⢠To everyone else, Lee Know seems impossible to read. His expression rarely changes, his responses are short, and he loves pretending he doesnât care. Then thereâs you. The members swear heâs a completely different person when youâre around. Heâll deny it every single time.
⢠âIâm exactly the same.â
⢠Heâs not. Not even close.
⢠Lee Know isnât overly affectionate in public, but heâs constantly looking after you in little ways. Quiet ways. The kind of things most people wouldnât notice. Making sure you have a jacket. Carrying your bag when you arenât paying attention. Saving the last piece of food for you. Pretending it was an accident.
⢠He acts annoyed when you cling to him.
⢠âYouâre heavy.â
⢠Meanwhile heâs wrapping an arm around your waist so you donât move away.
⢠The members love calling him out. Especially Han.
⢠âYou literally just said you didnât want her sitting on your lap.â
⢠âI donât.â
⢠Youâre still sitting on his lap.
⢠Lee Knowâs love language is definitely actions over words. He wonât say âI love youâ every five minutes. Instead heâll remember your coffee order, text you to ask if youâve eaten, and send you a picture of a cat because he knows itâll make you smile.
⢠If youâre upset, his soft side appears immediately. He wonât always know the perfect thing to say. But heâll sit beside you, hold your hand, and listen.
⢠And if someone made you cry?
⢠Suddenly Lee Know isnât joking anymore.
⢠âWho was it?â
⢠The calm tone is somehow more terrifying than shouting.
⢠He secretly loves physical affection. He just refuses to admit it. If youâre lying next to him, heâll slowly move closer until youâre touching. Then act like it wasnât intentional.
⢠If you stop cuddling him first?
⢠Give it five minutes.
⢠Heâs finding his way back to you.
⢠He absolutely melts when you play with his hair. The tough act disappears instantly. His eyes close. His shoulders relax. And for once he looks completely soft.
⢠The members never let him live it down.
⢠âLook at him.â
⢠âHeâs gone.â
⢠âSheâs got him wrapped around her finger.â
⢠The worst part?
⢠Theyâre right.
⢠Lee Know may act cold. He may roll his eyes, tease you, and pretend not to care. But everyone can see it. The way he looks at you when you arenât paying attention. The way he always reaches for you first. The way his entire expression softens the second you smile.
⢠Because underneath all the teasing and fake annoyance, Lee Know is completely, hopelessly soft for you.
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Y N and Lee Know had almost identical libidos, a balance that was one of the foundations of their relationship. However, YN never would have thought that all that intimacy would allow Lee Know to know her so well, to the point of understanding certain things about her before she even realized them herself.
YN had been lying on the bed for hours now, her body sweaty and sticky from all the effort. Her face was twisted with pleasure as she lay on her stomach, her belly pressed against the mattress, her hips raised while Lee Know pounded into her from behind.
Her face was buried in her pillow as Lee Know continued to thrust, his pelvis slamming against her ass, making it jiggle with every impact.
âArch that back for me, jagi.â
YN obeyed without even thinking, and as Lee Know pushed deeper inside her, she let out an even louder moan.
âLee Know, fuck!â
Her eyes rolled back as she bit down on her lip, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through her body. Minho immediately understood.
âYouâre about to cum.â
It wasnât a questionâit was a statement.
YN turned her head toward him, locking eyes with him in disbelief.
âWhat are you talkâhuhhhâMinho, fuck, IâmâŚâ
She felt that familiar sensation building deep in her stomach, the one that told her she was on the verge of orgasm.
Minho smiled at her reaction and immediately pulled out. Everything happened in a second. He quickly flipped YN onto her back, grabbed her knees and pushed them up until they nearly touched her shoulders before thrusting back into her in one smooth motion.
She could feel everything.
He was almost reaching her cervix, and Minho immediately began driving his hips against hers again.
YNâs eyes rolled back, and instinctively she tried to close her thighs as her orgasm suddenly crashed over her.
Minhoâs smile widened. He lowered his lips to her collarbone, pressing soft kisses against her skin as he gradually slowed down until he stopped moving altogether.
âHow did you knowâŚ?â YN asked after a brief moment of silence, breathless.
âIâm going to marry you. Hopefully I know your body by heart.â
He answered simply, continuing to kiss her skin.
YN took advantage of the moment to shift on top of him, with him still inside her. She kissed him before he could even react to the sudden change of position.
âItâs your turn now, thenâŚâ
She straightened up, letting her hand trail slowly down his torso.
Minho smiled and crossed his arms behind his head, his muscles tensing slightly.
For almost a year, dating Lee Know had meant becoming experts at disappearing.
Late-night cafĂŠs, walks through quiet parks with hats pulled low, private movie nights at home because cinemas were simply too risky.
It wasnât that either of you was ashamed. Quite the opposite. More than once, you had caught him looking at you across the sofa before saying,
âI canât wait until I can hold your hand without checking whoâs watching.â
As a soloist, your company worried that public dating news could affect your image. His company wasnât against it, but both of you agreed that waiting until the right moment would make life easier.
So you waited.
Patiently.
Until someone else decided not to.
It happened on an ordinary Tuesday morning. You had just finished rehearsal when your manager burst through the practice room doors.
âDonât panic.â
You immediately panicked.
âWhat happened?â
Your manager held up a phone.
Photos.
Several of them.
You and Minho leaving a restaurant, walking side by side, one blurry picture where he is reaching over to tuck your scarf around your neck, another where you are laughing so hard you have hidden your face in his shoulder. Your heart sank.
âOhâŚâ
âThe article went up twenty minutes ago.â
You closed your eyes.
âSo thatâs it.â
Before your manager could answer, your phone buzzed.
đ° Minho
Have you seen it?
You smiled despite everything.
Yes.
Another message arrived almost instantly.
Can I come over tonight?
Please.
That evening, he let himself into your apartment with two bags of takeaway. The moment the door closed behind him, he wrapped his arms around you. Neither of you spoke for a while.
Eventually you sighed.
âI wanted us to tell everyone ourselves.â
âSo did I.â
You rested your forehead against his chest.
âIâm sorry.â
He looked genuinely confused.
âFor what?â
âI couldnât protect our secret.â
Minho gently cupped your face.
âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
âButâŚâ
âSomeone followed us.â
He smiled softly.
âWe didnât.â
You laughed quietly.
âThatâs very you.â
âItâs true.â
He brushed a thumb across your cheek.
âIâve been thinking.â
âDangerous.â
âI know.â
His lips curved into the smallest smile.
âWhat if we donât deny it?â
You blinked.
âWhat?â
âWhat if we stop hiding?â
You searched his face.
âAre you sure?â
âIâve never been more sure of anything.â
âAnd your company?â
âTheyâre already asking whether I want to confirm it.â
âMine too.â
You couldnât help smiling.
âSoâŚâ
âSo letâs finally tell everyone ourselves.â
Half an hour later, the two of you sat cross-legged on his living room floor.
Minho scrolled through hundreds of photos on his phone.
âNo.â
âNo.â
âDefinitely not.â
You laughed.
âHow do we not have a single normal picture together?â
âBecause you blink in all of them.â
âI do not.â
âYou absolutely do.â
Finally, he stopped.
âThis one.â
It had been taken months earlier during a quiet weekend away. You were both sitting on a picnic blanket. He wasnât looking at the camera.
He was looking at you. You were laughing at something he had just said.
It wasnât glamorous. It wasnât staged. It was simply happy.
âPerfect,â you whispered.
Together, you typed the caption.
We wanted to tell you ourselves when the time felt right.
Life had other plans.
Weâre very happy, and we hope youâll continue supporting us individually and together.
A lot of love.
Neither of you signed your names. You didnât have to.
You pressed âPost.â
Then waited.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Five.
Your notifications exploded. Minho looked at his phone.
âSoâŚâ
âSo?â
âI think people know.â
You both burst into laughter.
The next morning, the internet was filled with reactions. Fans recreated the photo as fan art. People joked that the worst-kept secret in K-pop had finally been confirmed. One comment made you laugh particularly hard.
âHonestly, we thought theyâd been dating for months. Have you seen the way he looked at her?â
You showed Minho, he shrugged.
âI wasnât exactly subtle.â
âNo?â
âI thought I was.â
âYou once crossed the entire backstage area just to hand me a bottle of water.â
âYou looked thirsty.â
âYou ignored six other people.â
âThey looked hydrated.â
A week later, something remarkable happened.
Nothing. No disguises. No secret exits. No pretending to be strangers.
On your shared day off, Minho texted you.
Coffee?
In public?
Very public.
You met outside your favourite cafĂŠ. People recognised you almost immediately.
Some smiled. Some waved. One fan approached carefully.
âCan we have a photo?â
âOf course,â you answered.
Afterwards, she smiled brightly.
âYou two are really cute.â
Minho thanked her politely before taking your hand again.
The world simply⌠kept turning.
You walked through the park with your fingers intertwined.
âYou know,â you said quietly.
âWhat?â
âThis feels different.â
He glanced at your joined hands.
âIt does.â
âI forgot what sunlight looked like.â
He laughed.
âSo dramatic.â
âYou made me date you in underground parking garages.â
âThey were convenient.â
âThey were gloomy.â
âThey had excellent security.â
You bumped your shoulder against his.
âI like this better.â
âSo do I.â
As you reached a small bridge overlooking the river, he stopped walking.
âWhat?â
He lifted your joined hands between you.
âIâve wanted to do this for months.â
âWhat?â
He kissed the back of your hand. Right there. In the middle of the walkway. In broad daylight, and you felt your cheeks warm.
âYouâre showing off.â
âA little.â
âYou know people can see us.â
He smiled with that quiet confidence you loved so much.
âI know.â
You looked around. For the first time since falling in love, there was nothing to hide.
And this time, it was you who pulled him in and kissed him, but you kissed him on the lips.
He smiled.
No careful excuses. No separate taxis. No pretending not to know one another.
Just you.
Just him.
Just another ordinary date. And somehow, after spending so long in the shadows, ordinary had never felt so extraordinary.
You decide it's a good idea to try out an aphrodisiac chocolate before Minho has to go on stage
pairing: Minho x fem!reader
genre: established relationship, idol!Minho, smut smut smut
rating: explicit, 18+, minors do not interact
word count: 2.2k
warnings: the only thing I will ever deadname is twitter, tw for drugs I guess? aphrodisiacs are drugs when in chocolate I think? anyway, overuse of the nickname jagi (sorry), dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (don't), blonde Minho is the death of me
A/N: Requests are always open! Dedicated to Lino anon, who without I may not even written anymore, as well as the lovely person who requested this about half a year ago. If its shit I'm sorry, I'm a little rusty
Masterlist
Your sex life with Minho has always been quite exciting. Sex on the balcony of your hotel room, sucking him off while heâs on important phone calls, spanking you until you canât sit down properly. So when he suggested that you try these chocolates that a friend suggested to him, you were more than interested.
Although you both were slightly more than skeptical, aphrodisiacs were not known for working very well, you decided to take them anyway. âTake three hours before the intended time of intercourseâ was what the box suggested. So when you both took your own heart shaped chocolate and you kissed goodbye before he left to perform his second to last concert of the tour, you both thought nothing of it.
You knew the show had ended when a blunt text came from him saying he was on his way back, unusual but you didnât think too much about it. You instead decided to look through some of the videos that fans had posted on Twitter about the concert. You couldnât help but feel arousal begin to stir in your stomach as you watched him dancing, his thighs flexing, tongue out, eyes youâve seen over and over again in your bedroom. Fuck heâs beautiful.
However you did notice a common thread throughout the posts online. âMinho is acting really weird tonightâ, âLee know keeps readjusting his pants, another stylist issue again đâ, âThey did the usual saying goodbye to the camera and instead of hanging around he ran off stage like someone was chasing him. So strange I hope heâs okayâ. The more you read, the more worried you were getting, hoping the chocolate hadnât given him any adverse side effects. The box did say not everyone reacts the same.
When you heard the beep of the hotel room door opening, you got up from the bed, a bathrobe tied around your lingerie clad body, now more worried about your boyfriend than you were about your arousal that was dripping into your black lace panties.
He rounded the corner, practically bumping into you, blonde hair messy like he had been running his fingers through it all night, his eyes practically black from how intense they were, and pants so tight that you could practically see his full imprint from outside his jeans.
Oh.
You couldnât help but let out a giggle when you put together all of the concerned tweets and your new found information by looking at your very pent up boyfriend.
The glare you received could kill you on the spot right then and there.
âItâs not funny. It said three hours. I was hard like thirty minutes after I left you.â he grumbled, taking off his jacket and shoes with an urgency.
You raised an eyebrow as his shirt fell into a puddle on the floor beside your feet, his hands going to his belt. âWhat? No leading up to it? No sweeping me off my feet?â
His jeans hit the floor and he let out a frustrated growl, his hands reaching for the belt of your bathrobe.
He pulled it from your shoulders, letting out a breathy âfuckâ at the sight of you in lingerie that he hadnât seen before. Pulling you close with his hands around your waist he whispered, âYouâre going to kill me.â
His rough hands held you tightly, one making its way down to squeeze your lace covered ass. You let out a squeal when your feet lifted off the ground, your back hitting the bedsheets a moment later. Pressing himself between your thighs, his arms came up to cage around your head to press a long and desperate kiss to your lips, his hips pressing into you, letting you feel him throbbing with need against you.
âIs this sweeping you off your feet enough?â he breathes out, rolling his boxer covered hips against you and letting out an uncharacteristic whine. You canât keep your smile at bay at the sound, leaning up into him to kiss his lips. His hips roll into you again. âJagi, if Iâm not inside you in the next thirty seconds Iâm going to combust, cry, or itâs going to fall off. Maybe all three.â
You let out a breathy laugh at his whining, wrapping your arms around his neck, you pressed your hips up into him in reply. His hands began exploring with rough need, making their way down your body, squeezing your breasts through the lace on the way down. His fingers hooked in either side of your waist band, tugging your panties off your feet, his breath hitching as he gets a proper look at you. Youâre soaked.
âYouâre good at pretending youâre not as needy as me,â he smiles down at you, his thumb running through your wetness to rub a few circles around your clit, a moan leaving your lips. Bringing his thumb up to his plump lips, he wraps them around it as he groans at the taste of you.Â
âLater.â he promises, as he pushes your thighs closer to you, opening you up to him. Pressing close, you feel his tip collect your arousal before pressing into you. Your back arching into him, a whine leaving your mouth as you felt him stretch you out, your eyes rolling back into your head as you feel him keep pressing on without giving you time to adjust. Your nails raked down his biceps as he finally bottomed out.
âFuck,â he moaned, relishing in the feeling of finally being inside you after hours of what felt like torture. He pulls his hips back slowly before pushing back in, a steady rhythm building, whimpers and groans leaving both your lips simultaneously.
You didnât realise just how much the chocolate had affected you, feeling the heat in your stomach tightening already. Minhoâs thumb meets your clit again, rubbing circles on it as his cock reaches an ungodly depth within you. You canât help but dig your nails into his arms, âPlease. Please. Fuck baby, please. I need to come.â you beg, a gasp leaving your lips at how overwhelming it felt to be close, making you wonder how intense your orgasm was going to be.
You look up at Minhoâs face above yours, to be met with a smirk. His thumb pressed circles persistently on your clit, whispering a very cocky, âCome for me jagi.â
You couldnât even take a breath to be annoyed at his tone as your orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clenched around him as you felt your climax in every part of your body, a tingling sensation coming in waves through you, your breath caught in your throat. You were hardly aware enough to even notice his hips stuttering before he emptied himself inside of you.
You couldnât help but squirm when you felt his hips begin to grind into you again, unheard of whines and whimpers leaving his lips. He was still as hard inside you as he was when he started.
Your hips lift to meet his, the usual feeling of overstimulation had not made an appearance, the feeling of arousal flickering with every roll of his very talented hips. You let out a loud cry as the head of his hard cock hits a spot so deep inside you it has your legs clenching around his sides.
âYouâre being too loud, jagi.â your boyfriend moans from above you, his thumb coming down to rub over your bottom lip as he says it. He lets out a groan from the depths of his chest when your lips wrap around it, your tongue circling the tip before you suck it gently.
It all happens very quickly. One second youâre whining about the empty feeling as he pulls out of you, the next your face is being pushed into the bedding, your hips being pulled up to meet his very well timed thrust, pushing his throbbing cock back to be within your tight walls.
âYouâre a menace,â he breathes into your ear before sucking at your sweet spot just beneath it, causing you to clench around him at the feeling. His rocking hips stilled momentarily as he straightened out his spine, his strong hands keeping your hips still before snapping into you.
His pace was brutal compared to what he had started off with, his grip sure to leave bruises to last a week, your back arching from how deep he felt in you.Â
You couldnât tell if it was the chocolate or he was just feeling on his game but it felt like you were ascending into heaven with how each thrust made you feel. His hand moved from your hip to press on your lower back, pushing you into a deeper arch. His next thrust hit your g-spot dead on, ripping a needy whine from your lips.
Your hand blindly reached back automatically, pushing at his lower stomach to slow him down, you felt so overwhelmed from how good it felt. But Minho wasnât having it, he grabbed your hand and pushed it up your back and held it there, causing you to fall from your hand holding you up, fully at his mercy.
âYouâre in the wrong fucking place if you want someone gentle, jagi.â he growled. His pace was merciless, hitting your spot with every thrust that you felt your brain turn to mush and you began to see stars in your vision.
You couldnât even give him proper warning of your orgasm before you toppled over, your walls clamping down around his unrelenting thrusts.
âFuck, did you just come? I know youâre sensitive but you can take it.â he grunts, letting your hand fall from your back, pressing your body into the mattress with a strong hand between your shoulder blades, his thrusts not stopping.
