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a/n: the apology for the angst haha…

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You noticed her before Jaehyun did.

The way she kept smoothing her hair. The way she laughed a little too hard. The way she angled her body toward him. And most importantly—

The way she kept touching his arm.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Oh my God."

Jaehyun glanced up from his book.

"What?"

"Nothing."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You only say 'nothing' when it's something."

"Read your book."

He looked unconvinced but returned to whatever behavioral science text had captured his attention.

The woman smiled.

"You're studying behavioral science?"

"Mm."

Jaehyun nodded.

"Something like that."

"Wow."

She laughed. You immediately disliked the laugh.

"It must be nice being so smart."

Jaehyun blinked.

"Sometimes."

You stared. Sometimes? That was his response?

The woman laughed again.

"I could never date someone smarter than me. I'd be intimidated."

You nearly dropped the book in your hands.

That wasn't subtle. That wasn't flirting. That was a billboard. Jaehyun, however, simply nodded thoughtfully.

"That's interesting."

Interesting?

Interesting?

The woman smiled brighter.

"Do people tell you you're handsome a lot?"

You closed your eyes. There it was. The most obvious line imaginable. A direct hit. A neon sign. A flashing emergency alert.

Jaehyun considered the question.

"Not particularly."

You physically turned away before you could commit a crime.

By the time you left the bookstore, you were walking three steps ahead of him.

Jaehyun noticed immediately. Of course he did. He noticed everything.

Except apparently women flirting with him.

"Are you upset?"

"No."

"You are."

"No."

"You've answered every question with one word for the last seven minutes."

"Okay."

"See?"

You kept walking. His footsteps quickened beside yours.

"What happened?"

You scoffed, "What happened?"

"Yes."

"You really don't know?"

"No."

His confusion looked genuine. Which somehow made it worse.

By the time you reached his apartment, you were still irritated. You kicked your shoes off. Jaehyun closed the door behind you. Then immediately crossed his arms.

"Explain."

You walked straight past him. "No."

"You're angry."

"No."

"You are."

"No."

"You keep saying no."

You dropped onto his couch dramatically. Jaehyun followed.

"Did I do something?"

"You always do this."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't know what that means."

"Exactly."

"What does that mean?"

You groaned loudly and buried your face in a cushion.

A moment later the cushion disappeared. Jaehyun had stolen it.

You glared at him.

He stared back. Patient. Annoyingly patient.

Eventually you snapped.

"The girl."

"What girl?"

"The girl at the bookstore."

His face remained blank.

You nearly screamed.

"The one flirting with you."

Silence. Then—

"Oh."

You waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing happened. No realization. No understanding. Just confusion.

"You thought she was flirting with me?"

Your jaw dropped.

"Thought?"

Jaehyun blinked.

"She was asking questions."

You stared at him.

"You study human behavior."

"Yes."

"You literally analyze social interactions."

"Yes."

"You can tell when someone is lying."

"Usually."

"You once correctly predicted that Woonhak was about to fail an exam based on his posture."

"That was obvious."

"And yet somehow you missed that?"

Jaehyun looked genuinely puzzled.

"She was being friendly."

You laughed. A dangerous laugh.

"Aha."

His eyes widened slightly. That was usually a warning sign.

A few minutes later you were sitting as far away from him as physically possible on the couch. Which wasn't very far. His couch wasn't that big.

Still.

The principle mattered.

You crossed your arms.

Jaehyun looked at you. Then looked at the empty space between you. Then looked back at you.

"You know I wasn't flirting back."

"That's not the point."

"I didn't even know it was happening."

"That's also not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Because honestly? The point wasn't entirely rational.

You just didn't like it.

You didn't like another woman looking at him like that. And you especially didn't like that he seemed completely unaffected.

Jaehyun studied your expression carefully.

Then—

Very slowly—

A smile appeared.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Why are you smiling?"

His smile widened.

"You're jealous."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm literally not."

His smile became unbearable.

"You were jealous."

You grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hit him with it.

He laughed. Actually laughed.

The traitor.

"You know what's funny?"

"Nothing you're about to say."

"She wasn't my type."

You rolled your eyes. "Congratulations."

"No, listen."

"I'm actively trying not to."

He shifted closer. You shifted away. He shifted closer again.

"You know why?"

"No."

"Because she wasn't you."

Your face immediately heated. You hated when he did that. The sudden sincerity. The way he delivered sweet things like simple facts. No buildup. No warning. Just emotional damage.

"You don't get points for that."

"I wasn't trying to."

"You should've noticed."

"Maybe."

"You definitely should've."

"Probably."

You crossed your arms tighter.

Jaehyun watched you for a second.

Then another.

Then suddenly moved.

Before you could react, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you across the couch.

You yelped.

"Jaehyun!"

"There," he settled back comfortably.

You were now trapped against his side.

"Much better."

"I was mad at you."

"I know."

"So why are you cuddling me?"

"Because you're cute when you're jealous."

You gasped. Actually gasped.

The audacity.

His shoulders started shaking. He was trying not to laugh.

Trying and failing.

You smacked his chest.

He finally gave up and laughed properly. The sound echoed through the apartment.

Warm.

Bright.

