the windows. plastered against the glass.

making heart shapes. waving dramatically like they’re in a tragic airport goodbye scene. someone has definitely started fake sobbing.

and he goes red all over again, as if that’s somehow still possible.

you’re left standing there laughing to yourself as the bus finally pulls away.

and later—of course—a photo is released.

maki at the hotel.

expression carefully neutral.

medal tucked away.

hair still a little messy.

and tucked carefully under his arm—

a slightly wrinkled handmade sign.

glitter letters catching the light every time he moves.

thirteen badly drawn puppy faces staring in every direction.

he holds it close like it’s something he’s not quite ready to let anyone else touch, adjusting it slightly whenever he shifts.

"...k?"

"you fell asleep."

"i know..." you mumble, your voice still thick with sleep. "i'm tired."

he blinks, almost surprised by the sleepy confession, and crouches beside you.

"you should go to bed."

you don't argue. instead, you just look up at him with heavy eyes and quietly hold your arms out.

his expression softens so much it's almost unfair, and he has to hide the smallest smile behind his hand before carefully lifting you into his arms.

the moment your head settles against his shoulder, you instinctively snuggle closer.

he completely freezes.

there's an internal battle visible on his face as he fights every urge to squeeze you, bury his face in your hair, or tell you how unbelievably adorable you are right now.

instead, he settles for gently adjusting the blanket around you and muttering, almost under his breath—

"you're way too cute."

"hm?"

"...nothing."

your fingers lazily clutch at the fabric of his sleeve, and somehow that makes it even worse.

he has to physically look away for a second before quietly carrying you to bed, carefully tucking you in and smoothing your hair back one last time.

"you'll finish everything tomorrow," he says softly.

you smile, already half-asleep.

"'kay."

the tiny, trusting response nearly does him in.

he just stares at you for a moment, resisting the overwhelming urge to squish your cheeks, before letting out the quietest laugh and lightly patting your head instead.

"...goodnight, sleepyhead."

𑣲⋆｡˚ murata fuma 𑣲⋆｡˚

fuma notices you've gone unusually quiet.

normally, you'd answer him almost immediately, even if it was just a sleepy little "mm?" from across the room. but your replies grow slower and slower until they stop altogether.

when he comes looking for you, he finds you curled up on the couch with your phone still loosely held in your hand, already fast asleep.

he can't help smiling.

it's one of those tiny, impossibly soft smiles that only appears when nobody's looking.

carefully, he slips the phone from your hand and sets it on the table before grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over you. he pauses for a second to tuck it around your shoulders when it starts to slide off.

you unconsciously snuggle into it.

"...cute," he murmurs under his breath with a quiet laugh.

not wanting to wake you, he dims the lights, closes the curtains just enough to block the afternoon sun, and quietly makes a warm cup of tea for later, leaving it on the table within easy reach.

by the time you slowly blink awake, he's already sitting nearby.

the moment you notice him, you immediately look guilty.

"...i wasn't supposed to fall asleep."

"i know."

"you should've woken me."

he lets out a small chuckle and gently pats your head.

"and ruin the first real break you've taken all week?"

"but i had things to do..."

"they'll still be there."

you pout a little, still half-asleep, and instinctively lean against his shoulder without even thinking.

he pauses for half a second before smiling again, impossibly fond.

"there you are," he says quietly. "looks like you needed this more than you realized."

your eyes drift shut again for just a moment.

"...five more minutes?"

his expression softens even further.

"take ten."

when you mumble a sleepy little "thank you" and curl up closer, he just laughs under his breath, lightly smoothing your hair back.

"i've got you. rest as much as you need."

𑣲⋆｡˚ wang yixiang / nicholas 𑣲⋆｡˚

nicholas walks into your apartment, calls your name once, and gets no answer.

when he steps into the living room, he immediately freezes.

you're asleep sitting perfectly upright on the sofa... still wearing your shoes, one hand loosely clutching the tv remote like you lost a battle with exhaustion halfway through.

he stares at you for a few seconds.

then he quietly snorts.

"...no way."

a laugh slips out before he can stop it, and he has to cover his mouth to keep from waking you.

he crouches in front of you, gently slipping your shoes off one by one, still shaking his head with an amused smile.

"who falls asleep like this?" he whispers. "you're unbelievable."

at the sound of his voice, you make the tiniest sleepy sound and slowly crack one eye open.

"...nicholas?"

“i’m here,” he answers gently, voice low and steady, already shifting a little closer so you can feel him there.

without a second thought, you reach toward him with sleepy grabby hands.

he immediately melts.

the teasing grin is still there, but it softens into something impossibly fond as he scoots a little closer so you don't have to reach.

the moment your forehead lands against his shoulder, you let out the tiniest content sigh and relax completely, your fingers absentmindedly bunching up the fabric of his hoodie.

he completely loses it.

not outwardly—he's trying very hard to stay composed—but inside he's convinced you've become the cutest person on earth.

one hand immediately comes up to smooth your hair, his fingers combing through it with slow, gentle strokes. his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in just enough that you're comfortably tucked against him instead of awkwardly leaning over.

"so clingy," he murmurs, even though he's the one holding you like he has no intention of letting go.

you mumble something completely incoherent into his shoulder.

"...what was that?"

another sleepy mumble.

his hand finds yours without thinking, your fingers automatically curling around his.

"i'll just pretend that was 'my boyfriend is the coolest and most handsome person ever.'"

you give the smallest nod without opening your eyes.

"ah? so you agree."

half-asleep, you just smile and instinctively scoot even closer, practically curling into him.

he lets out the quietest laugh, resting his cheek against the top of your head and giving you another little squeeze, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing over your knuckles.

"...you're actually trying to kill me with how cute you are."

a tiny, sleepy hum is the only response he gets.

"yeah, yeah," he whispers with a grin, pressing the gentlest kiss against the top of your hair before settling back. "go back to sleep."