His cock did not stop hitting your sensitive g-spot, the overstimulated feeling was overwhelming, you couldnât even get a word out, and yet his fingers still reached around your body to make contact with your throbbing clit.
âNo no more, please. I canât.â you whimper, your tight cunt clenching around his cock in weak protest.
âI know you have one more for me. Come on jagi, Iâm not done yet.â your boyfriend moans into your ear, his body covering yours as his hips fuck his cock deep inside you.
His fingers never cease their delicious circling, his mouth pressing longing kisses to the side of your neck, his cock hitting so deep inside you that you were certain he had never hit before.
It was such a wonderful combination that you couldnât help but feel your clit twitch in response, a weak moan making its way from your lips subconsciously.Â
âThere we go, you can come for me again canât you? I want to feel this tight fucking pussy milk me as I fuck you full of my come,â he moaned into your ear.
You could feel your third orgasm build quickly off the last two, a series of whimpers leaving your lips as his thrusts slammed into you now.
All it took to push you over the edge was a strained, âCome jagi,â into your neck.
Your walls fluttered around his cock as you felt him spill himself into you for the second time that night, his teeth biting down into your shoulder as he did, sending a second wave of your climax through your body.
You donât move. Canât move really. Minhoâs body still on top of yours, your breaths unable to settle, your chests heaving. He barely has the energy to turn the both of you to your sides, throwing his arm around your middle before pressing a kiss to your temple.
He fell into a doze with you still on his hard cock, and his phone on silent in his discarded jeans on the floor with 20 missed calls from management and Chan.
~
The rest of the boys were gathered in Chanâs hotel room. An impromptu movie night which had quickly turned into a betting session when Changbin asked, âOkay but what does everyone think was up with Minho tonight?â
The guesses had ranged anywhere from, âEaten something diceyâ (Felix), to âJust in a bad moodâ (Seungmin), and âHis girlfriend riled him up before he leftâ (Hyunjin). The latter was met with disbelief and laughter.
Chan had tried to call him, and then you to ask if you had wanted to watch the movie, as well as he was trying to make sure you were both okay. All of which had gone unanswered.
It wasnât until an hour into the movie that they received a knock on the door, a manager on the other side. âDo you know where Minho is?â
âIn his room?â Chan answered, letting the manager come to sit on the couch with the other boys.
He lets out a sigh as he puts his head in his hands, âWell Iâm not going to be the one to go interrupt him. Someone else can be put on that duty.â he mutters to himself.
âWait whatâs happening?â Felix asked, now worried about his band mate.
The manager winces as he answered, âReception called. The room next to his has filed some very strongly worded noise complaints.â
Groans are heard from every boy except one. Hyunjin.
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â seung is tired of everyone, blood, guns, mafioso shit.
please see copyright and universal warning in the masterlist. inspiration is creation, impersonation is criminal.
a/n; you guys know the drill. i suggest reading this first to learn about all the boys and their specialties. then hit up the mafia kids tag on my page for random mini drabbles. other full length fics are chan and bin. see you soon thenđ¤â¨.
seungmin closed his eyes and exhaled.
this is not happening, he thought with an exaggerated eye roll.
he'd caught sight of the man earlier, pacing back and forth in front of the bank.
seungmin had been in the car then. jisung had said the man, now not only pacing but also waving his hands while having an apparently very important argument (with himself playing both roles mind you), must've gotten into jeongin's stash. jeongin had gasped at the insinuation, reaching forward to hit jisung's arm with a scandalized 'hyung'.
seungmin had watched both exchangesâthe tweaker's one man reboot of one flew over the cuckoo's nest and jeongin and jisung's angry birds duetâmaintaining his signature bored expression.
"can one of you idiots just go get changbin hyung's security deposit box while the day is still young?" seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose when it became clear to him that the bickering was reaching the song that never ends levels.
"it's innie's turn."
"hyung." jeongin gasped in the same tone again. "you know it's your turn!"
"oh is it?" jisung grinned in the rearview mirror back at jeongin. "han's law number 23, it's always the maknae's turn."
"that's not fair. and i thought law 23 was steak knives are for steaks not stabbing."
"no that's law 49 and it has an addendum becauseâ"
seungmin was out of the car and slamming the passenger door before he was forced to listen to anymore of the maknae's and the fakenae's ridiculous conversations. he brushed shoulders with the pacing presumed crackhead, their hips knocking just slightly.
the crackhead turned angrily to seungmin, clearly perturbed that his debate with himself had been interrupted. his face scrunched in a scowl as he opened his mouth, but when he met seungmin's eyes, he closed it. a quiet fear seungmin was familiar with seeing on his adversaries faces taking over the man's drug dilated pupils.
seungmin stared him down before rolling his eyes and straightening his suit jacket. he didn't give the tweaker much more thought as he continued up the bank steps.
but he did briefly wonder how a drug addict could afford a ruger sp101 double action revolver.
"mr. kim," the bank manager was up before seungmin had even crossed the entrance mat. "i thought mr. han would be making the pickup today."
seungmin almost smirked, jeongin would be happy to hear that he was right that it had in fact been jisung's turn. but far be it from him to show any emotion so,
"no." was all seungmin said.
the manager seemed to be waiting for seungmin to say more, but seungmin continued to stare blankly. the manager cleared his throat awkwardly and outstretched his hand. "yes well, right this way mr. kim."
seungmin was quickly let into the vault. he keyed changbin's lock and then looked at the manager, whose ears turned red before he swiftly turned around. seungmin rolled his eyes and reached in to pull out whatever was so urgently crucial changbin had to send him, jisung, and jeongin on errand since mr. muscles was going to be busy all day...'talking', or so changbin called it whenever minho's interrogations required brute force persuasion.
shoving the bulky envelope into the space between the his slacks and the band of his briefs, seungmin locked everything back up. then, fixing his dress shirt and jacket, he hid the evidence of anything new on his person.
the manager turned back around then, smiling sheepishly as he led seungmin back the way they came. once they were out of the vault, the manager immediately secured the door behind them. he then walked around to face seungmin, reaching his hand out for a shake.
"it's always a pleasure to serve you and your brothers mr. kim, until next time. "
and trust, seungmin would've ignored the manager's attempt at a handshake either way, but he was doing so especially now as he made eye contact with a teller.
her eyes were wide and watering just slightly, gaze shifting down towards the glass where the crackhead from before was pointing the ruger sp101âseungmin tilted his head, hmm, it was actually a ruger lcr that he was brandishing. but seungmin was so sure that he'd felt an external hammer on the piece earlier during their brief brush. it wasn't often seungmin didn't get a gun guess right. now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time. but the teller certainly was a breath away from a ruger bullet so he guessed every dog does have their day, unbelievable though it was.
all his inner monologue about his gun knowledge unsureities was put aside, however, because seungmin was sure he was going to kill jisung. it was his ass supposed to be dealing with shit. but nope, here he was stuck in the middle of a cliche bank robbery and rolling his eyes at the idiocy of it all.
jisung was so dead.
and speak of the devil, seungmin's phone buzzed. he took it out, glancing briefly at it before looking back at the now openly crying teller. she was mouthing something to seungmin but he couldn't make it out because then the crackhead was telling her to shut up, and he wasn't being quiet about it.
amateur.
seungmin sighed, reaching under his suit jacket to end this party before it really got started when the crackhead's voice finally captured the manager's attention. the manager swung his arm, that'd still been pathetically extended to seungmin, around and used it to point.
"yahh! hajima!"
seungmin could've gone blind from how hard he rolled his eyes then. yeah telling the bank robber to stop robbing the bank was sure to be effective. it always worked for dora after all.
seungmin looked around as the other tellers and patrons alike began to take notice. suddenly, the crackhead, clearly not prepared for resistance, started uttering out commands he had no doubt heard from whatever criminal minds episode gave him the courage to try to carry out this poorly planned felony.
he was telling everyone to shut up, get down, throw their phones out, don't move, hands up, i said don't move!
yeah seungmin could hear him and his contradictory commands clearly, but that was really none of his damn business. seungmin almost laughed out loud to himself at the audacity of it all. the affront to actual criminality was truly offensive. and don't get seungmin started on the way his tweakin ass was wielding the revolver: loose wrist, shaky finger on the trigger, no sight.
seungmin felt personally accosted.
i know that doped up bitch ain't talking to me, seungmin snorted to himself. he truly didn't give a flying rimmed cartridge what the tweaker was demanding.
seungmin could hear the scatter of items as scared patrons and security guards alike tossed their phones, purses, and was that a baby bottle?, oh for fucks sake, towards the crackhead who at this point was devolving. it was about to get messy in there, and fast. bored and annoyed was seungmin as he pulled his phone back out to respond to the message he received earlier.
knife boy: you good in there?
guns and pups: no
"hey what are you doing?! i said on the ground. i said toss your phones!" the crackhead swung his gun from the crying crowd of bank goers and employees towards seungmin. "are you-are you calling the cops?!"
seungmin pulled a face showing pure disgust and offense, "why the fuck would i do that?"
the man, taken off guard because who wouldn't call the cops in this situation, stuttered, "i-i...because you're a hostage?"
seungmin tilted his head, "are you sure?"
time seemed to stop as seungmin pulled one of his favourites from his waist band.
glock 19 gen 5.
three precise shots.
everyone was screaming now and the bank alarms, clearly rigged to be triggered by the sound of gunshots, were screaming now too. the manager was breathing heavy. brow damp with sweat and eyes wide as he took in the frantic sight of his prestigious establishment. people were trampling over each other to get out, and the crackhead was screaming on the ground with two new matching holes in each knee and one through the center of his palm. his revolver lay scattered across the floor.
seungmin walked over as the crackhead called him everything but what his mother named him, promising retribution. he had to give it to him though, because even then the man still tried to drag himself toward his ruger. as the tweaker's fingers closed around the handle of the gun seungmin stepped down, digging in the toe of his dress shoe as the man cried out from the crushing of his hand.
seungmin tilted his head with a smirk that said 'who's the hostage now?', shaking his head with mock sadness. "swiper no swiping. "
the man, bleeding all over the bank's nice linoleum, yanked back his hand and continued spewing expletives. "i know who you are you stupid bitch."
seungmin squatted by his face. "oh yeah? want an autograph?"
"let's see how fucking smug you are when i finish the job, hmm." the crackhead spat and seungmin merely stared at him. he kept his expression ever neutral but his mind was spinning, who was this guy? "what?! nothing to say?!!"
rude, seungmin thought with a click of his tongue. then seungmin reached out and squeezed the man's kneecap, blood spurting out afresh. the man howled, reaching his disfigured hands out to shove seungmin away.
seungmin's bored expression was ever present as he calmly answered the question the man had just rudely shouted at him. "no."
seungmin was just standing up as jeongin burst through the door, "hyung!"
seungmin was about to say it was fine when he felt two hands push against his side. he stumbled as a shot rang out.
"min!" jeongin yelled as he fired an answering shot of his own.
the man was dead, seungmin knew that without looking. if seungmin had taught anything to his brothers, it was the importance of shooting to kill. still jeongin ran over to the ghost of crackheads past, checking for a pulse that wasn't there and making sure to disarm him, ransacking his pockets for good measure. as jeongin did so he yelled back at seungmin.
"hyung talk to me, you good? you hit?"
"no i'm not i-" seungmin looked over and saw you. the teller he'd made eye contact with before, staring at him with red blooming over your blouse. "-you."
a single tear fell from your eye, "me."
seungmin's brow furrowed but he didn't have time to be confused because then he was surging forward to catch you as your eyes fluttered and your body dropped.
"hyung we gotta go, leave her." jeongin said as he handed a wad of cash to the bank manager, mumbling something about a camera malfunction.
but seungmin wasn't going to leave you until he found out what you were trying to tell him earlier and why the fuck you would take a bullet for a complete stranger.
"jesus." jisung's eyes widened as the two, well three of you got to the car.
jeongin closed the door after seungmin who was still cradling you to his chest and then he hopped into the passenger seat.
"jinnie hyung is gonna be so pissed. i know you saw he texted the g.c. bright and early 'no bringing home any more stray kids'. after last week's job, that man needs a day off bad." jisung turned to look at you, bloody and unconscious in his back seat. "she does not look good."
"would you just fucking drive." seungmin snapped, eyes still on your face. "ayenah reach into the glove compartment and get me something to slow this bleeding."
jeongin nodded, putting the two guns he'd collected in the cupholder while he searched around. "here hyung," jeongin handed over a hand towel, it would have to do.
"where'd you get that?"
jeongin followed seungmin's eyeline, "the guns?"
seungmin nodded.
"i pulled them both off that asshole back there. he must've had two. i saw the other revolver on the ground not to mention the hole in his hand, hell of a shot hyung."
but seungmin couldn't even hear the praise. couldn't really do anything but blink. because there it was. the reason you were bleeding out instead of him. it hadn't even occurred to him to search the man for a secondary weapon. so quick he had been to assume he'd made a mistake identifying the gun he'd felt. when really the mistake he'd made was not considering the crackhead wasn't a crackhead at all, and that as such, would be armed with more than one gun. and that second gun?
a ruger sp101 double action revolver.
he knew he'd felt a hammer.
don't be a silent reader. interaction is a writer's life blood. love you, mean it.đ
⥠lee know is the emotionally unavailable dance major who becomes quietly obsessed with taking care of his accidental roommate. he doesnât say âi care about you.â he changes your lightbulbs, cooks for you at 2 a.m., and gets irrationally angry when anyone else gets too close. âweâre not datingâ â except everyone on campus thinks you are.
â genres: accidental roommates | domestic tension | slow-burn yearning | emotionally constipated minho | acts of service | âweâre not datingâ but we act married | subtle possessiveness | campus romance | hidden softness
â warnings: explicit nsfw (18+ / MDNI), heavy detailed smut scenes, domestic sex, marking/hickeys, light choking, possessive talk, praise kink, teasing/edging, semi-public risk, multiple orgasms, emotional intimacy during sex, hurt/comfort
â playlist: darl+ing - seventeen | angel or devil - txt | not for sale - enhypen | unplugged boy - tws | dear my darling - boynextdoor |
âDue to a system error in the off-campus housing portal, your assigned apartment (Unit 412) will be shared with one other approved tenant for the remainder of the semester. We apologize for the inconvenience.â
You had laughed when you read it. Laughed because it felt like a joke. Laughed because you were exhausted from moving boxes up three flights of stairs in the August heat. Laughed because what else were you supposed to do?
Then you opened the door to Unit 412 and stopped laughing.
Lee Minho was already there.
He stood in the middle of the living room like he owned it â black hoodie, sweatpants, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he watched you drag your last suitcase inside. His hair was slightly messy, like heâd run his hands through it too many times. His eyes, sharp and dark, flicked over you once before returning to the suitcase like it personally offended him.
âYouâre the roommate,â he said. Not a question. A statement. Flat. Annoyed.
You straightened up, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, and gave him your brightest, friendliest smile.
âHi! Yeah, Iâm y/n. Housing mix-up, right? This is awkward but I promise Iâm clean, quiet, and I donât throw parties. We can make a chore chart or something if you want.â
Minho stared at you for a long second.
Then he turned and walked into the kitchen without another word.
You blinked.
Okay. Not a talker.
You dragged your suitcase further inside and looked around. The apartment was surprisingly nice â open layout, big windows, two bedrooms on opposite sides. One door was already closed with a small âDo Not Disturbâ sign hanging on the knob. His room, obviously.
Minho reappeared from the kitchen holding a glass of water. He set it on the counter near you without comment.
You stared at it, then at him.
ââŚThanks?â
He shrugged, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed again. âYou looked like you were about to pass out.â
His voice was low, almost bored. But he didnât leave. He just stood there, watching you with that unreadable expression.
You took the water and drank it, suddenly aware of how thirsty you actually were.
âSo,â you said, trying to keep things light, âwhich room is mine?â
He tilted his head toward the open door on the left. âThat one. I took the one with the better window. Sorry.â
He didnât sound sorry.
You smiled anyway. âNo problem. Iâm easygoing.â
Minho hummed, like he didnât quite believe you, then pushed off the counter.
âDinnerâs in the fridge if youâre hungry,â he said as he headed toward his room. âLeftovers from last night.â
You stared after him.
He cooked?
Before you could thank him, his door clicked shut.
The âDo Not Disturbâ sign swayed gently.
You exhaled, looking around your new (shared) home.
The first week was a careful dance of avoidance and accidental domesticity.
Minho was gone most of the day â dance practices, classes, whatever mysterious schedule a dance major kept. You were busy with your own classes and part-time photography gigs. You barely saw each other.
But the apartment started showing signs of him anyway.
A perfectly folded stack of your laundry appeared on your bed one afternoon (he had âaccidentallyâ mixed it with his and refused to admit it was intentional). A pot of kimchi jjigae was left on the stove with a sticky note that just said âeatâ in neat handwriting. When you came home late from a shoot one night, the living room light was still on and Minho was on the couch, pretending to watch a drama while clearly waiting for you.
âYouâre late,â he said without looking up.
You raised an eyebrow. âYouâre not my dad.â
He finally glanced at you, expression flat. âYou forgot to eat again. Thereâs leftovers.â
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then he stood up, walked into the kitchen, and silently reheated the food for you.
You ate at the counter while he leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching you like it was his job to make sure you actually finished the bowl.
âYou donât have to do this, you know,â you said between bites. âWeâre just roommates.â
Minho shrugged. âYouâre bad at taking care of yourself. Someone has to.â
His tone was annoyed.
But he stayed until you finished eating.
And when you thanked him, he just muttered âwhateverâ and disappeared into his room again.
The âDo Not Disturbâ sign never moved.
But you were starting to think it might as well say âDo Not Fall For Your Roommate.â
Because Lee Minho was already becoming a problem.
The weeks after that were a masterclass in quiet chaos.