Impossible to stay angry at.

Which was unfair. Because he was supposed to be the one apologizing.

Instead you somehow ended up tucked against him while he kissed the top of your head.

"You know," he murmured.

"What."

"If another guy flirted with you, I'd probably be jealous too."

That made you pause.

"Really?"

"Mm."

"You?"

"Yes."

"The human lie detector?"

He sighed dramatically.

"I'm your boyfriend, not a monk."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Immediately, Jaehyun looked pleased with himself. Like he'd accomplished a difficult task.

"You smiled."

"Don't ruin it."

"You aren't mad anymore."

"I might be."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

His arms tightened slightly around your waist. "You were worried someone else wanted me."

You buried your face in his shoulder.

"Stop talking."

His chest vibrated with quiet laughter. Then he pressed another kiss into your hair. Gentler this time.

"You're still my favorite person."

The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. Completely sincere. And somehow that was what finally killed the rest of your irritation.

Unfortunately.

Because now you couldn't even pretend to be angry anymore. And judging by the smug look on Jaehyun's face, he knew it too.

© All rights reserved @gigisnextdoor 2026.

You’ve been stuck in this absurd, secret relationship for about 3 or 4 months now. And for the entirety of it, you haven't breathed a single word to anyone.

No one is holding a gun to your head forcing you to keep it a secret. It’s entirely because... well, you're a coward.

‘I’m back. Wanna meet up tonight?’

Your phone screen lights up with a text from an 'Unsaved Number'. The notification instantly draws the collective glare of all your girlfriends around the table.

"What are you guys looking at? Keep talking! Did Jaehyun officially ask you out?!" you quickly deflect, throwing a conversational grenade to change the subject. Luckily, your friend’s love life is top-tier gossip.

"He just asked me out for dinner tonight!" the 'Angel' of the group defends herself in panic.

"Oh, please. He’s been calling you 'His Angel' since day one! What does he see you as, a deity?!" another friend rolls her eyes.

"I don't know, I still don't dare to go alone. You guys have to come with me," the Angel pouts.

"Shamelessly marching into an idol's dorm? No way. Y/N, you literally taught us that fans need to keep a respectful distance!"

You gulp, nodding reluctantly under your friends' strict, interrogating stares. God, am I usually this good at keeping secrets? ---

In the end, to respect those 'boundaries', you all wound up at a private K-BBQ restaurant in Hannam-dong instead.

Even though your group hangs out with the band enough to be considered close, your friends are dead serious about 'the boundary between fans and artists' (even if those artists are literally dating within the friend group). The boys, thankfully, didn't mind the change of venue.

But the atmosphere inside this private square room right now is... a little hard to explain.

Unlike what you expected—just Jaehyun (obviously, he invited you) and Leehan (he literally cannot be separated from his girlfriend), or at most, Woonhak, the giant maknae who loves tagging along to be fed by your friends like an adopted son—there is an unexpected addition.

Sitting directly across from you is a certain red-haired menace.

"I was just hungry. Sungho-hyung was already showering and brushing his teeth, and Riwoo-hyung missed his eating window. I didn't want to eat ramyun alone," was Taesan's deadpan excuse when he casually strolled in.

The seating arrangement makes you sweat a little. Your friend shoved you into the innermost seat against the wall, sat next to you, leaving the outermost seats for the couple, Leehan and his girlfriend. On the opposite side, Jaehyun took the aisle seat so he could easily get up and serve his 'Angel'. Next to him is your loud friend, currently busy grilling meat for Woonhak like a mother bird feeding its chick.

And sitting exactly opposite you... is Taesan, quietly shoving side dishes into his mouth like he truly was starving, just as he claimed.

Bzzzt...

The phone on your lap vibrates with a text from the 'Unsaved Number' again. This time, the friend squished next to you turns and narrows her eyes suspiciously.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Are you really not going to reply?

"Seriously, who keeps texting you so much?"

Your eyes go wide. You frantically swipe the notification away and flip the phone face-down on your lap. At that exact moment, the 'guy across the table' casually lifts his glass to take a sip.

"Just those scam loan messages. It's nothing."

"Then block them! They're texting so often, I thought it was a boyfriend... wait, are you secretly hiding a boyfriend from us?!"

"Delusional! I literally spend every waking moment with you. When would I have the time?" you snap back defensively, while your hands furiously blind-type under the table in pure frustration.

"Then why are you replying to a scammer?! Don't click any links or talk to them, they'll drain your bank account!" Your other friend, currently feeding Woonhak, leans over with eagle eyes to scold you. Suddenly, the whole table is looking at you.

"I'm typing to curse them out! They're annoying!" you fake-complain, playing dumb for your life.

"How do you even have a scammer's number memorized? Your thumbs look awfully familiar with those digits."

"I just hit reply! Who memorizes an eleven-digit number?" You keep your poker face locked in.

The friend next to you blinks, opening her mouth to argue, 'But you just deleted the chat to avoid them...' But thankfully, heaven is on your side!

"Oh yeah, Y/N has a freakishly good memory," Jaehyun chimes in, grabbing the tongs to grill the meat.