𑣲⋆｡˚ byun euijoo / ej 𑣲⋆｡˚

ej almost thinks you've gone out until he notices the tiny shape curled up under a blanket on the balcony swing.

for a second, he just stands there watching.

you're bundled up as best you could manage, knees tucked to your chest, completely asleep with your face half-hidden under the blanket.

the evening breeze is cooler than he expected.

he immediately worries.

without making any unnecessary noise, he quietly walks outside and crouches beside you, gently brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

"you fell asleep out here?"

you don't even stir.

he smiles to himself, slipping off his own hoodie and carefully draping it over you before gently pulling the blanket back up around your shoulders to make sure you're warm.

just as he's about to stand again, your sleepy brain seems to notice him.

without opening your eyes, you instinctively lean toward him.

he freezes for exactly one second before the softest smile spreads across his face.

still asleep, you quietly scoot closer until your shoulder bumps his, your head slowly finding its way against him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

ej doesn't hesitate.

he sits down beside you, wrapping one arm around your shoulders to steady you while the other lightly adjusts the hoodie so it won't slip off. his thumb absently rubs small, comforting circles against your arm, and when you unconsciously snuggle even closer, he can't help letting out a tiny laugh.

"so comfy, huh?"

your only response is a sleepy little hum.

his heart absolutely melts.

he gently pats your head, smoothing your hair back with the same careful motions over and over, smiling every time you relax a little more into him.

at one point, your hand sleepily searches for something before finding his sleeve and holding onto it.

he looks down at your fingers, then quietly offers you his hand instead.

without hesitation, you lace your fingers through his and settle right back to sleep.

the smile on his face somehow gets even softer.

for nearly an hour, he doesn't move.

he just sits there with you tucked against his side, occasionally rubbing your back, absentmindedly tracing circles over your knuckles with his thumb, or gently readjusting the blanket whenever the breeze catches it.

the sunset slowly paints everything gold, but he's far too busy looking down at you.

when you finally wake up and realize how you've been leaning on him the whole time, your eyes widen.

"...i'm sorry."

he laughs quietly, giving your hand the tiniest squeeze.

"for what?"

"i made you sit here..."

"you looked peaceful."

"so you just stayed?"

"of course."

as if there had ever been another option.

you blink at him for a second before, still sleepy, leaning your head right back onto his shoulder.

he smiles immediately, resting his cheek lightly against the top of your head and giving your hand another gentle squeeze.

"i'll stay out here as long as you want."

and judging by the way he keeps absentmindedly smoothing your hair and smiling to himself, he wouldn't mind if that was forever.

𑣲⋆｡˚ nakakita yuma 𑣲⋆｡˚

yuma finds you asleep in the middle of building a blanket fort.

he stops right in the doorway and just stands there for a second.

you're curled up where the entrance should've been, one pillow half under your head, another still clutched in your arms like you simply ran out of energy halfway through existing. blankets are draped everywhere in a way that suggests the fort lost the argument completely.

"you didn't even finish it," he whispers, but there's no real complaint in it—just something soft and amused.

you don't answer, breathing slow and even.

he reaches for his phone without thinking.

one picture.

then another, because the first one already isn't enough.

because somehow you've turned "collapsed halfway through a project" into something unfairly cute, and he's staring at you like it's a problem he's not going to solve.

"...yeah," he murmurs quietly to himself, "this is definitely my favorite photo."

he lowers the phone, still not moving for a second longer than necessary.

then instead of fixing the fort like he probably should, he carefully steps inside the mess.

the whole structure shifts slightly, but he immediately steadies it with one hand and pulls a few pillows closer like he knows exactly what he's doing.

he eases a blanket higher over you, tucking it in with slow, careful movements.

you stir faintly at the warmth.

without waking, you shift closer—like your body recognizes him before your mind does—your forehead resting against his shoulder.

yuma pauses.

just for a second.

then his arm slowly tightens around you, pulling you in like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"...you're seriously..." he mutters, quieter now, and there's something helplessly fond in it, "too easy to keep close."

his hand finds your hair almost automatically, fingers threading through it with slow, absent strokes. he smooths it back once... then again, like he forgot he was going to stop.

his thumb brushes your shoulder lightly, lingering there.

you make a tiny sleepy sound and tug at his sleeve.

he looks down immediately.

"...don't start that," he whispers, but there's no real resistance in it.

his hand covers yours instead, warm and steady, fingers gently lacing through yours before he even thinks about it.

"there," he says softly, like he's settling the decision for both of you. "stay."

your breathing evens out again almost instantly.

yuma leans back into the pillows, still holding your hand, still tracing slow circles into your skin like he doesn't even notice he's doing it.

the fort is half-finished around you, collapsing at the edges.

but he doesn't move.

and a few minutes later, neither does he.

𑣲⋆｡˚ asakura jo 𑣲⋆｡˚

jo had invited you over to watch a movie like he always does—same couch, same blanket that somehow became "your blanket," same quiet routine that feels more like comfort than anything planned.

about ten minutes in, your head slowly droops onto his shoulder.

he notices immediately.

"you're tired," he says softly, like it's just a fact.

no surprise. no teasing. just a small, warm smile that appears like it always does around you.

he shifts a little without thinking, making sure his shoulder is steady under you, then carefully pulls the blanket higher so it doesn't slip off your legs. his movements are slow and deliberate, like he's checking every small thing so you stay comfortable.

you don't fully wake—just lean in closer like your body recognizes him even in sleep.

jo goes still for a second, then carefully relaxes again, like he's trying not to disturb the moment.

his hand slowly finds yours under the blanket.

he pauses for half a second—habit more than doubt—then gently wraps his fingers around yours.

his thumb starts tracing small, steady circles over your knuckles without thinking.

every few minutes, his eyes drift from the tv to you instead. like the movie is just background noise now.

at one point, you shift slightly in your sleep, and your fingers tighten around his hand.

jo immediately adjusts his grip—firmer, steadier—so you don't slip away from it.

then he leans his shoulder in just a little more so you're properly supported again.

and that's when he notices it.

the way you settle the moment everything feels steady again. the way your fingers relax when he holds your hand a certain way. the way you instinctively tuck closer whenever he shifts like you're following him without waking up.

his expression softens even more.