He wasnât loud. He wasnât messy. He was just⌠there. Always in the periphery, always doing small things that made your shared apartment feel less like a temporary mistake and more like something dangerously comfortable.
It started with the ramen.
You came home from a long photography shoot at 2:14 a.m., exhausted, starving, and too tired to cook. The apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the kitchen light. Minho was standing at the stove in black sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, hair slightly messy, stirring a pot like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You stopped in the doorway.
ââŚAre you cooking?â
He didnât look up. âYou forgot to eat again. Sit.â
You blinked. âHow do you know I forgot to eat?â
He shrugged, sliding a bowl of kimchi jjigae in front of you as you sat at the counter. âYou always do when you have shoots.â
You stared at the bowl, then at him.
He leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching you eat with that same unreadable expression. He didnât say anything else. Just stood there until you finished.
When you thanked him, he muttered âwhateverâ again and disappeared into his room.
The next morning, your laundry was folded neatly on your bed.
You knew you hadnât done it.
When you confronted him in the kitchen later, he was making coffee, back to you.
âYou folded my clothes,â you said, half-amused, half-confused.
âYou did it wrong,â he replied without turning around. âEverything was wrinkled. I fixed it.â
You leaned against the doorway, smiling. âYouâre strangely domestic for someone who acts like he hates people.â
Minho finally glanced over his shoulder, expression flat. âI donât hate people. I just donât like most of them.â
You laughed. He turned back to the coffee maker, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The pattern continued.
He started leaving sticky notes on the fridge:
Thereâs leftover tteokbokki. Eat it before it goes bad. - Minho
Your plants are dying. Water them. - Minho
Stop staying up until 4 a.m. editing. Sleep. - Minho
You teased him relentlessly about it.
âYou know youâre acting like a worried husband, right?â you said one evening while he was silently reheating food for you again.
Minho didnât even pause. âEat your food.â
But his ears turned pink.
Your friends noticed before you did.
One weekend, you invited a couple of them over for a casual movie night. Minho was supposed to be out at dance practice.
He wasnât.
He walked in halfway through the movie, took one look at the group on the couch, and immediately went to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he emerged with a tray of perfectly cut fruit, homemade ramyeon, and drinks â placed it on the coffee table without a word, then sat on the floor beside your legs like it was his assigned spot.
Your friend Jisoo stared. âWait⌠he lives here?â
You nodded. âRoommate. Housing error.â
Jisoo looked between you and Minho, who was now quietly watching the movie while occasionally glancing up to make sure you were eating the fruit he brought.
ââŚLooks like y'all are married,â she whispered.
You laughed. âWeâre not. Heâs just⌠like this.â
Minho didnât comment.
But later that night, after everyone left, he lingered in the living room while you cleaned up.
âYou can go to bed,â you told him. âIâve got this.â
He ignored you and started helping anyway, silently drying dishes while you washed them.
When you bumped shoulders accidentally, he didnât move away.
Neither did you.
The clinginess showed up in quieter ways too.
One night you came home late and freezing from a shoot. Minho was on the couch, pretending to read. The moment you walked in, he stood up, disappeared into his room, and came back with one of his hoodies.
âPut this on,â he said, tossing it at you. âYour roomâs heater is shit.â
You pulled it on without arguing. It smelled like him â warm, clean, faintly like his cologne.
You caught him staring for a second too long before he looked away.
âThanks,â you said softly.
He shrugged. âWhatever.â
But he stayed on the couch with you until you fell asleep watching a drama, a blanket mysteriously draped over both of you.
When you woke up the next morning, he was gone.
But the blanket was still there.
And so was the faint scent of him on your hoodie.
You told yourself it was just roommate stuff.
Minho was practical. He was helpful. He was⌠Minho.
But your friends were starting to look at you like you were the only one who couldnât see what was happening.
And deep down, you were starting to wonder the same thing because, the domesticity didnât stay small for long.
Minhoâs care started slipping into your life in ways that felt too personal to ignore â quiet, practical, and impossibly consistent.
One rainy Thursday, you came home from a long outdoor shoot completely soaked and starting to sniffle. Your nose was running, your throat hurt, and you were too tired to do anything but collapse on the couch.
Minho took one look at you and disappeared into the bathroom.
He returned with a towel and your hair dryer.
âSit,â he said, voice flat.
You blinked through your exhaustion. âWhat?â
âYouâre dripping everywhere. Sit.â
You sat.
He stood behind the couch and gently dried your hair with the towel first, movements careful and efficient. Then he turned on the hair dryer, fingers combing through your damp strands with surprising gentleness. The warm air and his steady touch made your eyes flutter shut.
âYou donât have to do this,â you mumbled, voice hoarse.
âI know,â he replied.
But he kept going until your hair was dry and you stopped shivering.
When he finished, he placed a blanket over your lap and disappeared into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he returned with a bowl of warm porridge and medicine.
âEat,â he said, setting it on the coffee table. âThen sleep.â
You stared at the bowl, then at him.
ââŚThank you.â
He shrugged like it was nothing and retreated to his room.
The âDo Not Disturbâ sign stayed up.
But you noticed he left his door cracked open that night â just enough to hear if you needed anything.
He also started remembering things.
Your coffee order (extra shot, oat milk, one sugar). The days you had early classes. The exact brand of snacks you reached for when stressed. When your period was coming and you needed chocolate.
He never announced it. He just⌠did it.
One morning you woke up to find your favorite coffee and a small pack of painkillers on the kitchen counter with a sticky note that simply said:
Donât forget to eat lunch.
No signature.
But you knew it was him.
-----
The jealousy started subtle.
You were in the shared living room one evening when a guy from your photography class, Jisung, stopped by to drop off a lens youâd lent him. He lingered in the doorway, chatting and laughing, standing a little too close as he complimented your latest shots.
Minho was in the kitchen, pretending to make tea.
But you felt his eyes on you the entire time.
When Jisung reached out to brush a stray hair from your shoulder, Minhoâs spoon clattered loudly against the mug.
Jisung startled. âOh, sorry â I didnât know you had company.â
Minho didnât look up. âSheâs busy.â
His voice was calm. Almost bored.
But his knuckles were white around the mug.
Jisung left quickly after that.
The second the door closed, Minho set the mug down harder than necessary and walked over to you.
âYou let him touch you,â he said, voice low.
You raised an eyebrow. âIt was just my hair.â
He stared at you for a long moment, jaw tight.
Then he reached out and gently fixed the same strand of hair himself, fingers lingering against your cheek.
âDonât,â he muttered.
You blinked. âDonât what?â
He didnât answer.
He just turned and went back to the kitchen like nothing had happened.
But that night, when you went to bed, you found one of his hoodies folded neatly on your pillow.
No note.
Just the hoodie.
The obsession grew quieter. Deeper.
He started waiting up when you had late shoots.
Youâd come home at 1 a.m. to find him on the couch, pretending to watch a drama, eyes heavy with exhaustion but refusing to go to bed until you were safely inside.
One night you tried to tell him he didnât have to.
Minho just looked at you, expression unreadable.
âI know,â he said.
But he stayed on the couch anyway.
You told yourself it was just roommate stuff.
Practical.
Convenient.
Nothing more.
But your friends were starting to look at you like you were the only one who couldnât see what was happening.
The domestic routine had settled into something dangerously comfortable.
Minho still acted like he didnât care. He still left the âDo Not Disturbâ sign on his door. He still muttered âwhateverâ when you thanked him for the late-night ramen or the perfectly folded laundry.
But the small things kept piling up.
He started leaving the living room light on when you had late shoots. He started buying the exact brand of tea you liked when the old box ran out. He started sitting on the couch with you during movies instead of retreating to his room.
You told yourself it was just roommate courtesy.
Your friends told you you were delusional.
The tension finally snapped at a house party thrown by one of your mutual friends.
You hadnât planned to go, but Minho had been unusually quiet that day, so you dragged him along, hoping it would loosen him up.
Big mistake.
The party was loud, crowded, and full of people who knew you as the friendly photography girl and Minho as the intimidating dance major who rarely spoke.
You were in the kitchen getting a drink when a guy from your department â Hyunjin â approached. He was charming, talkative, and had been flirting with you casually for weeks.
âHey,â he said with an easy smile, leaning against the counter beside you. âYou look good tonight. Finally taking a break from hiding behind that camera?â
You laughed lightly, friendly as always. âTrying to. You?â
Hyunjin stepped a little closer, eyes sparkling. âBetter now that youâre here. Want to dance? Or we could go somewhere quieter and talk about that project you mentionedââ
A hand landed on your lower back.
Firm. Possessive.
Minho appeared at your side like a shadow, his body pressed close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
âSheâs busy,â he said, voice low and flat.
Hyunjin blinked, surprised by the sudden interruption. âOh⌠sorry, man. I didnât know you two wereââ
âWeâre not,â you started.
At the same time, Minho said, âSheâs with me.â
The words came out calm. Controlled.
But his hand stayed on your lower back, fingers pressing slightly into the fabric of your shirt like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
Hyunjin raised his hands in surrender and backed off with an awkward laugh.
The second he was gone, you turned to Minho, heart racing.
âWhat was that?â
Minho didnât look at you. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the crowd.
âHe was too close,â he muttered.
You stared at him. âYouâre acting jealous again.â
âIâm not jealous.â
âYou literally just told him Iâm with you.â
Minho finally looked at you. His eyes were dark, conflicted, something raw flickering beneath the usual unreadable mask.
âI donât like it when people touch you,â he said quietly. âEspecially when they donât know you.â
The honesty hit harder than expected.
You opened your mouth to respond, but Minho was already pulling you gently by the wrist, leading you out of the noisy kitchen and toward a quieter hallway.
The moment you were alone, he stopped.
Turned.
And kissed you.
It wasnât soft.
It was frustrated. Hungry. Like heâd been holding back for weeks and finally lost the fight. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his mouth moved against yours, deep and demanding.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers gripping his shirt.
For a moment, it felt like it would escalate â his body pressing you against the wall, thigh sliding between yours, breath ragged against your lips.
Then Minho pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
âFuck,â he whispered. âWe shouldnâtââ
âYeah,â you agreed, equally breathless, hands still fisted in his shirt. âWeâre not⌠weâre just roommates.â
He nodded once, but didnât move away.
Neither did you.
The hallway felt too small. The air too thick.
Minhoâs thumb brushed your bottom lip once, almost reverently, before he forced himself to step back.
âDonât let him touch you again,â he muttered, voice rough.
Then he turned and walked away before you could respond.
You stayed leaning against the wall for a long time, heart pounding, trying to convince yourself the kiss hadnât meant anything.
It had felt like everything but it changed nothing on the surface.
Minho still acted like the same emotionally unavailable roommate â quiet, practical, and annoyingly competent. He still left the âDo Not Disturbâ sign on his door. He still muttered âwhateverâ when you thanked him for the late-night food or the perfectly folded laundry.
But underneath, something had shifted.
The domesticity became heavier. More intimate. Harder to ignore.
It started with the laundry again.
One morning you woke up to find several of Minhoâs hoodies and shirts mixed in with your clean clothes. You knew you hadnât washed them. When you confronted him in the kitchen, he was making coffee, back turned to you.
âYou put your clothes in my laundry again,â you said, holding up one of his black hoodies.
He didnât turn around. âThey were mixed. I fixed it.â
âYou didnât have to wash mine.â
âI was already doing a load.â
You stared at his back. âYouâre doing my laundry now?â
He finally glanced over his shoulder, expression flat. âYou do it wrong. Everything ends up wrinkled. Itâs practical.â
You pulled his hoodie closer without thinking. It smelled like him â clean, warm, faintly like his cologne. You told yourself you were just borrowing it because it was soft.
You wore it for three days straight.
Minho noticed.
He didnât say anything, but you caught him staring at you in it more than once, ears faintly pink before he looked away.
Movie nights became dangerous.
One Friday, you suggested watching a new drama together on the couch. Minho agreed with his usual noncommittal shrug.
Halfway through, you fell asleep.
When you woke up hours later, the TV was still on, but you were no longer sitting upright. You were lying down, head on Minhoâs chest, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His breathing was steady, but you could tell he wasnât fully asleep.
You stayed very still, heart racing.
After a moment, Minhoâs fingers brushed lightly up and down your back â slow, absentminded, like he didnât realize he was doing it.
ââŚYouâre warm,â he muttered sleepily when he felt you stir. âStay.â
You didnât move.
Neither did he.
You fell back asleep like that â tangled together on the couch, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
The next morning, he pretended it never happened.
But his hoodie was still on you when you woke up.
The care kept creeping in.
When you had a bad day, he showed up at your door with your favorite takeout without being asked.
When you mentioned your favorite tea was running low, a new box appeared on the counter the next day.
When you complained about the cold in your room, he âfixedâ the heater â which somehow meant he started leaving his own blanket on your bed every night.
You tried to call him out on it.
âYouâre spoiling me,â you said one evening while he was silently reheating food for you again.
Minho didnât look up from the stove. âItâs practical. You forget to eat when youâre stressed.â
You smiled, leaning against the counter. âYouâre acting like a worried boyfriend.â
He froze for half a second.
Then, voice flat: âIâm not.â
But his ears were red again.
Your friends were the first to say it out loud during a casual hangout at your apartment.
One of them watched Minho quietly refill your water glass without being asked, then disappear back into the kitchen.
ââŚYou two are basically married,â she whispered.
You laughed. âWeâre roommates.â
She raised an eyebrow. âRoommates donât look at each other like that.â
You brushed it off.
But later that night, when Minho fell asleep on the couch beside you during another movie, his head eventually ending up on your shoulder, and you didnât move him.
You just sat there, heart beating a little too fast, wondering when âroommatesâ had started feeling like something more.
Minho, still half-asleep, mumbled something against your shoulder.
ââŚDonât leave.â
You froze.
He didnât say anything else.
But his arm wrapped around your waist a little tighter.
And for the first time, you realized you didnât want to leave either.
-----
The jealousy started escalating the week Seojun entered the picture.
Seojun was a confident, charismatic dance major in Minhoâs department â loud where Minho was quiet, outgoing where Minho was reserved. He had been friendly with you for a while, but lately heâd been showing up more often, especially when you were around the dance building dropping off photos for a project.
One afternoon, you were waiting outside the practice room when Seojun spotted you.
âHey!â he called, jogging over with an easy grin. âYou here for Minho?â
You smiled back, friendly as always. âYeah, I promised Iâd bring him the edited shots from last week.â
Seojun leaned against the wall beside you, standing a little too close. âYouâre too nice to him. He doesnât deserve it.â
You laughed lightly. âHeâs not that bad.â
Seojun tilted his head, eyes sparkling. âYou know, if you ever get tired of dealing with his grumpy ass, Iâd be happy to take you out sometime. Coffee? Or dinner? No pressure.â
Before you could respond, the practice room door opened.
Minho stepped out, hair slightly damp with sweat, towel around his neck. His eyes landed on Seojunâs proximity to you immediately.
His expression didnât change much.
But you saw the way his jaw tightened. The way his hand flexed at his side.
He walked straight over and stopped right beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours.
âSheâs busy,â Minho said, voice flat and low.
Seojun raised an eyebrow, amused. âWith you?â
Minho didnât blink. âYes.â
The tension was instant.
You tried to laugh it off. âMinho, itâs fineââ
But Minho was already gently grabbing your wrist, pulling you toward the exit without another word to Seojun.
You let him pull you along, heart racing.
The second you were outside, you turned on him.
âWhat was that?â
Minho didnât look at you. âHe was too close.â
âYou literally told him Iâm busy with you.â
He finally glanced at you, eyes dark. âYou are.â
The possessiveness in his voice made your stomach flip.
You stared at him. âWeâre not dating, Minho.â
âI know,â he said, voice tight. âBut I still donât like it.â
He didnât elaborate.
He just started walking you back to the apartment, staying closer than usual, his shoulder brushing yours with every step.
It kept happening.
Whenever Seojun was around, Minhoâs reactions became sharper.
During a group hangout at the apartment, Seojun sat next to you on the couch and casually rested his arm along the back of the seat behind you. Minho, who had been in the kitchen, appeared seconds later and sat directly on your other side, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.
He didnât say anything.
He just reached over and fixed the collar of your shirt, fingers lingering against your skin.
Seojun eventually moved.
Later that night, after everyone left, Minho was quieter than usual. He was washing dishes when you walked into the kitchen.
âYouâre being weird again,â you said, leaning against the counter.
He didnât look up. âIâm not.â
âYou literally sat between me and Seojun like a guard dog.â
Minhoâs hands paused on the plate. Then he continued washing, voice low.
âI donât like when he touches you.â
The honesty made your breath catch.
You stepped closer. âMinhoâŚâ
He turned off the water and finally looked at you, eyes dark and conflicted.
âI know weâre not dating,â he said quietly. âBut I still hate it.â
The air between you felt thick.
You didnât know what to say.
So you didnât say anything.
You just reached up and gently fixed a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes.
Minho closed his eyes for a second, leaning into the touch like he was starving for it.
Then he pulled away, muttering something about needing to sleep, and disappeared into his room.
The âDo Not Disturbâ sign never moved.
But you were starting to realize that the sign wasnât for you.
It was for him.
Minho still kept his âDo Not Disturbâ sign up like a shield, but the walls between you were crumbling faster than either of you could pretend otherwise. He was louder in his silence now â the way heâd linger in the kitchen when you were home, the way his eyes followed you when he thought you werenât looking, the way his hoodies kept mysteriously appearing in your room.
You tried to act normal.
You failed.
One Thursday night you came home from a brutal editing session, shoulders aching, eyes burning. The apartment was warm and smelled like something delicious. Minho was at the stove again, stirring a pot of samgyetang with focused precision.
âYouâre back,â he said without turning around.