"Do you really memorize everyone's numbers?! Do you have mine?!" Woonhak leans in, eyes shining like a giant puppy, only to droop when you shake your head.

"Just remembering the five of your numbers is hard enough," you reply sluggishly, taking a sip of water. "Who has the energy?"

"Wait... why only five?" Leehan, who usually sits as quietly as wallpaper (which is perfectly fine!), suddenly speaks up, making you nearly choke on your water. "You didn't save any of our numbers? Why? ...Don't tell me it's Jaehyun-hyung's and mine."

"Y/N probably just didn't save my number."

The entire private room falls dead silent. The guy who had been quietly eating suddenly interjects, shooting you a sharp glare through the grill smoke.

Smack! Your best friend hits your arm.

"Are you crazy?! Why didn't you save Taesan's number?!"

Before you can formulate an excuse, your phone vibrates again. Bzzzt...

01X-XXX-XXXX: See? I told you to save my name as 'Baby' from the start so we wouldn't get caught like this.

You swallow the thick lump in your throat. Who would have thought not saving his name would come back to stab you in the back right now?!

As things settle, you lean back into the chair. But suddenly...

A ticklish, squirmy sensation against your foot makes you shoot up straight.

You slowly lower your glass, glancing under the table for a split second before snapping your eyes back to the guy across from you.

Taesan is still sitting there, expression completely deadpan. His right hand is holding chopsticks, chewing on meat. He isn't even looking at you! But under the table, his foot is relentlessly brushing against your shin, dragging up and down like a needy kitten begging for attention.

You try to retract your leg, shifting uncomfortably until your friend turns away from the group conversation to look at you. You quickly pretend to dig for a tissue on your lap to cover it up.

With no other option, you pull your legs up to sit cross-legged on the chair to escape the under-table assault—an action that squishes your friend, making her look at you again. But since you're known for being clingy and needing skinship, she easily brushes it off and returns to the chat.

But for you, things are getting worse.

Okay, you knew he was tall, but you never realized his legs were this long. If he's going to use those long legs to harass yours like this, the peaceful diplomatic route is officially closed.

You slip one hand under the table, shooting a glare at the prankster. Your fingertips meet his ankle, and he finally looks back at you with a challenging smirk.

That smirk quickly turns into a glare when you pinch his leg hard, forcing him to yank it back. (Pro-tip: Pinching with your knuckles hurts way more than just using your fingertips).

You smile sweetly, turning to nod at a question Woonhak asks, acting completely innocent as if a covert war hadn't just broken out.

But the peace is short-lived. The stubborn black cat refuses to yield, wrapping his leg around yours under the table once again, refusing to let go.

"Y/N doesn't seem to have much of an appetite. Are you okay... or is something 'bothering' you?" he asks, his handsome face playing perfectly innocent, even as his leg tightens its grip around yours, trapping you completely.

"N-No... I'm perfectly fine!" you stutter, trying to pull your leg back, gritting your teeth behind a fake, customer-service smile.

But this giant feline is too strong, and he shoots you a shameless, challenging look

"Yeah, actually, I've noticed you fidgeting for a while now. Are you okay?" Your observant best friend frowns. "Don't tell me you're getting period cramps again? Your face is super red and flushed. Want me to ask the staff for some painkillers?"

"No, no, no! I'm perfectly fine! The grill is just a bit hot, haha!" You wave your hands frantically, almost knocking your glass over in your panic.

"If you're hot, why don't you switch seats and sit on the outside? The AC hits perfectly right here," Jaehyun offers kindly from the aisle seat.

"I'm fine, Jaehyun! Right here is perfect!" you reject instantly. If you stand up to switch seats right now, the tangled legs under the table will be exposed to the entire group

Taesan hides a tiny smirk. He sips his water, his eyes fixed on you over the rim of the glass, practically sparkling with amusement at your misery under the watchful eyes of your strict friends.

His large hand sets his chopsticks down, then quickly types something on the phone sitting next to his plate...

And of course... your phone vibrates immediately. Bzzzt...

You look down, hiding your burning face, and check the message from the 'scam loan' guy.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Don't pinch me.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Or I'll do a lot more than just this

Damn you, Taesan!

You curse him in your head for the hundredth time today. Your face is so hot your ears are burning. You want to dive under the table and disappear, or maybe grab the grill tongs and smack him over the head

'Do a lot more,' huh? Alright... you wanna play?!

With your annoyance breaking the thermometer, you decide to stop retreating. You tense your ankle, gather every ounce of strength you possess, lock onto the coordinates of his large sneaker, and...

You slam your heel down onto the top of Taesan's foot with all your might! And just to be petty, you grind your toe into it for extra damage!

"Cough...!"

The guy trying to play it cool abruptly chokes! His broad shoulders jerk up, nearly spitting water everywhere. Luckily, he slaps a hand over his mouth in time, but his thick eyebrows are tied into a painful knot.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Take it easy, no one's stealing your food," Jaehyun pauses, looking at his younger member in confusion.

"Yeah, Taesan-hyung, your face is completely red. Are you hot?" Woonhak asks innocently.

"N... No," Taesan clears his throat, taking a deep breath to force his handsome face back to neutral, even as his eyes shoot daggers at you. "I just... 'accidentally bit my tongue'."