"...you really like doing that," he murmurs under his breath, almost fondly amused.

like it's something he's quietly learned about you over time.

he gently brushes your hair back from your face, slow and careful, making sure not to wake you.

then he just stays like that.

holding your hand. keeping you close. watching you sleep more than the movie.

when you finally wake up and sit up quickly—

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to fall asleep—your shoulder—did i—"

jo is already shaking his head gently.

"no," he says immediately, calm and soft. "it's okay."

he shifts a little closer as if nothing changed, like he's already resetting the moment back to how it was.

then, softer:

"you sleep peacefully."

you blink at him.

his hand squeezes yours once, steady and reassuring.

"i like that."

he leans back into the couch, but doesn't let go of your hand.

"...stay a little longer," he says quietly.

and his thumb keeps moving over your knuckles like it never stopped.

𑣲⋆｡˚ shigeta harua 𑣲⋆｡˚

harua finds you asleep on the floor surrounded by books, sticky notes, and snacks—like you simply gave up mid-thought and forgot to keep going.

he goes quiet immediately.

"...you really fell asleep here," he says softly, already crouching beside you.

carefully, he starts cleaning up around you, not wanting to disturb you—stacking books neatly, gathering sticky notes into small piles, moving snacks aside so nothing gets crushed. every so often, his hand pauses just to gently brush your hair away from your face.

"...you worked too hard again," he murmurs, more to himself than anything.

you don't respond, just breathe softly into your sleeve.

he watches you for a moment longer, then lets out a quiet laugh under his breath.

"cute."

his gaze shifts to your plushies nearby.

without hesitation, he starts placing them around you—one tucked into your arms, one near your shoulder, one by your legs—until you're softly surrounded like it was always meant to be that way.

he pauses.

then reaches for his phone.

click.

he looks at the photo for a long moment—your sleeping face framed by plushies, the scattered study mess still visible in the background—but somehow it all looks peaceful like this.

he crouches again and carefully lifts you into his arms.

you barely react—just a soft shift before instinctively settling against him, completely trusting, like your body recognizes him even in sleep.

harua freezes for a second.

then he exhales a soft laugh, adjusting his grip gently.

"...that's too unfair," he murmurs, brushing your hair back like he needs the motion to recover.

and then you smile.

small. sleepy. completely unguarded.

he goes still again.

"...no way," he breathes, softer this time, almost disbelieving.

when he carries you to bed, he doesn't let go right away. even after setting you down, he stays close for a second longer than necessary, making sure the blanket is pulled up properly.

when you wake up, it's warm.

you blink slowly—then realize you're in bed.

harua is right beside you, already looking at you like he's been waiting.

you rub your eyes slowly, still half asleep, your voice coming out soft and confused.

"harua? when did you get here?" you mumble.

"i came a bit ago," he says easily, then immediately brightens. "but wait—look at this first."

he turns his phone toward you.

it's you.

asleep on the floor, surrounded by plushies.

you blink slowly, still trying to wake up properly, then squint at the phone like it might start making sense.

"...wait—what?" you mumble, confused.

"i had to take a picture," he says without hesitation, way too pleased. "you were so cute i couldn't not."

you immediately drop your face into the pillow.

"hey—no, don't hide," he laughs softly, tugging at your sleeve until you peek at him.

he shifts closer right away, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you in.

"look," he murmurs, brushing your hair back. "you were all curled up like that... it was unfair."

you groan, trying to hide again, but he just hugs you tighter, amused.

"seriously," he says softer, shifting a little closer until his forehead briefly rests against yours, "you're the cutest thing i've ever seen."

that makes you go still, a soft blush creeping up your face as you look away for a second.

"...no i'm not," you mumble into the pillow.

"yes you are," he says instantly, like it's obvious, squeezing you gently. "and now you're all shy about it too."

you peek up at him, embarrassed.

he just smiles and pulls you closer again.

"there you are," he whispers, warm and fond. "that's my cute girl."

𑣲⋆｡˚ takayama riki / taki 𑣲⋆｡˚

taki's first instinct is absolutely not helpful.

he finds you asleep and, after a moment of serious consideration, decides the best possible idea is to "decorate" you.

so he does.

a pillow carefully placed over your legs.

a plushie settled on your stomach like it belongs there.

another blanket draped over you with way too much concentration, like he's building something important.

then, with complete sincerity, a tiny rubber duck on your chest.

"...this is art," he whispers to himself, clearly impressed.

he leans back to admire his work.

you don't move at all—just slow, even breathing, completely unaware of the chaos happening around you.

taki tilts his head.

"...wait."

a pause.

"i can improve it."

he reaches for one more thing.

the structure immediately gives up.

everything shifts at once, then collapses straight onto you.

you jolt awake.

silence.

you stare at him.

he freezes mid-motion, still holding the rubber duck like it's evidence.

"...i can explain," he says carefully.

you sit up slowly, blinking at the pile of blankets and plushies.

"...taki."

your voice is groggy. not angry. just tired confusion.

he straightens immediately.

"yes. hi. i mean—hello. i didn't mean— i was just—"

your eyes drop to the duck.

then back to him.

"...did you try to decorate me again?"

a beat.

"...yes," he admits.

that gets a small laugh out of you.

instantly, his shoulders drop like he's been released from interrogation.

"oh—okay, when you say it like that it sounds way worse," he mutters, but he's already smiling.

you lightly shove his shoulder.

he catches your hand without even thinking.

doesn't let go.

instead, he steps closer until your shoulders touch again

you exhale softly, still half-asleep, not moving away.

taki takes that as permission.

his fingers carefully fix your hair, brushing it away from your face before tucking it behind your ear. his touch lingers a second longer than necessary.