âYeah. Smells good.â
He hummed. A few minutes later, he set a steaming bowl in front of you at the counter, along with a glass of water and painkillers.
âEat,â he ordered quietly.
You sat down, suddenly too tired to tease him. The first spoonful made your eyes flutter shut. Perfect, as always.
Minho leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed, watching you eat like it was his personal responsibility. The silence felt heavier tonight. Charged.
When you finished, he took your bowl without a word and started washing it.
âYou donât have to keep doing this,â you said softly, standing up to help dry.
âI know.â
But he didnât stop. His shoulder brushed yours as you worked side by side. Neither of you moved away.
Later that night, you were on the couch scrolling through photos when Minho came out of his room in a black t-shirt and sweatpants. He paused, then sat beside you instead of retreating to his usual spot.
You glanced at him. âMovie?â
He nodded once.
Halfway through, your head ended up on his shoulder. His arm slowly slid around you, pulling you closer until you were curled against his chest. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns on your arm.
âYouâre warm,â he muttered, almost to himself.
You tilted your head up. His face was inches from yours, eyes dark and unreadable in the glow of the TV.
âMinhoâŚâ
He swallowed hard. Then he leaned down and kissed you.
This time, there was no hallway. No party. No interruption.
It started slow â hesitant, like he was still fighting himself. But the second you kissed him back, something in him snapped. The kiss deepened, turning hungry and desperate. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head as his tongue slid against yours.
You climbed into his lap without thinking, straddling him. Minho groaned softly into your mouth, hands gripping your waist like he was afraid youâd disappear.
âFuck,â he breathed against your lips. âThis is a bad idea.â
âProbably,â you whispered, rolling your hips once.
His grip tightened hard enough to bruise.
He stood up suddenly, carrying you like you weighed nothing, and walked straight to his room. The âDo Not Disturbâ sign stared at you mockingly as he kicked the door shut behind him.
The second your back hit his bed, Minho was on you.
He kissed you like heâd been starving for months â deep, messy, possessive. His hands shoved your shirt up, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking a dark mark right below your ear.
âMine,â he growled against your skin, so low you almost missed it.
You pulled his shirt off, nails dragging down his toned back. He hissed, grinding his hard cock against you through your clothes.
Clothes came off in a blur. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, both of you moaned brokenly.
âShitâ so tight,â he panted, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were dark, intense, completely focused on your face as he bottomed out. âLook at me.â
You did.
He started moving â deep, rolling thrusts that made your back arch. Every stroke felt deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt around him. His hand came up to wrap gently around your throat, not squeezing hard, just holding you there as he fucked you.
âYou feel so good,â he whispered, voice rough. âBetter than I imagined. Fuckâ been thinking about this for weeks.â
You moaned his name, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. He angled his hips and hit that spot inside you perfectly, drawing a sharp cry from your throat.
âThatâs it,â he murmured, kissing you messily. âLet me hear you.â
He fucked you harder, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. The pleasure built fast and overwhelming. When you came, clenching around him with a broken moan of his name, Minho cursed and followed right after, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you.
For a long moment, the only sound was both of you breathing hard.
Minho didnât pull out. He collapsed on top of you, face buried in your neck, arms wrapped around you like a vice.
âDonât say anything,â he whispered against your skin. âJust⌠stay.â
You stayed.
He fell asleep still inside you, holding you like you might vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly.
The next morning, he was already in the kitchen when you woke up. Two plates of breakfast waited on the counter.
He didnât mention the sex.
But when you reached for your coffee, he gently fixed the collar of the hoodie youâd stolen from him â his hoodie â and his fingers lingered against your neck, right over the hickey heâd left.
You didnât mention it either.
But the line between roommates and something more had been completely, irreversibly crossed.
âMorning,â you said softly.
âSit,â he replied, voice low. He slid a plate of perfectly cooked eggs, rice, and grilled spam in front of you, along with your coffee â exactly how you liked it.
You ate in silence for a few minutes. The tension from last night still hummed between you, thick and unspoken.
âYouâre not going to say anything?â you finally asked.
Minho paused, chopsticks hovering over his food. âAbout what?â
You raised an eyebrow. âAbout the fact that we had sex last night.â
He shrugged, ears turning faintly pink. âIt happened.â
You stared at him. âThatâs it?â
He finally looked up, expression carefully blank. âWeâre still roommates. Donât make it weird.â
But the way his gaze lingered on the hickey heâd left on your neck said otherwise.
The denial didnât last long.
Over the next week, Minhoâs care became almost suffocating in its intensity. He cooked every night. He waited up every time you had a late shoot. He started doing your laundry without even pretending it was an accident. And at nightâŚ
He stopped pretending he wanted space.
One evening you came home exhausted. Minho took one look at you, walked over, and pulled you into a slow, deep kiss right in the middle of the living room. No words. Just his hands sliding under your shirt, mouth claiming yours like heâd been thinking about it all day.
He carried you to his bed again.
This time, he took you apart slowly.
Minho laid you down gently, stripping you piece by piece with patient hands. His mouth followed â kissing down your neck, sucking marks across your collarbones, tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming beneath him.
âMinhoâŚâ you breathed.
âShh,â he murmured against your stomach, lips brushing lower. âLet me take care of you.â
He ate you out like he had all the time in the world â slow, filthy licks and gentle sucks on your clit, two fingers curling inside you until your thighs shook around his head. He didnât stop even after you came the first time, just kept licking you through it, groaning softly like your taste was addictive.
When he finally crawled back up and pushed inside you, it was devastatingly deep. He fucked you with long, rolling thrusts, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on your face the entire time.
âLook at me,â he whispered when your eyes fluttered shut. âWant to see you.â
Every thrust felt heavy with meaning. His hand came up to wrap around your throat again â light pressure, possessive, grounding. The other rubbed your clit in perfect rhythm until you came again, clenching hard around him.
Only then did Minho let himself go. He buried his face in your neck and fucked you harder, chasing his own release with broken, quiet moans of your name. When he came, he stayed deep inside you, hips twitching as he filled you up.
Afterwards, he didnât pull away. He rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him, still connected, arms wrapped tightly around your back.
âYouâre staying here tonight,â he said quietly. It wasnât a question.
You smiled against his chest. âOkay.â
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, fingers tracing slow circles on your bare skin. For once, he didnât run back behind his walls. He just held you.
But the denial still lingered during daylight.
He still muttered âweâre not datingâ when your friends teased you. He still put the âDo Not Disturbâ sign on his door when other people came over. He still got prickly and quiet whenever Seojun texted you or when someone flirted with you on campus.
One afternoon Seojun stopped by the apartment to drop off dance footage for a project. Minho was in the kitchen, but the second Seojun leaned in a little too close while laughing at something you said, Minho appeared like a shadow.
He didnât say anything. Just wrapped an arm around your waist from behind and pressed a slow kiss to the side of your neck â right over one of his many marks â while staring directly at Seojun.
Seojun got the message quickly.
When the door closed, you turned in Minhoâs arms.
âYouâre being possessive again.â
Minhoâs jaw tightened. âI donât like him near you.â
âYou keep saying weâre not dating.â
He stared at you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes before he buried it.
âI know what I said.â
Then he kissed you hard, like he could avoid the truth if he just drowned it in physical closeness.
That night he fucked you against the kitchen counter after dinner â rough, desperate, and possessive. One hand around your throat, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints as he pounded into you from behind.
âSay my name,â he growled against your ear. âOnly mine.â
You came moaning his name. He followed right after, spilling deep inside you with a broken groan.
Afterwards, while he was carefully cleaning you up with a warm towel, he kissed your shoulder softly.
ââŚStay in my room tonight,â he whispered.
You smiled. âI thought we werenât dating?â
Minho froze, then buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you from behind.
âShut up,â he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled and embarrassed.
But he didnât let go.
And you were starting to realize that Lee Minhoâs version of âweâre not datingâ was beginning to sound a lot like âI donât know how to admit Iâm falling in love with you.â
Minho no longer waited for you to fall asleep on the couch. Most nights he simply pulled you into his room after dinner, wordlessly stripping you down and burying himself inside you like it was the only way he knew how to say the things he couldnât voice.
One particular night, you came home after a long day of back-to-back shoots. The apartment was quiet, but the moment you stepped inside, Minho was there.
He didnât speak. He just walked up to you, cupped your face, and kissed you slow and deep, like heâd been waiting hours for this exact moment. His hands slid under your shirt, thumbs brushing your ribs as he backed you toward his bedroom.
âMissed you,â he muttered against your lips. It was the closest thing to a confession heâd ever given.
He took his time with you that night.
Minho laid you out on his bed like you were something precious, mouth mapping every inch of your skin. He spent long minutes between your thighs, licking and sucking until you came twice on his tongue, fingers buried deep inside you, curling against that spot that made you see stars. He groaned every time you clenched around his fingers, like your pleasure fed something starving inside him.
When he finally pushed inside you, it was devastatingly slow. He held your gaze the entire time, forehead pressed to yours, one hand gently wrapped around your throat while the other pinned your wrist above your head.
âSo good for me,â he whispered, voice rough as he rolled his hips deep. âAlways so fucking perfect.â
Every thrust was measured, intentional, like he was trying to carve himself into your memory. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and he let out a broken sound that made your chest ache.
When you came again, clenching hard around him, Minho followed with a quiet, shuddering groan, spilling deep inside you while whispering your name against your neck like a secret.
Afterwards, he didnât move. He stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tightly around your body as he rolled you both onto your sides. His face stayed hidden in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.
You gently ran your fingers through his hair. âMinho⌠what are we doing?â
He was quiet for a long time.
Then, barely audible: âI donât know.â
But his arms tightened around you like he was scared youâd pull away.
The next few days felt like borrowed time.
Minhoâs care became almost overwhelming. He started waking up earlier just to make you breakfast. He left sticky notes on the mirror after you showered: âDrink water.â âYou looked tired. Sleep early.â He even started doing your photography editing backups âbecause your laptop is old and slow.â
You caught him staring at you more often â soft, unguarded looks when he thought you werenât paying attention. But the second you turned toward him, the mask would slip back into place. Flat expression. âDo Not Disturbâ energy.
One afternoon, while you were both in the kitchen, you decided to test the waters.
âI found a new apartment listing,â you said casually, stirring your coffee. âItâs available next month. Closer to campus, cheaper rentâŚâ
Minhoâs entire body went still. The knife he was using to cut vegetables froze mid-air.
âYouâre moving?â His voice was carefully neutral, but you heard the strain underneath.
âYeah. The housing error gets fixed at the end of the semester anyway. Thought I should start looking.â
He didnât respond. Just went back to chopping vegetables with a little more force than necessary.
That night, he fucked you like he was angry.
Bent over the kitchen counter right after dinner, your shorts shoved down, his cock slamming into you from behind with deep, punishing strokes. One hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
âYouâre really leaving?â he growled against your ear, hips snapping harder. âAfter all this?â
You moaned, pushing back against him. âYou said weâre not datingââ
He pulled your head back by your hair and bit down on your shoulder, sucking a dark hickey as he fucked you even deeper.
âDonât say that right now,â he hissed.
He made you come twice before he finally let himself go, filling you up with a low, broken groan. Afterwards, instead of his usual quiet aftercare, he carried you to his bed and held you so tightly you could barely breathe.
âDonât look for apartments yet,â he whispered against your hair in the dark.
You didnât answer.
But you didnât pull away either.
The next morning, Minho was quieter than usual. He made your coffee exactly how you liked it, but he wouldnât meet your eyes. When you tried to tease him about burning the toast, he barely reacted.
You hated how much it hurt.
Because the truth was becoming impossible to ignore: you didnât want to move out. You didnât want to leave this apartment. You didnât want to leave him.
And Lee Minho, for all his emotional constipation and âDo Not Disturbâ signs, was starting to look like he felt the exact same way.
But neither of you knew how to say it.
Yet.
-----
The argument finally exploded in the kitchen on a random Tuesday night.
Youâd been putting it off for days, but the new apartment listing had been confirmed. You set your phone down on the counter and took a deep breath.
âI found a place,â you said quietly. âItâs available at the end of the month. I think Iâm going to take it.â
Minho was stirring rice in a pan. His hand stilled completely.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint sizzle of the food.
âYouâll survive,â you added, trying to keep your voice light. âYou lived alone before me anyway.â
Minho slowly set the spoon down and turned to face you. His expression was tight, jaw clenched, eyes darker than usual.
âI know I will,â he said flatly.
You nodded, heart aching. âThen why are you acting like this?â
He stared at you for a long second, something raw and frustrated breaking across his face. The âDo Not Disturbâ mask heâd worn for months finally shattered.
âBecause I liked living with you!â The words burst out of him, louder than youâd ever heard him speak. He immediately looked away, ears burning red. âMore than I shouldâve.â
Silence filled the kitchen.
Minho gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white.
âI know Iâm bad at this,â he continued, voice dropping. âI donât say things. I just⌠do things. Cook for you. Wait up for you. Fold your stupid laundry. But every time I think about you moving out, it feels wrong. Like the apartmentâs going to be too quiet. Like Iâm going to be too⌠empty.â
He finally looked at you, eyes vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.
âI donât want you to leave.â
You stepped closer until you were right in front of him. âThen ask me to stay, Minho.â
He swallowed hard. Then, barely above a whisper:
ââŚStay.â
You smiled, soft and warm. âOkay.â
The tension snapped.
Minho pulled you into him almost desperately, kissing you like heâd been holding back for years. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as the kiss turned deeper, slower, full of everything heâd never been able to say.
He lifted you onto the kitchen counter, stepping between your legs. But this time it wasnât rushed or possessive. It was tender.
Clothes came off slowly. He kissed every inch of skin he revealed, murmuring quiet praises against your collarbone, your stomach, your thighs. When he finally slid inside you, it was gentle and deep, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked.
âIâve got you,â he whispered, rolling his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. âIâm not letting you go.â
You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, holding him just as tightly. The pleasure built gradually, sweet and overwhelming, until you both came together â quiet moans and trembling breaths, bodies pressed impossibly close.
Afterwards, Minho carried you to his bed (your bed now, too), cleaned you up with careful hands, then pulled you against his chest. He buried his face in your hair, arms locked around you.
âNo more looking at apartments,â he mumbled against your temple.
You laughed softly. âNo more âweâre not datingâ either?â
He was quiet for a moment. Then:
âWeâre dating,â he said, almost shyly. âIf⌠you want.â
You tilted your head up and kissed him. âI want.â
-----
The next few weeks were sickeningly cute.
Minho still acted annoyed when your friends teased him about being whipped, but he no longer denied it. He started introducing you as âmy girlfriendâ in the most casual, deadpan way possible â like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He took the âDo Not Disturbâ sign down permanently.
Now the only sign on his door (your shared door) was a small handmade one youâd made together that read: âDo Not Disturb⌠unless youâre y/nâ
Domestic life continued, only now it was openly affectionate.
He still cooked for you at 2 a.m. when you forgot to eat, but now heâd pull you into his lap afterwards and feed you bites while pressing kisses to your neck. He still folded your laundry, but now heâd steal kisses every time he passed you a stack of clothes. He still waited up for you, but now heâd greet you at the door with a hug that lasted way too long.
One lazy Sunday afternoon, you were both on the couch watching a drama. You were wearing his hoodie (as usual). Minho had his head in your lap, eyes half-closed as you played with his hair.
âYou know,â you said softly, âI never thanked the housing office for their mistake.â
Minho hummed, turning his face to press a kiss to your thigh.
âDonât thank them,â he muttered. âThank me for not letting you move out.â
You laughed and leaned down to kiss him.
He smiled against your lips â small, genuine, and completely unguarded.
Lee Minho still wasnât great with words.
But he didnât need to be.
He showed you he loved you every single day â in the meals he cooked, the hoodies he let you steal, the way he held you at night like you were the only thing that mattered.
IF SOMEONE HAD ASKED MINHO a few years ago what was a must for him while looking for a partner, heâd have answered that they had to love his cats as much as he did.
that was before he found out that everybody knew how to act the part. first, theyâd act interested and ask all the right questions, but when they eventually moved in together, theyâd start complaining.
âthereâs cat hair all over my clothesâ
âthey keep waking me up at the crack of dawnâ
âwhy do you need me to take care of them? cant you just, i dont know, get an automatic feeding system for them?â
frankly, he didnât think he was going to get a girlfriend who loved his cats as much as him. heâd already crossed it out from his mental checklist for finding a girlfriend.
that was until he met you.
when he mentioned his cats on your first date, you seemed genuinely interested in them. he didnât think much of it, you were just putting on the performative act everybody put on. trying to get on his good side, he told himself.
the first time you met his cats was when you went over to his place when he was sick. you made him soup, took care of his laundry, and most importantly (to him), entertained soonie, doongie, and dori.
you watched cartoons with them and made their a thousand step food, that even minho found annoying sometimes, without complaint.
still, he convinced himself that you still wouldnât be able to deal with living with three cats for a long period of time.
now, after a year of living with him at his apartment, he has never heard you complain once. youâd let them sleep on the bed and didnât show even a hint of annoyance when soonie scratched you.
minho was currently on a business trip, so you were home with the cats. thatâs when you noticed that dori had been acting strange. he hadnât peed today though he normally pees three times a day. he looked like he was straining every time he used the litter box and he kept licking his genital area.
you werenât some cat expert, but your gut told you something was wrong, so you took him to the vet.
âheâs very lucky you took him in today. it looks like he has a urinary blockage, things wouldâve been life-threatening if you brought him in even a day later.â the vet said, still examining dori. âweâll have to do some x-rays and blood work to assess his kidney values and electrolyte levels first, but heâll have to stay here for at least two days.â
the vet took dori away for the x-rays and blood tests while you signed the paperwork, then you facetimed minho.