He emphasizes the words heavily, finally unspooling his leg from yours.

You let out a quiet sigh of victory, adjusting your expression to look angelic and pure, completely disconnected from the under-table violence. You take a sip of your own water, sending a faint smile to the glaring guy across the table.

"Be careful... that sounds painful," you say in a concerned tone that makes your best friend nod approvingly at what a respectful, boundary-keeping fan you are.

Bzzzt...

You glance at your phone with a smug sense of victory.

01X-XXX-XXXX: You started it

You internally roll your eyes. Who's scared of you, you arrogant black cat!

But before you can celebrate... the ticklish sensation returns. Only this time, it's not a playful tap. It's slow, deliberate, and sliding higher.

You snap your head up. Taesan is still deadpan, chewing on meat and nodding at whatever Jaehyun is saying, looking like the most attentive listener in the world.

The soft touch trails up... from your ankle, to your calf, stopping right at your knee.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Don't move away.

You bite your lower lip, ignoring the threat, and try to push his long leg away. But the more you fight, the more he follows... until you realize that if you struggle any more, you'll be the one looking suspicious to your friend.

The second you freeze in defeat... Taesan changes his posture.

He puts his chopsticks down, rests his elbow on the table, props his chin on the back of his hand, and shifts his gaze from the conversation... directly to you.

The moment your eyes meet, his foot slides higher... grazing just a fraction of an inch against your inner thigh. The heat radiating through the fabric makes your breath hitch, your heart hammering so loud you fear your friend will hear it.

Worse, he wraps his leg around yours and pulls gently, forcing your lower half to slide closer to his side until your knees are practically touching

"Y/N-sshi..."

Taesan suddenly calls your name out of nowhere, his deep voice slicing through the chatter.

You flinch, freezing like a deer in headlights, gripping your glass tightly. "Y... Yes?"

His sharp eyes sparkle. He drops his gaze to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes directly.

"That piece of meat... can I have it?" He nods toward a perfectly cooked piece of pork resting in your plate... but his husky voice, combined with his toe stroking the back of your knee under the table, is sending your stomach into a chaotic frenzy. "I've been looking at it for a while... I just want to know if it's as 'tasty' as mine."

You let out a slow breath, trying to look natural. You pick up the meat with your chopsticks and drop it onto his plate with a little more force than necessary, flashing him a sickly-sweet, venom-laced smile.

"Enjoy your meal... so you don't get so hungry you have to go 'stealing' from other people."

Taesan raises an eyebrow at the sarcasm. He pops the meat into his mouth, looking entirely too pleased with himself. That infuriating smirk snaps your last thread of patience.

You want to play under the table? Fine!

You decide to turn the tables. The moment he's distracted, your foot slowly drags along his shin, pressing down slightly, trailing up toward his muscular thigh.

Taesan's chopsticks freeze for a split second. His dark eyes snap to you immediately

You raise an eyebrow in a challenge, smirking back as your toe lightly teases the back of his knee... Let's see who breaks character first!

But you completely forgot... just how difficult this black cat is to deal with.

Instead of panicking or pulling away like you expected, Taesan slowly places his chopsticks on his plate. His right hand stays propped under his chin... but his left hand, which had been holding his water glass, disappears under the table

Your eyes widen as the intense heat is no longer coming from his foot... but from a large hand that clamps securely around your ankle

You gasp, trying to jerk your leg back, but his grip is ironclad. Long fingers slowly slide into the heel of your sneaker... and effortlessly slip the shoe right off your foot.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest as Taesan's hot palm wraps around your foot, now covered only by a thin sock. His thumb presses gently against your ankle bone, slowly and possessively tracing your Achilles tendon.

The heat from his hand seeps into your skin, sending a tingling numbness through you. Butterflies swarm aggressively in your stomach. You automatically press your knees together, your breathing hitching and turning shallow. You bite your lip hard to prevent any weird sounds from escaping.

"Woonhak, grill some for me too... I'm a bit 'busy' right now."

Taesan tells the maknae in a perfectly flat voice, showing zero signs of abnormality. He continues to rest his chin on his hand, staring at you with sparkling eyes, while his left hand strokes your foot under the table as if he's petting his favorite cat.

"First you steal from Y/N, now you're making the maknae work," Jaehyun laughs, watching Woonhak diligently place meat on his hyung's plate, completely unaware that the guy claiming to be 'busy' is currently tormenting you beneath the surface

Your phone screen lights up again amidst the suffocatingly sensual tension.

01X-XXX-XXXX: So soft...

01X-XXX-XXXX: If you dare to move again, I'm taking your sock off too.

You want to scream into the screen. Damn it! You tried to go on the offensive and ended up completely cornered

And it seems his threat isn't empty. The rough fingertips stroking your foot shift targets. They slowly hook onto the edge of your ankle sock and start pulling it down... slowly... until the bare skin of your heel and ankle meets the freezing AC air, contrasting violently with the scorching heat of his bare hand

You swallow hard, your breath catching as his thumb presses firmly into the sensitive spot behind your ankle. The electric sensation shoots up your leg, making you dig your nails into your own thigh. Your body shivers involuntarily.