"...you were really cute," he says quietly.

you glance at him.

"i was asleep."

"yeah," he nods immediately. "still cute."

he bumps his shoulder lightly against yours, like he's trying to act normal and failing.

"...next time," he adds, trying for seriousness but losing it halfway, "i'm only allowed one item."

his hand stays wrapped around yours anyway.

and neither of you makes any effort to move.

𑣲⋆｡˚ maus riki / maki 𑣲⋆｡˚

maki notices you dozing off while reading outside.

the book is half-slipped from your hands, your head tilted slightly back, sunlight warm across your face like you just gave up mid-chapter in the most peaceful way possible.

he pauses for a second—just watching you.

then quietly sits down beside you without saying anything.

carefully, he takes the book from your hands and holds it open so the pages don't flutter in the breeze, adjusting his grip like it matters more than it should.

you don't wake up.

a moment later, he shifts a little closer—not thinking much of it—just enough to block the sunlight from your face.

when the light starts slipping back in, he adjusts again, this time letting his shoulder become a small shade over you.

"...better," he murmurs to himself.

he doesn't move after that.

one hand still lightly holding your book open, the other resting near his knee, posture quiet and steady like he's decided he's not going anywhere.

every so often, his eyes drift from the page back to you.

like he keeps forgetting what he was reading in the first place.

a while later, you blink awake slowly.

"...maki?"

he looks over immediately—like he didn't miss a second of it.

"yeah."

you sit up a little, still groggy, squinting at him.

"were you just sitting here?"

he nods once. "yeah."

"for how long?"

"a while."

you rub your eyes, trying to focus.

"...why?"

he glances at you, then down at the book still in his hand, like the answer is obvious but he's not used to putting it into words.

"you looked comfortable," he says simply.

that earns a small, sleepy laugh from you.

his expression softens right away.

"...that's a good thing," he adds a second later, quieter, like he wants you to believe it.

and then—without much hesitation—you reach for him first.

still half-asleep, you gently cup his face in your hands like it's instinct, thumb brushing his cheek absentmindedly.

he goes still.

but this time, he doesn't even hesitate to lean in slightly, like it's something he's been allowed to do all along.

his eyes soften.

your thumb keeps moving slowly over his cheek.

he lifts his hand and settles it over your wrist, not to stop you—just to hold you there a little longer.

"...you're awake now," he murmurs.

you hum in response, still not letting go.

a quiet breath of a laugh slips out of him.

then he reaches over and holds out your bookmark with his free hand, fingers brushing yours just a little too long when you take it.

"...you can finish the chapter," he says gently, voice softer now, "but only after you eat something with me."

you pause... then nod slowly.

"...okay."

that seems to settle something in him.

he shifts closer so your shoulders touch again, still letting your hand stay on his face like he hasn't decided he wants it gone yet.

"i'll walk with you," he adds quietly.

your manager gave you an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"don’t worry too much."

easy for him to say.

"he’s a sweet guy. think of him as just another producer."

but that somehow made it worse.

because he wasn’t just anybody.

he was han taesan.

producer. songwriter. idol.

the taesan whose name was buried somewhere in half the demos trainees whispered about.

the taesan who somehow always looked calm in behind-the-scenes videos while everyone else looked like they hadn’t slept in three days.

the taesan who had apparently been trusted with producing your group’s debut song.

no pressure.

your fingers tightened around the lyric sheet.

the studio door slid open before you could think yourself into turning around and pretending you got the room number wrong.

he was already there.

one ear covered by oversized headphones, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, quietly scrolling through files before looking up at the sound of the door.

your eyes met.

he blinked.

you blinked.

"...hi."

"...hey."

silence.

not an uncomfortable one though.

just one where two people seemed equally convinced the other should probably say something first.

then, unexpectedly—

he laughed.

small. quiet. more to himself than anything.

“i’m relieved.”

you frowned.

"...relieved?"

“you look nervous.”

your ears immediately warmed.

“oh—and great, so it’s definitely showing,” you said with a small, nervous laugh.

“but i’m kind of relieved i’m not the only one.”

you stared at him.

"wait...you’re nervous?"

he rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile.

“a little.”

“oh?”

“okay, maybe a lot.”

“but haven’t you done this before?”

“i’ve written songs before. but i’ve never written one for another group.”

the smile on his face was tiny.

almost sheepish.

“like... what if you hate it?”

you stared at him for exactly half a second before pointing at yourself.

“excuse me?”

he blinked.

“what if i hate it? we should be a bit more concerned on what if i ruin it?”

for a second, neither of you said anything.

then he laughed again.

a real laugh this time.

and somehow you were laughing too.

the tension that had been sitting on your shoulders all morning dissolved into something lighter.

something warm.

he held out his hand with a grin that looked more like encouragement than confidence.

“then...”

he tilted his head.

“...let’s both do our best?”

you looked at his hand for exactly one second before shaking it.

“let’s work hard.”

—

the red recording light blinked on.

you adjusted your headphones, inhaled once, and sang.

when the take finished, silence settled over the room for exactly three seconds before his voice came through the speakers.

“one more take?”

you let out a small, steady breath and nodded.

“got it.”

“i liked it.”

“…but?”

“i think you can go a bit deeper emotionally in the second half.”

you focused, already shifting into work mode.

“okay. more build-up into the chorus, or more contrast?”

he leaned back slightly, thinking.

“both. i know what i want it to feel like, i just—”

a pause. his fingers tapped lightly against the desk.

“i can hear it in my head, but i can’t really explain it properly.”

“try me.”

he looked up, intrigued.

“warm, but a little far away,” he said slowly. “like nostalgia, but not sad. more like you’re remembering something you don’t want to lose.”

you listened, then nodded.

“okay. let me something out.”

the next take ended, and he didn’t speak right away.

you could hear him replaying it—once, then again.

then—

“wait.”

his tone shifted, sharper with interest.

“that part before the chorus—can you do it again?”