âjagiya?â he answered the phone, sweaty and out of breath. âwhatâs up?â
âdori has a urinary blockage. heâs getting his blood work and x-ray done.â
âwhat?â you could hear the shock in his voice. âhowâd you find out?â
âhe hasnât been peed for a day.â
âand you noticed?â
âof course i did,â you said matter-of-factly âtheyâre like my kids.â
minho looked at you on his screen like you hung the stars.
âi could like, marry you.â you laughed at his words, but he wasnât joking. âiâm dead serious, yn.â
âiâll look forward to the proposal then,â you giggled. âthe nurse just called for me. iâll update you later, kay?â
the vet said dori would need to go on a strict wet food diet, so you got all the food recommendations he had and got a new, more interesting water fountain because it would apparently encourage dori to drink more water.
minho came back a week later, and it was like he loved you even more than before, if that was even possible.
he couldnât stop thanking you for âsaving doriâs lifeâ and pampered you with kisses for the entire week.
that was the moment he knew you were the one for him
and of course, the promised proposal came half a year after.
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he starts memorizing the smallest details about you without even realizing heâs doing it, as if his brain had decided to catalog every little piece of you to keep as a secret treasure.
he knows exactly how you like your coffee: moderately sweet, with a pinch of cinnamon when itâs cold outside, and always with an extra cup of ice water on the side because you tend to forget to stay hydrated. when you arrive at the studio, he already has the cup ready, placed casually on the table as if it were a coincidence. in truth, he woke up earlier just to stop by the right cafĂŠ and order it âthe way she likes it.â he never admits it. he simply slides the cup toward you with a tired little smile and says, âit was leftover.â
he notices the songs you always skip on the shared playlist. when youâre in the car coming back from an event, he watches through the rearview mirror which parts you skip, and days later he creates an entire playlist with only the tracks you actually listen to until the end. he never sends it saying itâs for you. he saves it on his phone under the name ârandomâ and plays it when youâre around, pretending itâs something he put together randomly for the group.
he recognizes the exact tone of your voice when youâre tired. that slight hoarseness, the way the words come out slower, almost lazy. on those days he becomes more protective without drawing attention: he lowers the music volume in the studio, brings a light blanket that âwas leftover,â and adjusts the air conditioning to be warmer. if you yawn, he already knows. and his chest tightens with the urge to send you home to rest, but he only offers his shoulder and says softly, âyou can lean on me a little, Iâm awake anyway.â
he learns the way you bite your lower lip when youâre concentrated or nervous. he starts observing this in meetings and, without anyone noticing, changes the subject or makes a little joke just to see you relax. afterward he scolds himself mentally for paying so much attention, but he canât stop.
he memorizes the perfume you wear. sometimes he buys the same fabric softener just so the hoodie he âaccidentallyâ leaves near you carries a scent that reminds you of him. when you wear the hoodie and comment that it smells good, he feels his face burn and turns to the computer pretending to work.
he knows which days you tend to feel more anxious. on those days, he sends simple messages at 7 in the morning: âgood morning, donât forget to eat something before leaving.â he never says he remembers your mood cycle. he just takes care of you, silently, as if he wants nothing in return.
he begins to adjust his own sleep schedule to match yours. if he knows youâll stay later at the studio helping, he stays too, even if heâs exhausted. he says he needs to finish a track, but actually he wants to make sure you donât go home alone. the ride is always offered casually: âIâm heading that way anyway.â
he notices the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about something you love. so he starts bringing up conversations about those topics on purpose: a new movie, an indie song you mentioned in passing, a book youâre reading. he researches the subject beforehand just to be able to talk better and see that sparkle again. afterward he spends hours thinking about the smile you gave him.
he learns your little habits: how you twist the ring on your finger when youâre thoughtful, how you tuck your hair behind your ear when you feel shy, how you sigh in relief after the first sip of coffee. every detail becomes fuel for his compositions. he writes lyrics about âsomeone who makes the world feel quieterâ without ever putting your name, but everyone who listens feels itâs too personal.
he becomes more sensitive to your mood than heâd like to admit. if youâre sad, he notices in the first second. he doesnât ask directly what happened. instead, he does something practical: brings your favorite snack, plays a soft song in the studio, or simply stays nearby in comfortable silence, offering presence without pressure. his love shows in actions, never in grand words.
he starts dreaming about you and wakes up with his heart racing. then he spends the whole day trying not to look at you too much, afraid someone will notice. but when you enter the room, his eyes always find yours for a second longer than they should.
he keeps all the photos you take together. he has a secret folder called âreferencesâ on his computer, but theyâre actually moments of you smiling, you focused while working, you laughing at some silly thing he said. he looks at those photos in the early mornings when the longing hits hard and the fear of ruining everything stops him from confessing.
he learns to cook your favorite dish. he spends hours watching tutorials on his phone, burns the first attempt, but the second one turns out perfect. when he brings it to the dorm and says âI made too much, want some?â, the quiet pride in his eyes gives everything away. he watches you eat with almost religious attention, happy to be able to make you feel good.
he worries about your health in ways that seem exaggerated even to him. if you mention you slept badly, the next day he shows up with a calming tea that âa staff member recommended.â if you cough, he already sets aside an extra jacket. everything disguised as leader care, but the affection is visibly greater when it comes to you.
he begins to write lyrics about silent love, about someone who loves from afar so as not to ruin what is already beautiful. he plays these songs quietly in the studio when heâs alone and imagines what it would be like to dedicate one to you. but he saves the file and never shows it. not yet.
he notices when youâre cold and, without saying anything, places his own jacket over your shoulders. then he pretends it was an accident. when you thank him, he just shrugs and murmurs, âno need to thank me.â
he catches himself smiling alone when he remembers something funny you said days ago. the members start to notice that heâs more distracted, softer, more patient. he denies everything, but his heart no longer obeys the rules he tries to impose.
he plans small and impossible futures: a walk with just you by the Han River at dawn, a studio session where you only play slow songs, a whole day without schedules where he can finally tell you everything heâs keeping inside. but for now, he continues hiding, loving through every detail, every gesture, every look that lasts a second longer.
he knows heâs in love. deeply. but the fear of losing your friendship, of complicating the groupâs life, of not being able to give you the time you deserve, makes him keep this enormous love inside his chest, letting it leak only in silent, sweet forms full of care.
and even while trying to hide it, the love overflows. in every coffee made with affection, in every playlist thought of for you, in every night he stays awake just to make sure you get home safely. Bang Chan may be the leader who carries the world, but when it comes to you, he becomes someone who wants to carry only your heart, with all the care and all the delicacy that a love like this deserves.
ââââ
đŚđ˘đ§đĄđ¨
heâs so subtle about it that most people would miss the signs, but if you look him in the eyes for more than two seconds, itâs painfully obvious â that soft, lingering gaze that melts just a little whenever youâre around. Minho tries so hard to keep his usual cool, sharp exterior, the teasing Lee Know that everyone knows. But with you, the walls crack in the quietest ways.
he starts showing up with your favorite snacks without being asked. not dramatically, just casually placing a small bag of the exact brand of strawberry milk candy you like on the practice room table. âthey were on sale,â he mutters with a shrug, avoiding eye contact while his cats-like eyes flick back to your face the second you look away. he remembers every little preference like itâs second nature.
he watches you more than he should. during dance practice, when the group is resting, his eyes find you in the mirror reflection. not staring obviously, but soft, careful glances that trace the way you smile or how you tuck your hair back. if someone catches him, he immediately turns it into a teasing comment â âyouâre doing that move wrong againâ â but the fondness in his tone gives him away.
he becomes gentler with his teasing. instead of his usual sharp remarks, he pokes fun in ways that feel almost protective. if youâre struggling with a step, he corrects your posture with light fingers on your shoulders, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary before pulling away like it burned him. âfix your arm like this,â he says quietly, voice lower than usual, eyes locked on yours a fraction too long.
he memorizes the way you take your drinks. hot americano with two pumps of vanilla on tired days, iced with extra shot when youâre energetic. he âaccidentallyâ orders an extra one at the cafĂŠ near the company and hands it to you with a deadpan face. âdonât make it weird, I just didnât want to waste it.â but his ears turn slightly pink when you thank him warmly.
he lets you into his quiet world without saying it outright. when the dorm is loud and chaotic, he finds excuses to pull you to the balcony or the corner of the living room where his cats are. he places one of them in your lap â âSoonie likes youâ â and watches with the softest expression as you pet the cat, pretending to scroll on his phone but really just soaking in the peaceful sight of you.
his touches are rare but meaningful. a hand on your lower back guiding you through crowded hallways at events, gone so quickly you wonder if you imagined it. brushing a stray eyelash from your cheek during makeup touch-ups, his fingers hovering near your skin like heâs afraid to break something precious. every time, he pulls back with that signature blank face, but his eyes betray him â dark, warm, and full of unspoken words.
he notices when youâre overwhelmed. if the schedule is too hectic and you look tired, he suddenly becomes extra efficient, finishing tasks faster so the group can end practice earlier. âIâm hungry,â he lies smoothly, even though he ate two hours ago. later, he sends a single text: âget some rest.â no emojis, no extra fluff, but you can feel the care behind the short message.
he composes small choreographies in his mind with you in them. during late-night solo practices, he dances moves that feel softer, imagining your laughter filling the empty room. he never shows you these parts, but sometimes he demonstrates a new combination and asks for your opinion, watching your reaction like itâs the most important feedback in the world.
he defends you in the smallest, fiercest ways. if another member jokes too roughly, Minho shuts it down with a calm but cutting remark. âenough.â his voice is steady, but his hand clenches slightly at his side. afterward he acts like nothing happened, offering you a piece of chocolate from his pocket as silent comfort.
his smiles are different with you. the sharp, mischievous ones he gives the cameras turn genuine and boyish when youâre nearby. he tries to hide them by looking down or turning away, biting his lip, but the corners of his mouth still lift. if you catch him, he covers it with a dramatic eye-roll. âwhat are you staring at?â
he learns your habits like theyâre choreography he needs to perfect. the way you hum when focused, how you stretch your neck when stressed, the nervous fidgeting with your sleeves. he starts mirroring some of them unconsciously â stretching when you do, humming the same tune under his breath. the members notice and tease him, but he denies it with a straight face while his heart races.
he stays late just to walk you out. âI need to grab something from the van anyway,â he says, even when itâs clear he doesnât. the walk is quiet, comfortable. he matches your pace, hands in his pockets, stealing glances at your profile under the streetlights. when you reach the car, he opens the door for you without a word, eyes soft in the dim glow.
he gifts in the most understated way possible. a new hair tie because âyou always lose yours,â or a keychain that matches one of his cats. each item is given with minimal explanation, but chosen with ridiculous care. he watches your face light up and has to look away quickly, pretending to be busy with his phone.
he becomes more patient with the chaos around him when youâre there. the usual Minho who gets easily annoyed by noise turns calmer, more tolerant. he even laughs at jokes heâd normally ignore, just because your laughter joins in. his eyes always drift back to you, like youâre the center of the room even when youâre trying to stay in the background.
at night, when insomnia hits, he scrolls through old group photos just to see your face. he saves a few secretly, telling himself itâs for âreference.â sometimes he catches himself smiling at the screen and shakes his head, whispering to himself, âthis is stupid, Minho.â
he worries about you silently. if you mention a small cold, the next day thereâs medicine and a warm drink waiting at your spot. âdonât get us sick,â he says gruffly, but the concern in his gaze is unmistakable. he checks on you through indirect questions to other staff, never admitting heâs asking specifically about you.
his love shows in the way he listens. really listens. when you talk about your day, he puts his phone down completely, chin resting on his hand, eyes steady on yours. no interruptions, no teasing until youâre done. itâs rare for him to give anyone that full attention, and it makes his feelings painfully obvious to anyone paying close attention.
he dreams of more but keeps it locked away. quiet dates at cat cafĂŠs, dancing together in an empty studio at 3 a.m., lazy mornings where he could finally say everything he holds back. for now, he hides behind subtle actions and sharp comments, but the love is there â clear as day in those deep brown eyes that soften only for you.
even when he tries to act indifferent, the truth slips through. a gentle hand steadying you, a perfectly timed snack, a gaze that lingers with quiet affection. Minho may be the master of subtle, but his heart is loud when it comes to you. and if you look closely enough, youâll see heâs already completely, hopelessly in love.
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heâs the most obvious one out of all of them, even though heâs desperately trying to convince himself (and everyone else) that heâs not in love. but letâs be honest â itâs so painfully clear that to you, it already feels like you two are practically dating. Changbin treats you like his girlfriend in every single way, acting like a full-on boyfriend without ever having kissed you. the line between âclose friendâ and âthis man is whippedâ disappeared months ago.
he always sits next to you. no matter where the group is â in the van, at the dorm, during meals, in the studio â Changbin claims the spot beside you like itâs his reserved seat. he does it so naturally now that the members donât even tease him about it anymore. if someone else tries to sit there, he gives them a look and says âmove, thatâs her spotâ in his deep voice, then turns to you with a bright smile like he didnât just act completely territorial.
he carries your stuff without asking. your bag? already on his shoulder. your coat? heâs holding it. if youâre carrying drinks or snacks for the group, he immediately takes the heavier bags from your hands. âyouâre small, let me do it,â he says, flexing his arms a little on purpose while pretending itâs nothing. he even remembers which bag is yours and keeps track of it throughout the day.
he checks on you constantly, in full boyfriend mode. âdid you eat?â âare you cold?â âyou look tired, lean on me.â he brings you water before you even realize youâre thirsty. if you yawn, his arm is instantly around the back of your chair, ready for you to rest against him. he does it so casually that youâve both stopped questioning it. to everyone else, it looks exactly like a couple.
he gets you food all the time. not just snacks â full meals. he shows up with your favorite chicken or ramyeon because âI was ordering anyway.â he knows your spice level, your favorite sides, even how you like your eggs in the morning. he watches you eat with the softest, proudest expression, then gets shy when you thank him and pretends to be busy lifting weights.
his physical affection is constant but somehow still âplatonicâ in his mind. he pulls you into hugs that last way too long, burying his face in your hair and breathing you in. he holds your hand when crossing the street âjust in case.â he plays with your fingers when youâre sitting together. he rests his head on your shoulder during long car rides, mumbling âyouâre comfortableâ like itâs the most normal thing in the world. and you let him, because this is just how Changbin is with you.
he gets jealous in the most obvious ways. if another member jokes around with you too much or gets a little too close, Changbin suddenly becomes louder, flexing harder, showing off his muscles or rapping something impressive just to pull your attention back. he tries to play it cool but fails miserably. âwhy are you laughing so much at Hyunjin?â heâll mutter under his breath, pouting until you give him your full focus again.
he calls you by cute nicknames that sound dangerously couple-like. âbabyâ slips out when heâs tired. âjagiyaâ when heâs being extra sweet. âmy girlâ when talking to the members. he says them so naturally that youâve started responding to them without thinking. he catches himself sometimes and gets flustered, clearing his throat and adding âuh, I meanâŚâ but the damage is already done.
he plans his schedule around you. if he knows youâll be at the company late, he stays late too. if you have a day off, he suddenly âhappensâ to have free time and suggests doing something together. âthe members are busy anyway,â he says, even though heâs the one who made sure everyone else had plans.
he protects you like itâs his job. someone speaks to you rudely? his deep voice cuts in immediately, calm but intimidating. paparazzi or fans getting too close? heâs standing in front of you, using his body as a shield. he doesnât even think twice â itâs instinct now. youâre his person to take care of.
he remembers every little thing you tell him. a random comment about liking a certain color, a movie you want to watch, a stress-relief plushie you saw online. days or weeks later he shows up with it. âsaw this and thought of you,â he says, rubbing the back of his neck shyly while his eyes shine with hope that youâll like it. every gift is chosen with so much care it feels like boyfriend behavior.
he gets shy when you compliment him. when you tell him he did well in a performance or that his arms look strong, his ears turn bright red and he tries to hide his huge smile behind his hand. but he keeps stealing glances at you afterward, glowing for hours because of your words.
he talks about you to his family. you know because his mom once mentioned on a call how much âBinnie talks about you.â he got so embarrassed when you found out, hiding his face in a pillow while mumbling âsheâs just a good friendâŚâ but everyone can hear the lie in his voice.
he falls asleep thinking about you and wakes up checking his phone for your messages first thing. if you donât text good morning, he sends one himself â âhope you slept well đŞâ with a flexing emoji, trying to keep it cool when really he just wanted an excuse to talk to you.
he treats you like youâre already his. he shares his food from the same plate, lets you wear his hoodies (and loves seeing you in them), saves you the best seat, makes sure youâre always comfortable. the members have started calling you âChangbinâs girlfriendâ behind your backs because itâs that obvious.
and the craziest part? you two havenât even kissed yet. but the way he looks at you â eyes soft, full of adoration and quiet longing â makes it feel like youâre already in a relationship. he wants to confess so badly, but the fear of ruining what you have keeps him holding back. so instead he loves you loudly through actions: carrying your things, feeding you, protecting you, holding you close.
Changbin is head over heels, and heâs doing a terrible job at hiding it. to everyone around you, itâs clear as day that this man is already completely committed. he may not have said the words yet, but every single thing he does screams that youâre the one he wants. and deep down, you already know it too.