You look up, sending him a pleading, desperate glare, begging him to stop this madness before you lose it and do something suspicious in front of your friends.

But Taesan just raises an eyebrow. His dark eyes narrow with the arrogance of someone holding all the winning cards. And then, he shifts his fingers... sliding them deep against the sole of your foot

A soft gasp escapes your lips, your leg jerking reflexively and lightly kicking the table leg.

"Hmm? What's wrong, Y/N?" Your best friend, chewing happily, turns to you immediately. "You sounded like someone stepped on your foot. Are you okay? Your face is completely red!"

"N-No! Nothing! I just bit the inside of my cheek, haha..." You force out awkward laughter, a bead of sweat rolling down your hairline despite the cold AC.

While your life hangs by a thread and your sanity is fraying thanks to the wicked hand under the table...

"Whoaaa!!"

"Ahhh! Hyung! I'm sorry!!"

The sound of a glass slamming into the table echoes, followed by splashing water and everyone yelling

Woonhak accidentally knocks over his jumbo-sized water glass. Ice and freezing water flood the table

"Hey, watch out! It's dripping!" Jaehyun yells, frantically grabbing napkins.

With his survival instincts kicking in to avoid getting soaked, Taesan recoils, instantly yanking his hand back from under the table to dodge the water dripping over the edge.

You don't hesitate. Using the chaos of everyone helping Woonhak wipe the table, you quickly pull your foot back under your chair. Your heart is pounding wildly. You use your other foot to blindly search for your missing sneaker, desperate to put it back on before anyone notices.

"Ughhh, Woonhak! My shirt is wet!" your friend jokes, brushing droplets off herself.

"I didn't mean toooo, I'm sorryyy," the giant baby pouts, bowing apologetically while helping Jaehyun mop up the flood with a roll of paper towels.

Amidst the level-ten chaos, you let out a massive sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Narrow escape

But... your relief only lasts a few seconds.

Because when you look under the table... your left sneaker isn't on your side.

It flew across and is currently sitting right next to Taesan's foot

And right now... the dark eyes of the guy who just finished brushing water off his pants are looking down at your mini sneaker near his feet, then looking up to meet your eyes... with a smirk a hundred times more dangerous than before

Your eyes widen at the villainous smile on the black cat's face. This is bad! If you leave it there until the bill comes, you'll have to hop out of the restaurant missing a shoe, and your friends will mock you until the end of time.

Your brain reboots quickly. You need an excuse to go under the table and get it back

Your eyes land on the metal chopsticks resting on the edge of your plate... Alright, gotta be smooth about this

You pretend to accidentally knock your plate, sending the chopsticks clattering to the floor as the table chaos dies down.

"Ah! My chopsticks dropped..." you fake an apologetic face.

"Just leave them, we'll ask the staff for new ones. You don't need to pick them up, the floor is wet from Woonhak," your friend says, tossing a soggy napkin into the bin.

"N-No worries! I'll get them!"

Without waiting for protests, you instantly dive under the table

Underneath, you scan the dim light for your white sneaker. You crawl closer, reaching out... but suddenly, his large shoe shifts, ready to step heavily on yours to trap you

Not today, black cat!

With lightning reflexes fueled by pure panic, your fingers pinch his ankle hard

"Tch—" Taesan flinches, pulling his leg back for a fraction of a second.

That’s all the opening you need. You snatch your sneaker, grab the chopsticks, jam your foot in, and scramble frantically back up to your chair

"F-Found them!" you pop up, panting, breathing heavily, your face burning a violent shade of crimson all the way down to your neck. You try your absolute hardest to look natural and keep your voice steady.

"Right, just put them on the edge over there. Your face is red as a tomato, all the blood rushed to your head," your friend mutters, taking the chopsticks and placing them far away.

A second later, the tall figure of the guy whose kiss you just 'stole' sits back up in his chair across from you.

Taesan doesn't say a word. He takes a casual sip of water like absolutely nothing happened... but the wider-than-usual smirk, the meaningful gaze locking onto you, and his ears, which are burning bright red against his hair... it's glaringly obvious how thoroughly pleased he is with successfully cornering you!

Your phone vibrates again. Bzzzt...

You look down at the text with a heart that still refuses to calm down.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Can you drop the chopsticks again?

You almost throw your phone into the grill. That crazy bastard! He still has the nerve to challenge you to drop them again?

But before you can type out a string of curses to the psycho scammer, the best friend next to you suddenly elbows you in the ribs. Oof!

"Ow! What is your problem..." you whisper-yell.

"Shhhh! Be quiet for a sec, look... Jaehyun is acting weird! I think this is it!"

Your friend whispers, her voice trembling with excitement, her eyes sparkling like she's watching the climax of a K-drama.

You quickly tear your eyes away from your phone and assess the table.

And she's right... the atmosphere has completely shifted. Woonhak, who never stops talking, has zipped his lips shut. Leehan and his girlfriend are sharing secret smiles. Jaehyun, sitting in the aisle seat... is blushing all the way to his ears, awkwardly flipping the meat with the tongs even though it's basically burnt.

And his 'Angel' (the friend sitting diagonally from you) is staring down at her rice bowl, playing with it nervously, completely unable to make eye contact.