“like this?”

you sang it once more, softer, a little more suspended at the end.

silence.

then—

“oh.”

“what?”

he sat up slightly.

“that’s it.”

“like that?”

“yeah,” he said quickly. then, quieter, more certain. “exactly like that.”

“i couldn’t figure it out how to explain it,” he admitted, eyes still on the screen. “but you just did it.”

you smiled faintly.

“then i’ll keep that direction.”

“yeah,” he said softly. “i trust you on this.”

and after that, it wasn’t just him directing anymore.

it was both of you, finding the song together.

—

it started off small.

a few days later, you got a message.

“are you free for like… 30 minutes?”

no explanation. no overthinking. just that.

when you walked into the studio, he was already there—same hoodie, same half-focused expression, like he’d been stuck on the same idea for a while.

“i can’t get this chorus right,” he said immediately.

“hello to you too mr. taesan.”

he looked up, then laughed under his breath like he’d just remembered basic social skills.

“hi.”

then, quieter:

“sorry for calling you over. i just… really wanted your opinion.”

that was new.

you stepped closer.

“lets hear it.”

—

by the end of the session, you were both leaning toward the monitor.

“i think it needs less force here,” you said carefully.

he tilted his head.

“less force like… softer? or like—”

“like it’s not trying to convince anyone. it already knows.”

he looked at you.

then nodded slowly.

“…that makes sense.”

then, almost to himself:

“i don’t know why that makes more sense when you say it.”

you shrugged a little.

“same brain, i guess.”

that got a quiet laugh out of him.

—

and after that… it just started happening more and more.

a message here. a “are you free?” there. a demo file waiting for you before you even asked what it was for.

you stopped thinking of it as “helping out.”

it became something else—something unspoken, but steady.

you’d come by, sit down, and pick up on what he meant halfway through his thoughts. he’d wait for your reaction before deciding what he actually thought of a line.

sometimes you didn’t even need to talk much.

just listen. adjust. try again.

and somewhere between late sessions and half-finished choruses, it stopped feeling like work you were stepping into…

and started feeling like something you were already part of.

—

around a few weeks later, things started to shift again.

you were packing up when he spoke.

“…hey.”

you looked up.

“yeah?”

he didn’t look at you right away—like he was letting the words form properly first.

“do you ever want to hang out outside of this building?”

you blinked.

then stared at him.

“outside?”

he nodded once.

“like… not here.”

a pause.

you slowly turned back to your bag, pretending to think when you had already made your decision.

“that’s kind of a dangerous question to ask another idol,” you said, but your voice was softer than your words.

he leaned back in his chair.

“i know.”

no joke in it.

no deflection.

just honest.

“but i’m asking anyway.”

that made you look at him again.

really look.

“right now?” you asked quietly.

he gave a small shrug and a smile.

“right now works.”

your fingers paused on your bag strap.

the idea suddenly felt a little too real to ignore.

“wouldn’t that be too much?” you asked, your voice softer now, trying to sound casual as you ignored how your heartbeat had started picking up.

he tilted his head.

“depends.”

“on?”

“if we’re doing something wrong.”

a pause.

then, a little softer—

“or if we’re just getting coffee and pretending we’re normal people for an hour.”

that broke the tension immediately.

you laughed, a little breathy, shaking your head.

“you’re weirdly bold for someone who was nervous like two weeks ago.”

he hummed.

“who said i wasn't still nervous”

there wasn't any pressure in his words.

just certainty.

“honestly, i think i’d rather ask… than spend time wondering what this could turn into.”

the words hung there for a moment, like neither of you wanted to rush past them.

“…i think i’d rather find out too,” you admitted softly, your voice lighter than your thoughts felt.

then added, trying—and failing—to sound casual:

“but if this gets us caught, i’m blaming your song.”

he blinked.

then a grin broke out on his face—slow at first, like it was trying to stay composed, and then fully giving up.

“wow,” he said, leaning back in his chair, clearly amused now. “my song is already causing problems outside the studio?”

you shrugged, but you were smiling too.

“…i mean,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing look you didn’t fully try to hide, “it is kind of influential.”

that got him laughing for real—light, surprised, like he hadn’t expected the moment to feel this easy.

“noted,” he said, still grinning as he grabbed his jacket. “i’ll tell it to behave.”

and somehow, as you both moved toward the door, it didn’t feel like stepping out of the studio anymore.

his phone buzzed again through the cupholder.

this time he looked.

ej.

he answered on speaker without taking his eyes off the road.

“did you seriously leave?”

“yes.”

a pause.

then, “okay. good.”

nicholas let out a breathy laugh despite himself.

“bring flowers,” ej added immediately.

“i’m literally driving right now.”

“then apologize extra hard.”

the call disconnected before he could answer.

nicholas stared ahead again.

then quieter, mostly to himself—

“i know.”

—

your apartment building looked exactly the same.

and somehow that made it worse.

the same dim hallway lights.

the same crooked number plate beside your door.

the same stupid welcome mat you refused to throw away because “it had personality.”

his stomach twisted violently as he stood there.

for the first time since getting out of the car, fear finally caught up to him properly.

what if you’d moved on?

what if you were happier now?

what if he was only showing up because he couldn’t handle losing you, not because he deserved another chance?

nicholas swallowed hard.

then knocked anyway.

once.

twice.

movement sounded faintly inside.

and suddenly every nerve in his body lit on fire.

the lock clicked.

the door opened.

you froze.

so did he.

for a second neither of you spoke at all.

you looked tired.

not dramatically.

not heartbreak-movie devastated.

just… tired in the way people become after carrying sadness quietly for too long.

nicholas thought that somehow hurt worse.

your eyes flicked over him carefully, like you weren’t sure if he was real.

“...nicholas?”

his throat tightened instantly at hearing his name in your voice again.

“hi.”

you stared at him.

then at the late hour behind him.

then back at him again.