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heâs intense without even realizing it, like a quiet storm that keeps pulling you in. Hyunjin is always busy â schedules packed with photoshoots, practices, late-night art sessions, and world tours â yet somehow heâs constantly present in your life. he slips into your days like he belongs there, showing up in ways that feel both natural and overwhelming. he tries so hard to hide how deeply he feels, but itâs impossible. the way he looks at you gives everything away.
he stares too much. itâs not on purpose, but his eyes just find you and stay there. during group dinners heâll be mid-conversation with someone else and suddenly go quiet, gaze locked on you across the table as you laugh at something Felix said. when you catch him, he blinks slowly like heâs coming out of a trance, then offers a soft, sheepish smile and looks away, pretending to be interested in his food. but minutes later, his eyes drift back to you again.
he gets distracted looking at you. in the middle of a dance practice heâll miss a step because his focus slipped to the way youâre sitting in the corner, hair falling over your shoulder. âsorry, hyung,â he mutters to Chan, but his mind is elsewhere â replaying the small smile you gave him earlier. even when heâs in the middle of creating new choreography, his thoughts wander to you, and suddenly the movements become softer, more emotional, like every step is speaking about someone he canât admit heâs falling for.
he pays attention to the smallest things. he notices when you change your nail color and casually says, âthat shade looks pretty on you,â like itâs nothing. he remembers the exact playlist you made months ago and adds new songs to it that he thinks youâd like. if you mention loving a certain flower in passing, a small bouquet appears at the studio the next week with no note â just left where youâd find it. he tries to play it off as coincidence, but the details are too precise to be random.
he creates awkward silences that feel heavy with everything unsaid. sometimes when youâre alone together in the practice room after everyone else has left, conversation fades and youâre just sitting side by side. the air gets thick. he wants to say so much, but instead he just looks at you, lips slightly parted, eyes full of quiet intensity until one of you finally breaks the moment with a nervous laugh. those silences say more than words ever could.
he becomes more emotional only with you. the Hyunjin who keeps his feelings polished and artistic in front of cameras and members lets the mask slip when youâre near. he gets softer, almost vulnerable. if you compliment his new painting, his voice cracks just a little when he thanks you. when youâre having a bad day, he listens with his whole heart, eyes glistening as if your pain physically affects him. heâll suddenly pull you into a long hug, holding you tighter than necessary, breathing you in like he needs it to survive.
even with a packed schedule, he finds ways to be there. heâll text you at 2 a.m. from another country just because he saw something that reminded him of you â a beautiful sunset, a street artist, a cat that looked like one from your stories. âthought youâd like this,â he writes, followed by a photo. during breaks in his busy days, he calls you under the excuse of âneeding an opinion on a song,â but really he just wants to hear your voice. he shows up at your favorite cafĂŠ when he only has thirty minutes free, ordering your usual and waiting for you with that gentle, intense stare.
his art starts reflecting you without him meaning to. sketches of hands that look suspiciously like yours. paintings with colors you once said you loved. lyrics he writes in his notebook about longing and unspoken feelings. when you ask to see his recent drawings, he hesitates, cheeks faintly pink, before showing you a few while carefully hiding the ones that feel too revealing.
he gets lost in moments with you. during late-night drives, he plays soft music and just drives slower than necessary, stealing glances at your profile illuminated by passing streetlights. the conversation flows easily until it doesnât â and then that intense silence returns, filled with everything heâs too scared to say. he wants to tell you how you make his chaotic world feel calm, but instead he just reaches over and gently fixes a strand of hair that fell on your face, letting his fingers linger.
he tries to hide the depth of his feelings behind his usual dramatic, artistic personality, but it bleeds through in every interaction. the way his voice softens when he says your name. how he prioritizes your comfort over his own exhaustion. the lingering hugs where he rests his chin on your head and sways slightly, like he could stay there forever. the way his eyes light up when you enter the room, even when heâs surrounded by people.
Hyunjin is intensely, beautifully in love, and no matter how hard he tries to conceal it, it shows. in the stares that last too long, in the small attentions that mean the world, in the emotional openness he reserves only for you, and in the way he makes space for you in his overwhelmingly busy life. he may not have confessed yet, but his heart is already completely yours â loud and quiet at the same time, waiting for the moment when he finally stops hiding.
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he doesnât even realize how much physical affection he pours into every interaction with you, but itâs constant, warm, and impossible to ignore. Felixâs love language is touch, and when it comes to you, it becomes completely involuntary â like his body naturally gravitates toward you for comfort, safety, and that soft feeling only you can give him. he tries to play it cool, but everyone can see heâs attached in the sweetest, most obvious way.
he touches you all the time. small, absentminded things at first: his fingers brushing your arm when he laughs at something you said, his hand resting on your lower back when walking through crowds, his knee pressing against yours under the table during meals. itâs never forced, but itâs constant. even when heâs trying to focus on a conversation with the members, his hand somehow ends up playing with the sleeve of your hoodie or tracing light patterns on your shoulder.
the members constantly tease him for it. âFelix, give her some space, mate,â Chan laughs when Felix is practically glued to your side on the couch. âYeah, bro, youâre literally on top of her,â Seungmin adds with a smirk. Felix just blinks innocently, cheeks turning pink, and mumbles âI didnât even noticeâŚâ while subtly scooting even closer instead of pulling away. deep down he knows he should create distance, but his body refuses.
he leans into you without thinking. during long van rides, his head naturally falls onto your shoulder, eyes half-closed as he seeks your warmth. if youâre standing together, he leans his body against yours like youâre his personal support. in the practice room, when everyoneâs exhausted, he rests his forehead against your arm or back while catching his breath, breathing softly like your presence alone recharges him.
he actively seeks proximity. every chance he gets, he pulls you into hugs that last longer than normal â arms wrapped fully around you, face buried in your neck, squeezing gently like he needs the contact to survive the day. good morning hugs, goodbye hugs, âI missed you even though we saw each other yesterdayâ hugs. he holds your hand naturally, interlocking fingers without asking, giving soft squeezes when heâs nervous or excited. and the cheek kisses⌠he does them so often and so casually. a quick peck when he greets you, another when you say something cute, one more just because he feels like it. his lips are always warm and lingering just a second too long.
he craves comfort from you specifically. after tough practices or stressful schedules, he finds you like a magnet. âCan I hug you?â he asks with that deep, tired voice, already moving closer before you answer. once heâs in your arms, he melts â shoulders relaxing, a soft sigh escaping as he nuzzles closer. youâre his safe place, and even when he tries to hide how much he needs you, his body language screams it.
when youâre sitting together, his arm is almost always around you. not in an obvious âcoupleâ way (at least in his mind), but draped casually over your shoulders while he plays with your hair or rubs small circles on your arm. if youâre cold, he pulls you into his lap without thinking, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. âBetter?â he whispers, voice low and sweet.
he gets shy when called out but never stops. the members will say âFelix is in his clingy era againâ and heâll laugh, hiding his face in your neck for a moment before peeking out with a bright smile. âSheâs just really comfortable,â he defends, but the way he says it â soft, almost reverent â makes it clear itâs much more than that.
even in group settings, heâs always touching you. playing with your fingers during movie nights, resting his leg over yours, drawing little hearts absentmindedly on your skin with his fingertip. when heâs excited about something, he grabs both your hands and jumps lightly, eyes sparkling as he shares the moment with you physically.
at night, when the dorm is quiet, he sends texts like âare you still awake? can I come over for a bit?â and shows up just to cuddle. he curls into you like a cat, seeking your warmth and the steady beat of your heart. âYou make everything feel better,â he murmurs sleepily, voice deep and honest in the dark, before catching himself and adding a shy âI mean⌠as a friend.â
he tries to hide the depth of his feelings behind his bright, sunshine personality, but the constant physical closeness betrays him. every touch, every hug, every cheek kiss carries quiet affection and longing. heâs not just being friendly â heâs in love, and his body shows it in the most tender, involuntary ways possible.
Felix may not have said the words yet, but the way he constantly reaches for you, melts into your touch, and finds comfort only in your presence makes it beautifully obvious. heâs completely smitten, and his hands, arms, and heart keep finding their way back to you every single time.
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heâs nervous and incredibly talkative around you, like his brain short-circuits the moment you enter the room and the only solution is to fill the silence with words. Jisung tries so hard to hide how much he likes you, but his chaotic, jittery energy makes it painfully obvious to everyone except (maybe) himself. He becomes a whirlwind of nervous rambling, bad jokes, and sudden blushing that gives him away every single time.
he talks nonstop just to have an excuse to stay near you. it doesnât matter what the topic is â the weather, a weird dream he had, the new flavor of ramen he tried, or how his hoodies are mysteriously disappearing (he knows you stole one but wonât admit it). he jumps from subject to subject, words tumbling out faster than he can think. âDid you know that squirrels can remember the exact locations of thousands of nuts? Wait, thatâs random, but today I saw this bird outside the studio and it reminded me of that one time youââ He keeps going, cheeks already warming because he knows heâs rambling again, but he canât stop. Talking to you feels like the safest and scariest thing at the same time.
his jokes are terrible, but he loves making them because you laugh at every single one. âWhy donât skeletons fight each other? Because they donât have the guts!â he says with a dramatic hand gesture, and when you burst out laughing, his whole face lights up like he just won the lottery. Even the members groan at how lame they are, but you always giggle, and that sound becomes his favorite motivation. He starts collecting dad jokes and random puns throughout the day just to have new material to throw at you. Every time you laugh, his heart does a little flip and he feels braver for two seconds⌠before the nervousness returns.
his energy turns completely chaotic when youâre around. he fidgets constantly â tapping his fingers on the table, bouncing his leg, spinning in the chair, or suddenly jumping up to show you a new dance move he just invented on the spot. If youâre in the dorm, heâs dragging you into impromptu karaoke sessions, singing dramatically off-key just to make you smile. The calm, collected Han that appears on stage disappears and is replaced by this hyper, sunshine version that only comes out for you. He tries to tone it down, but the second you look at him, the chaos restarts.
he gets shy out of nowhere, turning bright red in the middle of his own sentences. One moment heâs talking a mile a minute about a new anime heâs watching, and the next he catches you looking at him with that soft expression and completely freezes. His ears go pink, then his cheeks, and he stammers, âU-uh⌠what was I saying again?â He covers his face with his hands or pulls his hoodie over his head, mumbling âignore me, Iâm being weird again.â But even hidden, you can see the blush spreading down his neck.
he remembers tiny details but delivers them in the most chaotic way possible. âYou said last month that you liked that one snack with the chocolate and the crispy thing, right? Well I bought ten packs because they were on sale and maybe you want someâ wait, is that too much? Am I being creepy?â He talks so fast that the sweet gesture gets buried under nervous rambling, but the intention is always pure and full of affection.
when the nervousness peaks, he gets extra clumsy. he trips over his own feet while trying to show you something, spills his drink, or accidentally sends you ten voice messages in a row because texting felt too slow. Each time he apologizes profusely, face burning red, only for you to laugh and make him relax again. Your laughter is his safe button â the moment he hears it, he melts and starts talking even more.
he seeks you out in crowded rooms. even when the entire group is together, he somehow ends up right next to you, shoulder brushing yours, talking about anything and everything. If someone else tries to pull your attention away, he gets a little louder, telling another silly story or making another bad joke just to win your focus back. He doesnât realize how obvious it is, but the members definitely do. âHan, breathe. Sheâs not going anywhere,â Changbin teases, making Jisung hide behind you in embarrassment.
late at night, when the chaos quiets down, he still texts you. long paragraphs about his day, random thoughts at 3 a.m., voice notes where heâs clearly nervous but trying to sound casual. âI saw this cloud today that looked like a quokka⌠and it made me think of you, haha. Wait, is that weird? Never mind, delete this.â But he never deletes it, and you always reply, which keeps him smiling for hours.
he tries to hide his feelings behind the endless talking and chaotic humor, but it never works. The way his eyes sparkle when you laugh at his jokes, the sudden blushes, the way he always finds a way to be close to you â it all screams how much he likes you. Deep down, Jisung is terrified of ruining the friendship, so he keeps everything behind bad puns and fast talking. But his heart is already completely yours, beating wildly every time youâre near.
Even when heâs trying his hardest to act normal, one look at his red cheeks and bright, nervous smile is enough to know: Han Jisung is head over heels, and heâs failing adorably at hiding it.
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heâs the master of disguised provocation, hiding every ounce of affection behind sharp, dry comments and endless teasing. Seungmin never shows his feelings directly â that would be too obvious, too vulnerable â so he expresses everything through implicância, those little jabs that sound mean to anyone who doesnât know him but feel strangely warm to you. Heâs never cruel, just relentlessly playful in that signature Seungmin way, while his hidden care slips through the cracks.
he picks on you constantly, but itâs his version of hello. âDid you forget how to walk properly or are you just trying to trip in front of me again?â he says with a straight face when you stumble slightly in the practice room. His tone is flat, almost bored, but thereâs a tiny spark in his eyes that only you seem to catch. When you clap back with something equally sarcastic, the corner of his mouth twitches upward for half a second before he hides it.
his comments are always dry and delivered with perfect timing. âWow, you actually managed to wake up before noon today. Should I call the news?â he mutters when you arrive early to a schedule, sliding a coffee toward you without making eye contact. He acts like itâs just another random drink he had extra, but itâs exactly how you like it â oat milk, one sugar, slightly less ice. He remembers. He always remembers.
he hides his attention so well that it almost feels accidental. During group photos he stands next to you âbecause it balances the formation,â but somehow heâs always positioned to shield you from the bright lights. If youâre quiet for too long, he throws a casual âyouâre too loud today⌠wait, thatâs not what I meantâ to check if youâre okay, then quickly follows up with another tease so it doesnât seem like heâs worried.
yet heâs incredibly caring in his own quiet, tsundere way. When youâre tired after long hours, he âaccidentallyâ leaves his hoodie on the chair beside you. âIt was too warm anyway,â he says dryly, even though the studio is freezing. If you look cold, he sighs dramatically and drapes it over your shoulders without another word, then goes back to scrolling on his phone like he didnât just do something sweet.
he teases you in front of the members but defends you the second someone else tries it. âSheâs not that bad at singing,â he says with a smirk when the others joke about your karaoke skills. But if a staff member or stranger makes even a light comment, his voice drops into that calm, cutting tone: âLetâs not.â No explanation. Just protection wrapped in his usual unbothered attitude.
he pays attention to the smallest changes. When you get a new haircut, he stares for a second longer than usual before saying âItâs⌠different. Not terrible, I guess.â Which, coming from Seungmin, is practically a love confession. If youâre stressed, he shows up with your favorite snack and says âDonât blame me if itâs too sweet. You look like you need sugar.â He sits nearby in comfortable silence, pretending to read lyrics while secretly making sure you eat.
his physical affection is rare and subtle, but meaningful. A light flick to your forehead when you say something silly, followed immediately by him gently smoothing the spot with his thumb. Or when youâre sitting together, his leg pressed against yours under the table â never acknowledged, but never moved away either. If you fall asleep on the couch during a movie night, he throws a blanket over you without comment, then sits on the floor beside you so no one accidentally wakes you.
he gets softer only when he thinks youâre not looking. The members tease him for being extra sharp with you, but theyâve noticed how his gaze lingers when youâre focused on something else. How he saves the last piece of dessert for you. How his voice loses its teasing edge when he asks âYou okay?â late at night through text, followed by âNever mind, youâre probably sleeping. Donât reply.â
he writes tiny notes in that neat handwriting of his and leaves them where youâll find them. âYour pitch was off by half a note today. Fix it.â But at the bottom, in smaller letters: âStill better than yesterday.â Itâs his way of saying heâs proud. He never signs them.
even his teasing feels like flirting in disguise. âYouâre lucky I tolerate you,â he says with a straight face while handing you his umbrella because it started raining. Or âStop looking at me like that, itâs distractingâ when you smile at him after a good performance, ears turning slightly pink before he looks away.
Seungmin tries so hard to keep everything hidden behind sarcasm and dry humor, but his care is always there â steady, reliable, and warm underneath the provocations. He may never say âI like youâ outright, but every teasing comment, every hidden act of kindness, every lingering glance when he thinks youâre not paying attention reveals the truth.
To him, this is love: annoying you just enough to stay close, caring for you without making it obvious, and hoping you can read between the lines of his sharp tongue and soft actions. Because even though he hides it behind implicância and deadpan comments, Seungmin is quietly, deeply, and completely in love with you â in his own perfectly imperfect way.
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heâs soft and painfully shy about it, the kind of love that makes him feel like a teenager again even though heâs trying so hard to be cool. Jeongin becomes the cutest of them all without even trying â a gentle blush that never quite leaves his cheeks, eyes that sparkle a little too brightly when youâre near, and a version of himself that feels both warmer and more nervous than usual. He tries desperately to act normal, but his feelings are too big to stay hidden.
he smiles differently when youâre around. Itâs not his usual polite or playful smile that he gives fans and members. With you, itâs softer, smaller, almost bashful â the corners of his lips lift slowly like heâs trying to hold it back, but it always breaks through into something sweet and genuine that makes his eyes turn into little crescents. When you catch him smiling like that, he quickly looks away, biting his lip and pretending he was just thinking about something funny.
he becomes more careful with everything. Careful with his words, careful with his actions, careful not to stare too long even though he wants to. If youâre carrying something, heâs immediately there to take it from your hands with gentle fingers, saying âI got itâ in that soft maknae voice. He walks on the side closer to the street when youâre together. He remembers how you like your drinks, what makes you laugh, and which songs calm you down. Every small thing is handled with quiet attention, like heâs afraid of messing up even the tiniest moment with you.
he tries so hard to appear normal. Heâll sit across from you in the dorm and force himself to act like he does with the other members â casual, a little playful, cracking small jokes. But his voice gets higher when he talks to you, and he fidgets with the hem of his shirt or the rings on his fingers. âHow was your day?â he asks, trying to sound chill, but the way he leans forward slightly, fully focused on your answer, gives him away completely.
he gets adorably nervous in the most heart-melting ways. His cheeks flush pink at the smallest things â when your hands accidentally brush, when you compliment his singing, when you laugh at something he said. Heâll suddenly become very interested in the floor or his phone, mumbling âah⌠itâs nothingâ while his ears turn bright red. Sometimes he laughs nervously, that high-pitched, shy laugh that he only does when heâs overwhelmed by feelings, covering his mouth with his hand like he can hide how much he likes you.
he seeks quiet moments with you. In the middle of chaotic group hangouts, heâll find excuses to pull you aside â âhelp me choose a song for practice?â or âcan you look at this lyric?â â just to have a few minutes alone. In those moments his voice gets softer, almost whispery. He listens to you with his whole heart, head slightly tilted, eyes wide and attentive like youâre the most interesting person in the world.
his touches are light and hesitant, but full of meaning. A gentle hand on your shoulder when he wants your attention. Fingers brushing yours when passing something. When youâre cold, he offers his scarf without saying much, carefully wrapping it around you and adjusting it with focused care, then stepping back quickly as if he did something bold. Every touch feels like a quiet confession.
he becomes protective in the softest way. If someone teases you too much, he steps in calmly but firmly, âhey, thatâs enough.â Afterward he gets shy again, rubbing the back of his neck and saying âI just thought it wasnât niceâŚâ while avoiding your eyes. He wants to be someone you can lean on, even if he still feels like the youngest who should be protected.
late at night he thinks about you constantly. He replays conversations in his head, smiling into his pillow when he remembers your laugh. He writes little messages he never sends â sweet, honest things heâs too shy to say out loud. Sometimes he practices saying âI like youâ in the mirror, then gets embarrassed at himself and buries his face in his hands.
he tries to hide how much he cares, but it shows in everything. The way he saves the best snacks for you. How he learns your favorite seasons of anime so he can talk about them. The way his voice gets extra gentle when he asks if youâve eaten or if youâre tired. Heâs still trying to act like itâs all casual, but everyone can see how his entire demeanor changes when you walk into the room â softer, brighter, and undeniably in love.