"Um... so..."

Jaehyun finally puts the tongs down. He clears his throat, calling everyone's attention (even though you're all pretending not to look, every ear is wide open). His usually playful, handsome face looks incredibly serious and nervous.

Your friend squeezes your hand so hard your bones might shatter. Everyone holds their breath waiting for the next sentence...

"The smoke inside is getting a bit thick... and we're pretty much done eating." Jaehyun looks across at his Angel, offering her a warm, respectful smile. "When we walked in, I saw a really pretty flower garden with lights out back... Want to go for a quick walk to digest?"

Phew...

You and your friend let out a collective sigh of relief (and internal applause). Jaehyun is a true gentleman! He didn't want to corner her with a public confession in front of everyone; he was finding a way to get her somewhere private

"S-Sure," the Angel nods softly, her cheeks dusted pink. She clearly understands his intention.

"You guys go! Don't worry about us, I'll handle the bill and order dessert!" your loud friend instantly shifts into wingman mode, waving them off.

Jaehyun stands up, giving the table a small, appreciative bow, before leading his Angel toward the back of the restaurant. The rest of you watch them go with knowing, teasing smiles.

Once the tension breaks (since you were all holding your breath), you lift your glass to take a sip. But then...

Bzzzt...

Your phone vibrates again.

You glance down suspiciously, finding a message from the 'black cat' across the table.

You snap your head up. Taesan is resting his chin on his hand, watching his hyung walk away with a fond, brotherly smile... but the text he sent completely contradicts that innocent face

01X-XXX-XXXX: Jaehyun-hyung is so romantic. He even knows to take her somewhere private to ask her out.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Seeing that reminds me of us... when I ambushed you outside the women's restroom and threatened to tell the whole studio we kissed if you didn't agree to date me :)

01X-XXX-XXXX: Thinking about it... makes me want to do it again.

You choke violently. Taesan stands up to his full height.

"I suddenly feel the need to use the 'restroom,'" he says smoothly, strolling away.

You glare daggers at his broad back as he casually strolls toward the restroom area, whistling a happy tune, hands in his pockets...

Does he think I'm just going to obediently follow him like a lost puppy so he can bully me some more? In his dreams!

You cross your arms, lifting your chin defiantly as you stay planted in your seat. You play deaf, happily picking up the last piece of pork and chewing it. Let's test this out. Let's see what he does if I simply don't show up

Almost three minutes pass... Your phone vibrates furiously. Bzzzt... Bzzzt.. twice in a row, making your friend look over.

You pick it up, heart pounding.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Playing hard to get, huh?

01X-XXX-XXXX: I'll give you 1 more minute. If I don't see your face... I'll walk right back there and kiss you in front of the whole table.

"Cough, cough, cough!!"

This time you actually choke on the pork. Your eyes bug out at the screen. He's insane, When Taesan makes a threat, he follows through

While you're panicking, your best friend turns to you.

"Whoa, slow down, you've choked twice already... Wait, Y/N, shouldn't you go to the bathroom?"

"H-Huh? Why?" you jolt.

"Your face is super oily and you have sauce on the corner of your mouth! Go wash your face and touch up your makeup. When Jaehyun and Angel get back, we're taking group photos, and you look like you just mugged a BBQ stand."

Without waiting, she literally shoves you out of your chair.

Fate is a cruel comedian! You reluctantly grab your small purse and power-walk toward the back of the restaurant before the fatal 60 seconds expire

The hallway to the restrooms is quiet and dim since most customers are seated at the front. You crane your neck left and right... no sign of the giant guy anywhere. The men's room entrance is empty.

Maybe he went back to the table... you let out a sigh of relief.

But... the exact moment you reach out to push the women's restroom door open—

A hot, heavy hand shoots out from the dark corner, clamping onto your wrist. With one sharp tug, your entire body is yanked into the narrow corridor leading to the fire exit

Your back hits the cold wall lightly. Before you can even open your mouth to scream, the tall figure who ambushed you steps in close, slamming both arms against the wall, perfectly trapping you inside his embrace!

The dim light from the emergency exit sign illuminates Taesan's sharp eyes staring down at you from point-blank range... so close you can hear each other's breathing.

"Fifteen seconds late..." his husky voice whispers against your lips, a dangerous smirk forming that sends your stomach into free-fall. "I guess... I'll have to charge 'interest'."

Without missing a beat, one of the arms caging you drops down, wrapping around your waist. He pulls you flush against his broad chest, leaving zero space for air between you. The heat from his body seeps through your clothes, paralyzing you.

"T-Taesan, let go, someone will see..." you whisper shakily, trying to push against his chest with both hands. But beneath your palms, you can feel his heart racing just as fast as yours.

"Who's going to see? It's a blind spot... and if someone does walk by, just hug me tight and hide your face in my chest. No one will know it's us."

He answers effortlessly, intentionally leaning even closer. His dark eyes drop to your lips, which are pressed tightly together in nervousness. His long fingers reach up to adjust your collar, which got messed up during the ambush, but his fingertips deliberately graze the sensitive skin of your neck, making you gasp.