“i don’t—” you started softly, confused. “what are you doing here?”

everything he rehearsed in the car disappeared immediately.

every sentence.

every explanation.

gone.

because standing in front of you again after weeks apart didn’t feel like heartbreak or resentment.

it felt like finally breathing after drowning.

nicholas looked at you for one long second before saying honestly,

“i think i made the worst mistake of my life.”

your expression cracked slightly.

just slightly.

but he saw it.

you looked down immediately afterward like you hated that he saw it.

the hallway stayed painfully quiet.

rain tapped softly against the building windows somewhere farther away.

nicholas rubbed both hands nervously against his jeans before speaking again.

“i know i probably don’t deserve you opening this door right now,” he said carefully. “and i know i can’t fix everything in one conversation, but i need you to know that losing you feels wrong. like—”

he stopped, jaw tightening.

“like i’ve spent three weeks existing without anything actually reaching me.”

your eyes lifted back to his slowly.

he kept going before courage disappeared.

“i kept trying to tell myself maybe this was for the best. maybe we just grew apart or maybe love isn’t always enough or whatever people say to survive breakups.” he laughed weakly. “but then i found the scrapbook.”

your breath caught faintly.

“and i realized something.”

nicholas stepped a little closer.

“every single memory in that thing still feels like home to me.”

silence.

heavy.

dangerous.

your fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the door.

“nicholas…”

“i’m not here because i’m lonely,” he said quickly. “and i’m not here because i suddenly forgot the reasons we broke up. i know i hurt you.”

that one almost broke him to admit out loud.

“i know i did.”

you looked away again.

and that hurt too.

because he knew exactly why.

the missed calls.

the postponed dates.

the exhaustion that slowly turned into distance.

the way love had started getting buried underneath schedules and stress and silence neither of you knew how to fix properly.

he took another breath.

“but i still love you,” he said quietly. “stupidly. completely. in the terrifying way that makes every future i imagined still have you in it automatically.”

your eyes watered immediately.

nicholas felt his own vision blur.

“i don’t need everything to go back to normal tonight,” he continued softly. “i just… i need to know if there’s still something here worth fighting for.”

for a long moment, you said nothing.

then finally—

“you really hurt me.”

the words came out small.

not angry.

which somehow made them infinitely worse.

nicholas nodded instantly. “i know.”

“there were days i felt like i was begging you to notice me.”

his chest caved inward.

“i know.”

“you stopped talking to me when things got hard.”

“i know.”

your voice shook now despite your obvious attempts to steady it.

“and the worst part is i kept understanding why you were overwhelmed, so i felt guilty for being upset at all.”

nicholas closed his eyes briefly.

every sentence landed exactly where it deserved to.

you wiped at your face quickly, frustrated tears slipping out anyway.

“i hated missing you even while we were still together.”

that one nearly destroyed him.

nicholas looked at you helplessly.

then quietly—

“i hated myself for becoming someone who could make you feel alone.”

silence again.

but different this time.

softer.

you stared at him for a long moment like you were trying to decide whether trusting him again would heal you or ruin you completely.

nicholas let you.

he didn't rush to fill the silence.

didn't try to convince you.

didn't make promises he couldn't keep.

for the first time, he just stood there and let you see everything.

the fear.

the regret.

the hope.

all of it.

then he took a shaky breath.

“i don't know what happens after this,” he admitted quietly.

your eyes flickered.

“i don't know if you're ready to forgive me. i don't know if i deserve it.”

his throat tightened.

“but if there’s even the smallest chance... i'll do this right this time.”

the words came out rough.

honest.

“i'll show up.”

your expression faltered.

“every day if i have to.”

nicholas swallowed.

“because losing you made me realize something.”

his voice softened.

“you were never something i wanted to fit into my life.”

your eyes watered immediately.

“you’re the person i want to spend my life with.”

for a second neither of you moved.

then your gaze dropped suddenly toward his hands.

“nicholas?”

he blinked. “what?”

“you brought flowers?”

he looked down like he forgot he was holding them at all.

a laugh escaped you unexpectedly through your tears.

small.

watery.

real.

and nicholas swore his heart almost gave out on the spot.

“they were ej’s idea,” he admitted weakly.

you laughed again.

actually laughed this time.

god.

he missed that sound so much.

nicholas smiled before he could stop himself.

and seeing that seemed to affect you too, because your expression softened in a way he hadn’t seen in weeks.

carefully, uncertainly, you opened the door wider.

“…do you wanna come inside?”

—

k started laughing immediately. “wait that actually makes sense.”

“same vibes,” jo agreed. “same smile too.”

harua, meanwhile, barely reacted at all.

he just kept drinking his water quietly from the corner couch like none of this concerned him whatsoever.

nicholas narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “…you don’t care?”

harua shrugged once. “it’s work.”

“that’s such a boring answer,” yuma complained.

“what do you want me to say.”

“i don’t know. maybe excitement? romance? yearning?”

“it’s a stage performance,” harua said flatly.

k snorted. “he’s acting calm now but watch him panic later.”

“i’m not panicking.”

“sure.”

harua rolled his eyes lightly and stood up, grabbing his hoodie.

“you guys are weird.”

“he's nervous,” yuma whispered loudly the second he walked away.

“he’s absolutely nervous,” nicholas agreed.

from down the hallway, harua’s voice echoed back immediately:

“i can still hear you.”

—

he was not nervous.

seriously.

he wasn’t.

until the practice room door opened.

and you walked in.

harua looked up automatically—

and immediately forgot every coherent thought he’d ever had in his life.

because oh.

oh no.

you smiled the second you noticed him standing there.

bright. easy. pretty enough to make his brain completely short-circuit.

“hi!” you said quickly, bowing politely. “sorry if i’m late.”

harua stared.

you blinked.

“…hi?”

“harua,” the choreographer called slowly.

his soul reentered his body.

“right,” he said immediately, bowing so fast he almost scared himself. “hi. hello.”

you looked slightly surprised before smiling again.