Jeongin is the type of love that feels like warm sunlight and shy glances. He may not be bold or loud about his feelings, but the way he smiles only for you, the careful way he treats you, and the adorable nervousness that takes over whenever youâre close make his affection beautifully obvious. Heâs trying his best to hide it, but his heart is already completely soft and completely yours â the cutest, most genuine kind of love.
how do they react when you call them baby boy, seemingly out of nowhere ?
note: im slowly getting back into writing so forgive any mistakes ! chan referred to as chris cause we cool like that
maknae line here !
chris slowly peels his headphones off when you knock on his studio door, letting them hang around his neck. âyou should have gone home,â he huffs, eyes still glued to his laptop.Â
you let yourself in, âi could have said the same thing to you.â you cross his studio in three strides, stopping to spin his desk chair around to face you. chris whines. the window is cracked on the opposing wall, letting the late night autumn breeze cool the room. the posters and papers stuck onto the walls shiver and rustle lightly. you reach out and cup his cheeks to stroke the discoloured skin under his eyes with your thumbs. results of long days of hard work, discipline, and probably not enough water.Â
you decide to press, âwhen was the last time you had a real meal?â passing another stroke over his cheek bones. he shrugs, leaning into your touch, letting his eyes flutter shut. you move one hand to pass through his blonde, unkept, curls, detangling a small piece.Â
âmaybe this morning?â he finally answers, voice gravely with exhaustion.
you pause, leaving a hand in his hair, âchris. i made breakfast at seven. itâs almost midnight.â he doesnât reply, knowing his bad habits affect the both of you. your thoughts catch up to you, âoh, honey. câmon baby boy, weâre going home.âÂ
his eyes open and you can feel the warmth flooding into his face beneath your hand. âoh. yeah, yeah, okay. home.â he spins around to fiddle with his laptop before closing it and tucking it under his arm.Â
you pretend to not notice the flush of his skin and turn to wait by the door. chris whips around his studio like a tornado, picking up the papers you know youâre going to have to wrangle out of his hands later. he meets you by the door and takes your hand with his free one. his palm is sweaty⌠i wonder why.
minho hears the front door open, but does not dare to move. his lap is the chosen resting spot for not one, not two, but all three of his cats. he dares not disturb his children.Â
âiâm back!â you call out, expecting to either be greeted by padded paws or socked feet. when none comes, you walk down the hall, closer to the living room. âmin-â oh.Â
a quick succession of blinks morph into crescent moons as minho smiles. âhi, love.â he strokes each cat one by one.Â
you quiet your steps as you approach, then lean against the back of the couch, resting over one of the back pillows. âi see youâre preoccupied, i suppose iâll go eat by myself.â you sigh dramatically. minho reaches back and grabs your arm, a teasing scowl on his face. by now, the cats have woken to the sound of your voices, and are beginning their exits. you stroke dori along the back while you kiss minhoâs cheek. âcome, itâll get cold and neither of us like nuked rice.âÂ
minho stands then stretches, a joint popping in the process. âhow long were you sitting there? rather, how long did they have you trapped?âÂ
he meets you behind the couch, âlong enough that i cannot feel my ass.âÂ
you reach around him, grabbing an entire hand of his ass with a smirk. âi can.â that earned you a light smack. you whine, ânot fair, you gave me the perfect opportunity to-âÂ
âi do not care. go wash up.âÂ
you reach up to tap under his chin, âwhatever you say, baby boy,â then turned and headed in the direction of the bathroom.
it didnât hit minho until three hours later when you had your head rested on his arm while you watched a movie together. the way your eyes glinted under the living room light, the featherlight touch on his chin, and the way you called him baby boy. he might have to excuse himself if he thinks about it any longer.
changbin loves the gym, itâs true. he loves to be able to flex in the mirror and see the swell of his muscles, the fruit of his hard word and discipline. it wasnât rare to find him practicing poses in front of the mirror, fresh out of the shower, or in the middle of changing. you tease him occasionally for it, poking at his biceps as you walk by, not that he minds.Â
more often that not, you want to get your hands on him. whether it be just resting a hand over his skin, have your hands wander his skin, or get a solid grip on his arms, you want to be in physical contact. to appreciate his work, you say. you think that you like his arms more than he does half of the time.Â
youâll often suggest the idea of giving him a massage after a day of work, to help him relax. changbin doesnât say no to the idea. if heâs one thing, heâs a man: he loves the feeling of you running your hands all over him, pushing into the sore muscles of his back after a day of work, or which ever part of his body he worked out that day.Â
today, however, you were feeling particularly mean, in a teasing mood if you would. changbin peeled his shirt off, laying flat on his stomach on your shared bed, ready for you to attack his aching back. you mount the backs of his thighs and start as you would, pushing into the meat in his shoulders, sides and back before you paused, leaning forwards.Â
âyou had a long day today, didnât you, baby boy?â you kneaded his lower back as he nodded and exhaled, content.Â
âwait-â changbin pushed himself onto his hands, rustling you backwards, yet you stayed perched on his elevated thighs, âbaby-â he looked over his shoulder at you, ears tinged pink.
âwhat? donât like the nickname?â he lowered himself back onto his stomach with a whine, âyouâre my baby, and youâre my boy,â he can practically hear the cheshire smirk on your lips. he doesnât respond, just groans into the pillow under his head when you hit it a painful spot near his left side.Â
you finish his promised massage with his face shoved so far into the pillow, youâre not sure how heâs breathing, neck burning hot and ears bright red.
hyunjin sits perched on the couch, legs crossed with a serious look on his face. you sit not so far away, an equally as serious look on your face. the standoff continues until you sigh in exasperation, âfine. you win, weâll get beef.â hyunjinâs face immediately lights up, launching himself forwards to land on top of you, tipping you both backwards onto the rest of the couch.Â
he perches his chin on one palm and twirls a lock of hair in the other, âthen can we also get-â you squish a finger to his lips.Â
âwhatever you want now, no,â he pouts behind the finger, attempting to bite it as you pull back. he remains perched atop your body, forcing you to stay on the couch as you wiggle in an attempt to grab your phone to call in the food you just argued over for twenty minutes.Â
after hanging up the phone, hyunjin finally decides that heâll allow you to breathe. he rolls off of you, unceremoniously landing flat on the floor with a huff. you nearly tip yourself off the couch and land on him as you roll to ask if heâs okay. he is.Â
around 25 minutes later the doorbell rings, by now, hyunjin had made it off the floor and was sitting up, leaning into the plush cushions of the couch, scrolling through netflix in an attempt to find something to watch while eating. he twitches at the bell but you stand before he does.Â
âthank you, my love,â you meet his eyes, practically stalking your movements, before his eyes squint with his smile.Â
you run a hand through his hair as you pass behind the couch, leaning down to kiss his cheek, âno problem, baby boy.âÂ
the controller stills in his hold as he processes what you said. it wasnât a big change from the usual cutesy nicknames but something in his gut stirred, heavy with desire.Â
he ate unusually fast, ready to pounce, given the chance.
insane debut post if you ask me :p @ hosungie | masterlist
the answer is you. minho hears the way his door creaks open, and he raises up enough to watch as you make your way into his room. its the darker of the two bedrooms in this apartment, and heâs offered to switch rooms with you only to be denied. too much of a hassle, youâd always say. but you wander in on nights where your head hurts too much and you need the darkness, and heâwho has known you since the two of you were old enough to toddle after the other and get into troubleâdoesnât mind sharing a bed with you.
âis it bad?â he asks as you crawl into his bed.
whatever you mumble as you gracefully flop down, he canât make it out. ah. that bad, hm? he just nudges you closer so that you can hide your face in his shoulder.
heâs in love with you. he always has been.
but in the midst of what might be a rising migraine, heâll just hold that fact to his chest for now. maybe tomorrow heâll tell you. maybe next week. or maybe never: maybe his friends are wrong and you donât feel the same way.
no matter what, there will always be the part of him that loves you in some way. so heâll just cradle the back of your head for a moment and ask if youâve eaten recently, just to know how he should dote on you now.
"why don't we ever go on a real date?" you ask it so casually that minho thinks he's dreaming for a moment.
he's made you breakfast and lunch today, doting on you a little more than he usually does. you fell asleep next to him last night, and woke up feeling better (you always do, apparently, since you always tell him that he's like your own dose of headache medicine). but minho's still caring for you, because he knows how bad your migraines can get. he knows how you tend to feel useless when you're left laying in the dark, hoping that medicine will work or sleep will wash it away once it finally claims you again.
"that implies we've gone on dates."
"haven't we?" again, so casual... it's frustrating in an endearing way. "we take advantage of couple's discounts."
right, but both of you would do that with anyone. "where do you want to go?" he decides to play along. if this is a game, the two of you will laugh. but maybe chris is right.
fuck, chris is right. chris wouldn't lie to him about this. not when he knows how deep this goes.
you just let out this long hum as you think, and he almost thinks you're messing with him. "first dates are so hard," you mumble to yourself, and minho doesn't think he's meant to catch it.
"so it doesn't have to be." he dries his hands on a dish towel, and then takes a long sip of his tea as he watches you. "didn't you say we've been on dates before?"
you just nod, and don't answer him, still caught up in your thoughts.
"how long?"
that gets your attention. you look at him, "hm?"
"how long have you known?"
you open your mouth, then close it, averting your gaze. "after jisung asked why you don't date anymore a few days ago. you looked over at me for a second, and then made an excuse, and..." you let out this long sigh. "i realized things weren't so one-sided for me."
one-sided...? "how long, then?"
"years. i don't know. i think i've spent my entire life loving you." you rest your cheek against your palm. "and somewhere along the way, it turned into something romantic. i don't know when. i've never thought about it."
he laughs a little. of course your story is parallel to his own. he doesn't know when he went from loving you like a friend to loving you like your souls are more than intertwined, from loving you to being in love with you.
after a moment of studying him, you pose the question back to him.
"always, i think." he can't imagine a time in his life where he hasn't loved you now, though. in some way, you were always love to him. "is that cheesy?"
it's your turn to laugh at him, warm and loving as always. "a little. but i don't mind. we can be cheesy for a while." you just grin at him. "maybe dinner."
dinner is good. simple. and he nods. "wherever you want to go." he'll follow you anywhere at this point.
Chan would approach wining and dining his partner with the same meticulous care he brings to everything else in his life. Weeks in advance, he'd be researching restaurants, reading reviews, and mentally cataloging every food preference you have ever mentioned in passing. He'd remember that offhand comment you made three months ago about loving truffle pasta, or how you mentioned wanting to try that new fusion place downtown.
The reservation would be made for a time that works perfectly with both of your schedulesâhe'd never make you feel rushed. Chan would choose somewhere with a balance of sophistication and comfort: upscale enough to feel special, but not so formal that conversation feels stifled. He'd probably pick a place with dim lighting and intimate booth seating where you could sit close together.
Throughout dinner, Chan would be completely present. His phone would be on silent, tucked away, because this time is sacred. He'd ask thoughtful questions, really listening to the answers, his eyes crinkling with genuine interest as you talks about your day, your dreams, your thoughts about the future. He'd have this way of making even mundane stories feel important, nodding along and asking follow-up questions that show he's truly engaged.
When it comes to ordering, Chan would be subtly attentiveâsuggesting dishes he knows you would love, offering to share multiple things so you can try everything. If you're indecisive, he'd gently help narrow down options without being pushy, trying to figure out what you would like the most. And he'd absolutely insist on taking care of the bill, brushing off any protests with that dimpled smile and a soft "I wanted to do this for you."
The evening wouldn't end at the restaurant. He'd take you on a walk afterward, maybe along the river or through a beautifully lit neighborhood, where conversation could continue naturally. He'd offer his jacket without being asked if there's even a hint of cold, and he'd reach for your hand like it's the most natural thing in the world. Every detail would whisper: You matter to me. I thought about you. I want you to feel cherished.
ঠLee Know
Minho would approach dating with his characteristic blend of cool confidence and hidden softness. He'd choose somewhere trendy but not pretentiousâlike a modern Korean restaurant with an extravagant menu with lots of complex yet heartfelt dishes. The atmosphere would be stylish enough to impress but relaxed enough for his playful personality to shine through.
From the moment you sit down, there'd be this electric dynamic of teasing and genuine affection. Minho would make his usual witty observations about the menu, the dĂŠcor, the other dinersâdelivered with that signature deadpan expression that makes everything 100x funnier than they should be. He'd probably mock you gently for taking too long to decide what to order, but then immediately suggest getting both dishes you're torn between because he "wants to try everything anyway."
The food stealing would be inevitable and shameless. Minho would reach across with his fork, spearing a bite from your plate with a mischievous glint in his eyes. When you protest, he'd just smirk and offer his own plate in return, creating this intimate back-and-forth of sharing. It's his love languageâthis casual, comfortable intimacy that says what's mine is yours.
But beneath the teasing exterior, Minho would be incredibly attentive. He'd notice if you seemed tired or stressed, and he'd subtly steer conversation toward lighter topics. He'd remember your drink preferences perfectly, probably ordering for you before they even look at the menu. And in unexpected momentsâbetween jokes and playful jabsâhe'd drop these devastatingly sincere compliments that you completely off-guard. "You look really beautiful tonight," delivered so matter-of-factly it takes a moment to register, followed immediately by him changing the subject like he didn't just make their heart skip.
The evening would feel effortless with Minho, like spending time with someone who knows you completely and likes you anywayâteasing included.
ঠChangbin
Changbin would wine and dine with unabashed enthusiasm and warmth. He's not trying to play it coolâhe's genuinely excited to spend quality time with you, and it shows in everything he does. He'd probably choose somewhere interactive and fun, like a high-end Korean BBQ where you can grill together, or a lively restaurant with shareable dishes and a buzzing atmosphere.
From the start, Changbin would be openly affectionate and complimentary. "You look amazing" would come naturally, accompanied by that bright smile that reaches his eyes. Throughout the meal, he'd be animated and expressive, telling stories with his whole body, making you laugh with his natural charisma and occasional aegyo that he'd pull out specifically to see them smile.
At Korean BBQ, Changbin would absolutely take charge of the grilling, insisting on cooking the meat perfectly for you because you only deserve the best in his eyes. He'd prepare each piece with care, placing the best bites directly on their plate with a satisfied nod. "Try this one, I cooked it perfectly," he'd say with endearing confidence. The act of caring for you through food would feel natural to him, almost protective.
Conversation with Changbin would never lag. He'd want to know everythingâabout you day, your thoughts, your opinions on random topics. He'd share his own stories enthusiastically, probably getting sidetracked into tangents that somehow circle back to how much he appreciates you. "That reminds me of when you..." would be a common phrase, showing how often he thinks about you.
Changbin wouldn't be shy about physical affection either. A hand on the small of your back when walking to the table, reaching across to wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth, playing with your fingers across the tableâall natural expressions of his affection. The entire evening would feel warm, secure, and joyful, like being wrapped in Changbin's genuine enthusiasm for the relationship.
ঠHyunjin
Hyunjin would approach wining and dining as an art form in itself. Every element would be considered: the aesthetic of the restaurant, the presentation of the food, the ambiance of the lighting. He'd choose somewhere visually stunning like a restaurant with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and with artistic dĂŠcor splayed on the walls.
The entire evening would feel like stepping into a romantic film. Hyunjin would arrive looking effortlessly elegant, and he'd take a moment to appreciate your appearance with genuine admiration in his eyes. "You're beautiful" wouldn't just be wordsâit would be an observation, stated with the same appreciation he'd give a piece of art.
Throughout dinner, Hyunjin would notice details you might missâthe way the candlelight reflects in their wine glass, how the sunset through the window creates perfect golden hour lighting, the artistic plating of each dish. He'd probably want to capture some moments, not obsessively, but in that way where he wants to preserve beautiful memories. "The lighting is perfect right now," he'd say softly, and whether or not you take photos, the moment itself would feel preserved in amber.
Conversation with Hyunjin would flow between deep and dreamy. He'd ask philosophical questions about life and love, share his artistic inspirations, and listen with intense focus when you speak. There's something about his attention that feels completeâlike in that moment, nothing else in the world exists but this conversation, this connection.