"Your friend was right, though..." Taesan suddenly changes the subject, his voice dropping an octave. "How do you eat and get sauce all over your mouth... are you a three-year-old?"

"I didn't ge—"

The argument dies in your throat as his thumb gently brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe the sauce away... But a second later, instead of using a tissue, Taesan tilts his head and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, softly kissing the stain away... before kissing you again, firmer and far more demanding

Your eyes widen, your mind going completely blank. His warm breath and signature scent completely shatter your reasoning. Your legs turn to jelly, forcing you to tightly grip the front of his jacket just to stay standing.

"Mmm... sweeter than my piece, just like I thought," he whispers against your lips, a mischievous spark lighting up his eyes before he leans in, clearly intending to steal a proper, full kiss.

But the second his lips are about to crash down on yours... your survival instincts kick into overdrive

Are you really going to let this kid bully you all night?

Fueled by the annoyance built up from the under-table torture and your skyrocketing embarrassment, you grip his jacket tightly, gather every ounce of your strength... and yank him, spinning you both around

This time, it's Taesan whose eyes go wide in shock as his broad back slams against the cold wall

And before he can recover or say a word... you go on your tiptoes, pull him down by the collar, and smash your lips against his in a fierce, demanding kiss

The surprise attack makes Taesan freeze for a millisecond... but once he registers that his usually elusive, stubborn girlfriend is the one initiating the kiss, his wide eyes shift into a spark of pure, unadulterated delight.

A low chuckle vibrates in his throat against your lips. Taesan doesn't let you hold the upper hand for long. The hands resting at his sides shoot up—one cradling the back of your neck to prevent you from pulling away, the other wrapping tightly around your waist to pull you impossibly close. He effortlessly flips the script, taking control of the kiss, turning it deep, passionate, and hot enough to melt you right against the wall.

You let out a soft sound of protest as all your energy is drained. Your hands loosen their grip on his jacket, moving to rest weakly on his broad shoulders.

It takes a long time before Taesan finally, reluctantly, pulls away. He rests his forehead against yours, panting softly, his dark eyes gazing at you with an intensely sweet, melting look.

"Playing like this... are you trying to kill me right here, Y/N?" he whispers, pulling away slightly.

But just then... "Y/N! Are you in the bathroom?!"

Your best friend's voice echoes from the hallway

You jolt, instantly pushing Taesan away. "I-I need to go out first!"

But he catches your wrist. His playful smirk is gone, replaced by raw sincerity.

"Jaehyun... gets to hold the hand of the person he likes out in the open." He looks at you with sad kitty-fluffy eyes. "What about us...? When will I get to introduce myself as your 'boyfriend'?"

His words freeze you in your tracks.

Taesan tugs your wrist gently, forcing you to look at him. His thumb slowly reaches up to wipe away the faint smudge of lipstick you left on the corner of his own mouth. The sharp eyes that were challenging you earlier now look pleading and slightly hurt, making your heart ache.

You sigh, cupping his handsome face. "Give me time to prepare an inhaler for her first... If I tell her now, she's going to drop dead."

Taesan chuckles softly.

You press a quick peck to his chin. "Stop being jealous of Jaehyun! Go wash your face, you bully!"

You sprint out of the fire exit, leaving him smiling widely in the dim light.

You drag your friend back to the table. Jaehyun and your friend are sitting next to each other. The atmosphere around them is so pink you can practically see the romance filters floating in the air. Their shy smiles and sweet eye contact are the clearest confirmation that Jaehyun's mission was a total success.

You drop into your seat as Leehan and his girlfriend slide inside instead, desperately trying to regulate your breathing and expression. The loud friend beside you immediately starts squealing and firing a barrage of questions at the new couple.

While Jaehyun turns to answer her rapid-fire interrogation, your friend—who is smiling softly on the opposite side—reaches for her water glass. But as she leans across the table, she uses the distraction to slide a brand new 'wet wipe' right next to your hand.

You raise an eyebrow, looking from the wet wipe to your friend's sweet face in confusion.

Angel doesn't say anything out loud. She just offers you her signature, gentle 'group mom' smile, before leaning in and whispering so softly that only you can hear over the noise of the table.

"Wipe your chin a little more, Y/N... there's a smudge," she whispers softly.

You flinch. Did I leave a kiss mark?

But her next sentence stops your heart entirely.

"And... next time you guys decide to play 'under the table'..." she winks mischievously, "Tell your 'boyfriend' to watch out for Woonhak's water glass."

Your eyes widen so far they might pop out of your skull. You are stunned for ten solid seconds

Oh my god! She knows?!! She knew since the under-table incident?!

Before you can even open your mouth to defend yourself or freak out, the tall figure of the guy in question casually walks back to the table, hands in his pockets. Taesan pulls out the chair across from you, sitting down to congratulate his hyung with a perfectly natural, calm expression. As if five minutes ago he hadn't cornered you in a fire exit

She turns her attention back to Jaehyun like nothing happened, leaving you sitting there sweating, going pale then red, mouth hanging open.

You tried so hard to hide it from your loud best friend, only to get instantly busted by the quiet mom of the group

The table continues its chaotic, joyful celebration... until your phone screen lights up one last time.