“i’m excited to work with you.”

he nodded too quickly. “me too.”

too fast.

way too fast.

why did he say it like that.

you tilted your head slightly, clearly trying not to laugh.

cute.

you were cute.

this was horrible.

the practice started almost immediately after introductions, but harua realized something very quickly:

you talked to him extremely easily.

like you’d known him longer than ten minutes.

“wait, does this move feel awkward to you too?” you asked at one point, laughing while trying the choreography again. “i feel like i’m fighting the music.”

harua looked at you.

then immediately looked away because you were smiling again.

“…a little.”

“right?” you grinned. “okay good i thought i was just bad at this.”

“no, you’re amazing at dancing.”

the compliment came out instantly.

you blinked at him.

harua froze.

“…thank you,” you said softly.

he nodded once.

then walked directly into the mirrored wall.

the entire room went silent.

you gasped. “oh my god are you okay?!”

harua covered his face instantly.

he wanted to disappear.

the choreographer looked deeply concerned.

“harua?”

“i’m fine,” he mumbled from behind his hands.

you were trying so hard not to laugh.

which somehow made it worse.

—

it only got more embarrassing from there.

every single time you touched him during choreography practice, harua malfunctioned slightly.

hand touches? panic.

eye contact? worse.

one time you fixed the collar of his practice hoodie absentmindedly and he forgot an entire eight count immediately afterward.

“sorry!” you laughed. “did i distract you?”

harua stared at the floor.

“…maybe.”

you blinked.

then laughed again like you thought he was joking.

he wasn’t.

but somehow that made him even more flustered.

because now you kept talking to him comfortably while he was internally losing his mind.

“you’re quieter than i expected,” you said during break one day, sitting beside him on the floor.

harua nearly dropped his water bottle.

“…is that bad?”

“no! not at all!” you said quickly. “you’re easy to talk to though.”

he looked at you carefully.

“…i am?”

“mhm.” you smiled. “you listen really well.”

his ears turned pink instantly.

you noticed.

but seemed to interpret it completely differently.

“ahhh,” you said sympathetically. “do you get shy around new people?”

harua opened his mouth.

closed it.

“…yeah.”

that was technically true.

just not usually this bad.

you smiled warmly. “don’t worry. i talk enough for the both of us!”

he nodded faintly.

he had noticed.

—

by the third practice, the members started catching on.

especially nicholas.

because the second he walked into the practice room to “check how things were going,” he immediately stopped in the doorway.

harua was standing beside you while you talked animatedly about something, hands moving excitedly while laughing.

and harua—

harua was staring at you like you personally hung the stars.

nicholas slowly looked around the room.

then back at harua.

then suddenly started choking on his own laughter.

harua’s eyes widened immediately.

oh no.

“what?” you asked, blinking at nicholas.

“nothing,” nicholas said instantly, covering his mouth while laughing harder.

harua moved immediately.

“come outside,” he said flatly, grabbing nicholas by the sleeve.

nicholas practically doubled over. “no wait—”

“outside.”

“harua this is the funniest thin—”

“outside.”

you watched in confusion as harua dragged a still-laughing nicholas out of the practice room by force.

the door slammed shut behind them.

silence.

you blinked once.

“…what just happened.”

the choreographer looked up from the music controls.

“honestly?” he said. “i think you should let them work that out themselves.”

—

outside the practice room, nicholas was literally bent over laughing against the hallway wall.

“dude,” he wheezed. “you are SO gone.”

harua covered his face with one hand.

“stop talking.”

“you walked into a WALL.”

“i know.”

harua groaned quietly.

nicholas pointed at him accusingly. “and don’t think i didn’t notice you fixing your hair every ten seconds before practice.”

“i hate you.”

“no because like,” nicholas laughed. “you’ve had a crush for like three days and you already look ready to write her a song.”

harua slid down the wall slightly in defeat.

“…is it that obvious.”

nicholas stared at him.

then burst into laughter again.

harua wanted to disappear.

seriously.

“i don’t even know what happened,” he admitted quietly. “i saw her and then suddenly i forgot how to act like a person.”

nicholas wiped tears from his eyes dramatically.

“this is unbelievable.”

“you’re being really annoying right now.”

“because this is adorable,” nicholas corrected. “harua, you literally blush every time she smiles at you.”

harua looked away immediately.

which honestly answered enough.

nicholas grinned so hard it looked painful.

“you have a crushhhhh.”

harua sighed into his hands.

“…ok maybe.”

there was a long pause.

then nicholas softened slightly, still smiling.

“…you should talk to her more.”

harua blinked. “what.”

“she likes talking to you, idiot.”

his stomach flipped instantly.

“you think so?”

nicholas stared at him like it was obvious.

she literally kept circling back to you every time the conversation drifted,” nicholas said, shaking his head. “like she didn’t want it to end.”

"really?"

harua went quiet.

nicholas glanced at him again, amused. “I can't believe you just looked at her for five straight minutes while she talked about milk tea flavors.”

“…they sounded important.”

nicholas collapsed in laughter for the 5th time.

and inside the practice room—

a knock sounded against the doorframe before it pushed open slightly.

“hey.”

ej leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely. his expression shifted almost immediately when he saw nicholas sitting there in the dark.

“you didn’t eat again?”

nicholas shrugged without looking up. “not hungry.”

“that’s what you said yesterday.”

“and the day before,” k added as he appeared behind ej, carrying a convenience store bag. “at this point it’s getting annoying.”

nicholas huffed a weak laugh through his nose, but it died quickly.

k stepped into the room anyway and tossed a drink onto the bed beside him. “you look terrible.”

“thanks.”

“you’re welcome.”

for a second, none of them said anything.

ej glanced around the room carefully, like he was trying to check how bad things had gotten without making it obvious. clothes half-folded. empty water bottles. a hoodie tossed over the lamp. the kind of mess that happens when someone stops caring little by little instead of all at once.