Hyunjin would be romantic in unexpected ways. He might bring a single flower, not a whole bouquetâbut rather something elegant and simple. He'd reach across the table to tuck your hair behind your ear, let his hand linger on yours, create these soft moments of physical connection that feel both natural and intentional.
If possible, he'd plan for the dinner to end somewhere scenicâa walk along the beach at sunset, or a viewpoint overlooking city lights. The entire experience would feel like poetry, each moment carefully composed but never forced, creating an evening you would remember in soft-focus, warm-toned memories.
ঠHan
Han would bring his whole heart to wining and dining his partnerâemotions, humor, vulnerability, and all. He'd probably be adorably nervous beforehand, texting his you updates like "I'm on my way!" "Actually stuck in traffic, sorry!" "Okay NOW I'm on my way!" that somehow make the anticipation even sweeter.
The restaurant choice would be somewhere comfortable enough for genuine conversation likea cozy Italian place with a relaxed vibe yet loud enough to nor feel awkward when talking. Han would want atmosphere, but not so much formality that he can't be himself.
From the moment they sit down, Han would have you laughing. He'd do impressions of the overly formal waiter, make up ridiculous backstories for other diners, and narrate his internal monologue about choosing between pasta dishes with dramatic flair. But between the jokes and the laughter, there would be these moments of sudden sincerity that take your breath away.
"I'm really happy right now," he'd say out of nowhere, his expression softening. "Like, genuinely happy. Being here with you." And it would be so honest, so unguarded, that it would feel more romantic than any rehearsed line.
Han would be the type to reach across the table and just hold your while you talk, thumb brushing over your knuckles absently. He'd get animated when discussing music or something he's passionate about, then immediately redirect: "But wait, I want to hear about your thingâtell me more about that project you mentioned."
The emotional availability would be Han's superpower. He'd create space for real conversationânot just surface-level date talk, but actual feelings, dreams, fears, random thoughts at 2 AM. He'd share his own vulnerabilities too, creating this beautiful reciprocity of trust.
If you seem stressed or down, Han would notice immediately and shift into comfort modeâmaking it his mission to lift your spirit, whether through humor, heartfelt reassurance, or just listening. The evening would feel like spending time with someone who sees you completely and loves what he sees, someone who makes you laugh until your cheeks hurt and then makes your heart swell with unexpected tenderness.
ঠFelix
Felix would approach wining and dining with his characteristic sunshine warmth and genuine enthusiasm. There would be nothing calculated about itâhe'd choose a restaurant he's genuinely excited about, somewhere he thinks you would love, and his authentic joy would make the entire evening feel special.
He'd probably pick somewhere known for comfort food with a gourmet twist, or a place with a cozy, welcoming atmosphere. The vibe would be "elevated comfort," matching Felix's own energy.
From the moment you meet, Felix's smile would be radiant. He'd compliment you naturally and oftenânot in an over-the-top way, but with genuine appreciation. "I love that color on you," or "Your smile is my favorite thing," delivered with such sincerity it's impossible not to believe.
Felix would be endearingly enthusiastic about the food. He'd want to share everything, pushing dishes toward you with the words "You have to try this!" His eyes would light up with each new flavor, and his genuine reactions would make even simple dishes feel like an adventure. If he knew you love something particularâchocolate desserts, a specific cuisineâhe'd have specifically chosen this restaurant with that in mind.
Conversation with Felix would feel easy and warm. He'd be genuinely interested in everything you has to say, asking follow-up questions and remembering details from previous conversations. "How did that thing go? The one you were worried about last week?" He'd share his own stories too, probably getting adorably sidetracked and then laughing at himself for rambling.
Physical affection would come naturallyâa hand on your arm when laughing, leaning in close to hear them better, the kind of casual touching that speaks to comfort and affection. Felix would make you feel like you're the most interesting, wonderful person in the world, because in that moment, to him, you absolutely are.
The evening would end with Felix not wanting it to be over, suggesting "just one more drink" or "a quick walk" because he's genuinely enjoying every moment. Being with Felix would feel like being wrapped in a blanket of warmth and genuine care.
ঠSeungmin
Seungmin would wine and dine with his signature blend of sharp wit and unexpected softness. He'd choose somewhere sophisticated but not stuffy. The atmosphere would be refined enough to feel special but relaxed enough for his personality to shine.
The evening would be filled with lighthearted banter. Seungmin would tease you endlessly, make dry observations about everything from the menu descriptions "'Deconstructed' just means they didn't finish making it" to the ambient music choices. His humor would keep things light and entertaining, creating an atmosphere where laughter comes easily.
But Seungmin's real romantic power would be in the unexpected moments of genuine tenderness. Just when you think the whole evening will be playful teasing, he'd say something devastatingly sincere. "I'm glad I get to do this with you," delivered with direct eye contact and a soft smile that transforms his whole face. These moments would be all the more powerful for their rarity and authenticity.
He'd be observant in the most quiet waysânoticing if your wine glass is empty and refilling it, remembering your preferences from previous dates, picking up on subtle mood shifts. "You okay?" he'd ask softly if he sensed something was off, and the genuine concern in his voice would make it clear that beneath the wit, he cares deeply.
Seungmin would be the type to have actually thought about what to order, maybe even looked at the menu beforehand. He'd make thoughtful suggestions based on what he knows you like, but frame it casually so it doesn't seem like he's been planning (even though he definitely has).
The conversation would be stimulatingâSeungmin would want to talk about interesting topics, share opinions, engage in friendly debate. He'd challenge you intellectually while making it fun, creating the kind of dynamic where both people leave feeling energized and connected.
Throughout the evening, there would be these small gestures that reveal his care: adjusting the candle so it's not in your eyes, offering his jacket, walking on the street side of the sidewalk. Seungmin would show his affection through actions as much as words, creating an evening that balances entertainment with genuine romance and attraction.
ঠI.N
Jeongin would approach wining and dining with a charming mix of youthful playfulness and surprising maturity. He'd choose somewhere trendy and Instagram-worthyâhe'd want his partner to feel like they're somewhere special and cool, somewhere worth getting dressed up for. Maybe a rooftop restaurant with city views, or a stylish fusion place that's been getting buzz.
From the start, there would be this playful energy. Jeongin would tease you about taking too long to get ready (even though he thinks you look perfect), make jokes about being a "proper gentleman" while exaggeratedly pulling out your chair, and generally keep things light and fun. His smile would be constantâthat bright, genuine smile that makes his eyes disappear.
But underneath the playfulness, Jeongin would be genuinely trying to impress. He'd have put thought into his outfit, the restaurant choice, the timing. He'd want you to feel special and cared for, even if he'd deflect any acknowledgment of his efforts with humor.
Throughout dinner, Jeongin would be attentive in sweet ways. He'd remember your favorite dishes and suggest similar items on the menu. If you mention being cold, he'd immediately offer his jacket. If you seem stressed about something, he'd try to make you laugh or offer surprisingly thoughtful adviceâshowing that maturity that sometimes catches people off-guard.
The teasing would be constant but always affectionate. He'd steal food from his your plate with a mischievous grin, make fun of your reactions to trying new foods, and generally create this dynamic of playful intimacy. But he'd also be the first to sincerely compliment you with that shy smile of his.
Jeongin would want to make memoriesâhe'd probably suggest taking photos together, trying the signature cocktail even if it looks ridiculous, or sharing the most elaborate dessert on the menu. The evening would feel young and alive, full of laughter and lightness, but grounded in genuine affection and care.
As the night winds down, Jeongin would be reluctant for it to end, suggesting you walk around a bit more or find somewhere for late-night coffee. Being with him would feel like an adventureâfun and exciting, but also safe and cherished, like being with someone who makes you feel both giddy and genuinely cared for.
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⨠genre: angst, just angst. genuinely no happiness here
⨠warnings: cheating, arguments, crying, emotional manipulation, mentions of anxiety, heartbreak, unhealthy coping, open ending, crying in the rain bcs im evil hehe. lmk if i missed anything.
⨠word count: 1.6k
⨠a/n: hello? finally? i never thought i was gonna do this cuz it has been like 2 years since i wrote part one. but yeah uhm this was not planned i literally wrote this at 2 am and then proof read and edited it in the morning so bear with me! i havent been active in so freaking long yall have prob forgot abt me but OH WELL here it is FINALLY lmk what u think. pls like and reblog, love u all very much!
Three months. Three whole months since everything fell apart. Three months since Minho looked you in the eyes and said words you still heard at night when your room got too quiet.
Three months since you found her lipstick in his apartment. Since you sat in your car afterward crying so hard you almost threw up. Since you kept asking yourself what she had that you didnât.
And the worst part? Even after all of it, part of you still loved him, and you hated yourself for that. At first, moving on felt impossible. You stopped answering texts. Stopped going out unless someone forced you to. Some nights youâd just lay in bed staring at old pictures of him until sunrise, crying over someone who probably wasnât even thinking about you anymore.
But eventually, the crying became less frequent. Then one day, somehow, you met Chan.
It wasnât dramatic. No movie moment. No love-at-first-sight bullshit. You met him because your friend dragged you out for coffee after weeks of isolating yourself. And Chan was just⌠there. Quiet, easy to talk to, gentle. The kind of person that never made you feel pressured to fill silence.
At first you kept your distance. You expected him to lose patience eventually. Everybody did, but he never pushed. When you took hours to answer texts, he didnât complain. When you cancelled plans because your anxiety got bad, he just told you to rest well. When you zoned out mid conversation, he noticed immediately.
âYou okay?â he asked softly one night. You blinked, realizing youâd completely stopped listening.
âSorryâ
âDonât apologizeâ He smiled a little. âYou looked overwhelmedâ
That almost ruined you. Because Minho used to get awkward or frustrated whenever you shut down. Chan just noticed, and that was the difference.
However, the scary part was how careful he was with you, like he knew youâd been hurt before. And maybe he did. Not because you told him every detail. You didnât. But one night, while sitting in his car outside your apartment, he looked at you quietly and said,
âYou donât have to talk about your ex if you donât want to.â You froze. Chan kept his eyes on the steering wheel.
âBut whoever he was,â he continued softly, âhe clearly hurt you pretty badlyâ Something in your chest tightened painfully. Because he said it so gently, no judgment, no irritation, no jealousy, just pure softness and understanding. And god, you almost cried right there.
â
The first time Minho saw you again was at a cafĂŠ. You were laughing, actually laughing after weeks, maybe even months. You weren't forcing a smile, neither pretending. You were laughing so hard your eyes disappeared the way they used to around him.
Except now it wasnât him sitting across from you, It was another guy. Minho felt sick instantly. He stood frozen outside the cafĂŠ window, staring at the sight in front of him like it physically hurt.
Then he noticed the hoodie. Gray oversized hoodie, obviously not his. Some other guyâs hoodie hanging off your shoulders while you smiled at someone that wasnât him. And suddenly he couldnât breathe properly, because you looked lighter. That was the worst part.
You looked okay without him, maybe even happy.
Chan reached over the table and wiped whipped cream from the corner of your mouth with a laugh. You shoved his shoulder jokingly, smiling so brightly that Minhoâs chest genuinely ached. You used to smile at him like that, and the realization hit harder than he expected. He ruined the best thing he ever had, and now someone else was getting the version of you he destroyed.
â
After that, Minho couldnât stop thinking about you. He noticed everything. Your Instagram profile picture changed, the necklace he bought you disappeared, your captions stopped sounding sad and you stopped posting late night songs that reminded him of you.
And the thing that hurt most? you stopped reaching out. no drunk texts, no missed calls, no nothing. It was like you were finally learning how to live without him, meanwhile Minho was losing his mind. He started replaying your last argument over and over again at night.
âI wish I never fucking met you.â He didnât mean it. God, he didnât mean any of it. But he still said it, and now heâd do anything to take it back.
â
It was raining the night he finally confronted you. Of course it was raining, the universe loved dramatic timing. You had just gotten out of Chanâs car when you saw Minho standing outside your apartment building.
Your stomach dropped instantly. He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, hoodie soaked from the rain and looking more depressed than ever.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then his eyes landed on the hoodie you were wearing. Again, not his. Chan noticed the tension immediately. âYou want me to stay?â he asked quietly, standing beside you, giving Minho a quick glare.
Minho heard that, and it killed him even more because Chan didnât sound possessive or angry. Just concerned. You shook your head slowly. âIâll be okay.â you gave him a faint smile. Chan hesitated before nodding. âCall me if you need anything.â
Minho noticed that too. The way Chan looked at you carefully before he went inside the building, like he genuinely cared, which he of course did.
The second Chan disappeared in the apartment building, silence filled the space between you. Then Minho finally spoke, his voice low, âSo this is it?â You frowned slightly. âWhat?â
âYou moved on that fast?â
You actually laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was unbelievable. âFast?â you repeated quietly, âAre you serious?â
Minho clenched his jaw. âYouâre already with someone else.â
âAnd you fucked my ex best friend.â
That shut him up immediately. Rain poured around both of you while your breathing grew uneven. âYou donât get to do this,â you said shakily. âYou donât get to act hurt now.â
âI am hurt.â
âGood.â you muttered, looking into his eyes, not giving a damn about his feelings now. His expression faltered. Good. Maybe now he understood what it felt like.
âYou know whatâs crazy?â your voice cracked. âI spent weeks crying in parking lots over you. Weeks wondering why I wasnât enough for you.â
Minho looked down. âAnd now suddenly you canât handle seeing me happy?â your voice cracked again.
âI never wanted to lose you.â
âYou shouldâve thought about that before cheating on meâ
âI know.â
âNo.â You shook your head. âI really donât think you doâ. His frustration started showing then. âCan you stop acting like I donât regret it?â.
Your eyes burned. âRegret doesnât erase what you didâ. Minho ran a hand through his wet hair aggressively. âI said Iâm sorry!â
The second his voice raised slightly, you instinctively stepped back. Tiny movement, barely noticeable, but Minho noticed and immediately went silent. Because suddenly he remembered everything.
The screaming.
The shouting.
The fear in your face during your last fight.
You used to feel safe around him. Now you flinched when he got too loud. His face completely fell.
ââŚfuckâ. You looked away quickly, embarrassed by your own reaction, but Minho looked destroyed, like something inside him genuinely snapped.
âI did that to you,â he whispered. Neither of you spoke for a few seconds. Rain soaked through your clothes while tears mixed with raindrops on your cheeks. Finally, Minho spoke again, quieter this time.
âI hate myself for what I did to you.â Your throat tightened painfully. âGood,â you whispered. âBecause I fucking hated myself for loving you.â
He looked like you slapped him. And maybe part of you wanted him to be hurt like the way you were before. âYou only miss me now that someone else loves me right?â
âThatâs not true.â
âYes it is.â
Minho shook his head desperately. âI loved you before him.â
âThen why did you destroy me?â. He had no answer, because there wasnât one. You wiped your face angrily. âYou know what the difference is between you and Chan?â you asked quietly.
Minhoâs expression tightened instantly. âHe doesnât make me feel hard to love."
That one nearly killed him. You could literally see it happen. His eyes watered immediately while he stood there looking completely shattered. âHeâs patient with me,â you continued. âWhen I get quiet, he waits. He doesnât yell, and he doesnât make me feel crazy for being hurt.â
Every word hit Minho like a knife, because that used to be his place. And he ruined it himself. He ruined that place himself.
âI still love you.â The confession came out broken, raw and real. And shit, that hurt. Because part of you still loved him too. Not quite romantically, but in a way even you couldn't describe it either. It was complicated. But love wasnât enough anymore. Not after this, not after everything.
Your lips trembled slightly. âI loved you so much that I let you destroy meâ
Minho started crying then, actually crying. Right there in front of you. Somehow that hurt even worse because months ago, this was all you wanted, for him to understand your pain. For him to regret it, and now he finally did.
Too late.
You took a shaky step backward. Minho looked terrified immediately, like he already knew. which he did.
âI canât do this again,â you whispered.
Then you turned around and walked toward your apartment building. This time, Minho didnât stop you. He just stood there in the rain crying while the girl he loved walked away from him for the second time.
Summary: Random thoughts and headcanons about what dating Lee Know would be like as someone outside of the idol industry.
â°â⤠Heâd constantly tease you like itâs a full-time job, but the second someone else does it too much, he suddenly gets protective.
â°â⤠Your relationship would stay pretty private. Not because heâs ashamed of it â he just likes keeping the important things to himself.
â°â⤠Late-night convenience store dates would become your thing. Half the time heâs buying snacks for himself, the other half heâs quietly grabbing your favorites too.
â°â⤠His cats liking you would genuinely make him so happy. Heâd try acting casual about it while secretly feeling relieved they accepted you.
â°â⤠Heâd send random messages at odd hours:
âdid you eatâ
âlook at this catâ
âyouâre awake rightâ
and somehow that becomes peak romance.
â°â⤠Physical affection would be subtle but constant. Little shoulder touches, fixing your hair, pulling you closer absentmindedly, resting against you when heâs tired.
â°â⤠He acts like he doesnât care about being clingy but absolutely steals your hoodies and keeps them for weeks.
â°â⤠Movie nights with him are impossible because he either predicts the ending immediately or starts making sarcastic commentary every ten minutes.
â°â⤠Heâd definitely judge your music taste at first and then secretly add your songs to his playlist later.
â°â⤠Arguments wouldnât last long. He seems like the type who prefers talking things through calmly instead of dragging problems out.
â°â⤠Heâd take care of you in quiet ways instead of overly dramatic ones:
making food for you,
walking you home,
remembering tiny details,
checking if you got enough sleep.
â°â⤠Once he fully trusts someone, heâd be incredibly loyal and soft with them even if he pretends otherwise.
Authorâs note:
Chat I lowkey disappeared but im back !! Anyways I hope you liked it , donât forget to drink water and eat something yummy I had pizza today !