“have you talked to her?” ej asked carefully.

nicholas shook his head.

“did she text?”

another shake.

k sighed quietly and sat on the floor near the bed. “you’re seriously just gonna rot in here forever?”

“maybe.”

“that’s dramatic.”

“i’m literally heartbroken.”

“you’re also irritating.”

that got another tiny laugh out of him.

tiny. brief. gone again.

k and ej exchanged a look.

“come eat with us later,” ej said softly. “even if you don’t feel like talking.”

nicholas nodded vaguely, though all three of them knew it probably meant no.

the door clicked shut behind them after a few more minutes, leaving the room silent again.

too silent.

nicholas rubbed both hands over his face before finally forcing himself to move. he bent down beside the bed, reaching for his charger that had fallen between a stack of boxes.

that’s when he saw it.

a dark blue scrapbook tucked halfway underneath one of them.

his stomach dropped instantly.

no.

slowly, carefully, he pulled it out.

the edges were worn from being opened too many times. little stickers still clung crookedly to the cover, and in faded silver marker were the words:

“3 years with you ♡”

his chest physically hurt.

he swallowed hard and opened it anyway.

the first page was messy and overdecorated in the way you always liked—tiny notes in the corners, ticket stubs taped beside pictures, little arrows pointing to inside jokes only the two of you understood.

his thumb brushed over one photo.

a park bench at night.

both of you were mid-laugh, posed horribly off-center because you’d been running against a timer.

and suddenly—

—

“wait, wait, it’s counting!”

“i know it’s counting!”

“you pushed the button too early!”

“run faster then!”

nicholas nearly tripped over the curb trying to sprint back toward the bench while you were already doubled over laughing beside him.

the phone balanced dangerously against your drink cup on the pavement, timer flashing down.

3… 2…

he threw himself onto the bench dramatically at the last second, grabbing your shoulders to yank you into frame.

the picture snapped right as you both burst into laughter.

“oh my god,” you wheezed immediately, grabbing the phone. “you look insane.”

“you blinked!”

“because you elbowed me in the face!”

“that sounds like a you problem.”

you gasped in fake offense before shoving him hard enough to make him slide sideways on the bench.

the night air had been cold enough to turn your noses pink, but neither of you cared. you both stayed there for almost an hour taking increasingly worse timer photos.

one where he fell mid-run.

one where you laughed so hard you disappeared entirely from frame.

one blurry picture where he was kissing your cheek while you looked at the camera with wide, betrayed eyes.

“i’m putting this one in the scrapbook,” you announced proudly.

“delete that immediately.”

“never.”

“people will think i’m in love with you.”

you smiled then.

soft. easy. certain.

“you are.”

and god, he was.

—

nicholas blinked hard and looked away from the photo.

his chest tightened painfully.

he turned the page.

another picture.

this one quieter.

the two of you sitting on the floor of your apartment surrounded by half-finished takeout containers and fairy lights. you’d fallen asleep against his shoulder while he looked down at you with that unconscious softness people only have when they don’t realize they’re being watched.

a handwritten note underneath read:

“i didn’t realize it then, but i think i only ever truly rested when it was you.”

his throat closed.

—

he flipped to another page.

this one was different.

a rooftop.

—

city lights stretching endlessly below you both, the night wind tugging at your hair and making the world feel like it belonged to only the two of you for a little while. you were wrapped in his jacket, sleeves swallowed past your hands, while he stood behind you pretending not to notice how you kept leaning back into him for warmth.

his arms wrapped around your waist from behind, firm in the way of something familiar. his chin rested lightly near your shoulder, and his hands stayed locked around you like they belonged there.

“you’re gonna get sick out here,” he muttered.

“you always say that when we’re here, and guess what? i never do,” you said, smiling a little as you nudged him playfully.

he scoffed, but still adjusted the jacket tighter around your waist without thinking.

you went quiet after a moment, resting your elbows on the edge of the roof and looking out over the city.

“it feels like everything’s so big from up here,” you said softly.

nicholas followed your gaze. “yeah.”

a pause.

then, quieter:

“but it doesn’t feel as scary.”

that made him look at you instead of the city.

you were smiling a little, not the loud kind this time. something steadier.

“you know,” you added, “i think if i ever feel lost, i’d still find my way back to you.”

his breath caught slightly at that.

“that’s a lot of pressure,” he said, trying to keep it light.

you turned toward him fully, the wind pushing your hair across your face.

“no,” you said simply. “it’s just where i want to end up.”

he didn’t answer right away.

he just looked at you like he was trying to memorize something he already knew he’d never forget.

then, quieter than everything else:

“i could do forever with you.”

you blinked at him, surprised by the honesty.

then you smiled—slow, certain, devastating in its softness.

“good,” you said. “because i already planned on it.”

—

nicholas shut the scrapbook suddenly.

too fast.

his breathing had gone uneven.

he stared at the cover for a long moment before pressing the heel of his hand hard against his eyes.

because the worst part wasn’t missing you.

it was knowing you had loved him that deeply once.

and somehow he still let things fall apart.

a knock sounded again before the door cracked open.

k peeked in first this time. “you alive?”

nicholas didn’t answer immediately.

ej appeared beside him—and both of them stopped when they noticed the scrapbook sitting in his lap.

the room went quiet.

“oh,” ej said softly.

nicholas looked down at it again.

at the stupid stickers.

the bent corners.

the memories you had carefully glued together because you thought you’d have forever to keep adding more.

something in him snapped into place all at once.

not painfully.

clearly.

he stood up so abruptly both ej and k startled.

“nicholas—?”

he shoved the scrapbook carefully back into its box before grabbing his jacket from the chair.

k blinked. “wait, where are you going?”

nicholas was already pulling on a hat, grabbing his keys off the desk.

ej stared at him for a second before realization slowly spread across his face.

and for the first time in weeks, nicholas actually looked awake.

terrified, maybe.

but awake.

he opened the bedroom door and finally said,

“i’m getting my person back.”