01X-XXX-XXXX: I'll be waiting.

01X-XXX-XXXX: Hurry up and get that inhaler ready for your friend... before I lose my patience and announce it myself. :)

You look up at the sender, who is currently taking a sip of water. But those wicked, cunning eyes are staring directly at you over the rim of the glass with intense meaning... before flicking over to your friend, who is currently hiding a knowing smile beside Jaehyun.

Good lord...

Just dealing with this evil black cat was exhausting enough. Now you have to worry about the all-seeing eyes of your friend…

Why does it have to be this chaotic?!

A/N

When you try your best to write smth spicy but you are spicy intolerable… theses are the best i can do guys…. ૮ ྀི ◞ꙍ◟ ა

The trauma pager goes off at 2:13 am. 

“Level one MVC, five minutes out!”

The announcement crackles just as you’re halfway through the world’s worst vending machine coffee. Everyone moves at once. You shove your coffee onto the counter and grab gloves. 

“Twenty-three-year-old male,” a paramedic announces. “High-speed rollover. Hypotensive en route. Suspected internal bleeding. GCS dropping.”

Your attending physician, Dr. Shin Junghwan, turns to you immediately. 

“You’re on airway.”

“Got it.”

Across the department, the trauma doors burst open. Right behind the incoming gurney, Dr. Choi Youngjae arrives. Dark blue surgical scrubs sit beneath his white coat, his hair a mess, and his trauma pager clipped crookedly to his waistband. Second-year general surgery resident. 

His eyes find yours instantly, quickly assessing. You’re here. He’s here. Good. 

“Hey,” he says as he pulls on a pair of gloves. 

“Hey.”

The patient rolls in. 

“BP’s tanking!”

“He lost consciousness twice en route!”

Junghwan steps forward. 

“Okay, let’s move. Dr. (Name), airway. Surgery team, assess abdomen and pelvis. FAST exam now.”

You move to the head of the bed immediately. 

“Can you hear me?” you ask the patient loudly. 

The man groans weakly. Blood runs down the side of his face. 

“Sir, stay with me.”

You check his pupils while oxygen gets hooked up beside you. Across the bed, Youngjae presses gloved hands against the patient’s abdomen. 

“Rigid,” he mutters. “Possible intra-abdominal bleed.”

You don’t even look up before responding. 

“Pressure’s eighty over forty.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

The ultrasound probe lands in your attending’s hand. 

“Positive FAST.”

Internal bleeding.

Youngjae’s voice cuts through, saying, “We need OR prep now.”

Junghwan nods. 

“Agreed.”

Suddenly, monitor alarms erupt. The patient’s heart rate spikes. His oxygen drops. His blood pressure plummets. He gurgles suddenly, choking on blood. 

Another senior Dr. Kim Dohoon, Youngjae’s attending, instructs immediately, “Intubate.”

You’re already moving. 

“Etomidate ready.”

A nurse places the laryngoscope into your waiting hand. You lean over the patient with intense focus. 

“On my count,” you say. “Push meds.”

Youngjae appears beside you without you even needing to ask. One hand moves to stabilize the patient’s neck. He’s reliable as gravity. 

“Tube,” you say. 

It’s already in his hand before you finish the world. The tube slides in smoothly. 

“Good color change,” a respiratory senior confirms. “Breath sounds bilateral.”

Relief floods through you for a brief second before the monitor screams. 

“Pressure’s still dropping!”

Youngjae swears under his breath. He’s already thinking ahead. 

“He’s bleeding out.”

“Surgery, take him upstairs now,” Junghwan instructs. 

The trauma team mobilizes immediately. As the bed starts rolling, Youngjae keeps up right beside it as he fires orders toward his intern. 

“Call OR two. Massive transfusion protocol. I want vascular aware and ready before we even get upstairs.”

Then, he glances back at you. 

“You coming up after stabilization?”

You’re technically supposed to stay in the ED. But your attending answers before you can. 

“Yeah. She’s good in trauma recovery.”

Youngjae nods expectedly. The gurney disappears through the doors, and with it, the adrenaline finally starts draining from the room. You exhale as you pull your gloves off. 

Bang Jeemin, a nurse beside you, laughs tiredly. 

“You two are freakishly in sync.”

“What?” 

You’re too tired for your brain to wrap around what she’s saying. 

“The surgery resident,” she clarifies. “Dr. Choi Youngjae. You guys always work well together. It’s like you’re silently communicating.”

Before you can answer, another pager goes off somewhere down the hall. Another emergency and incoming patient. The night moves on. 

—

The surgery waiting room vending machine spits out a bottle of water at 9:42 am. Youngjae stares at the machine for a second longer just as you walk by. 

“Long shift?”

Youngjae glances up. You’re still in scrubs from the overnight call, but your surgical cap is gone now. Your hair is slightly flattened on one side from where you probably slept against a wall for twenty minutes in between. You’re balancing a coffee cup in one hand and a small pack of crackers in the other. 

“You look terrible,” he says. 

You hand him the cup of coffee.

“So do you.”

You slide down the wall beside him outside of the PACU doors with your knees pulled close to your chest. For a while, neither of you speak. Machines beep in a steady rhythm inside various recovery rooms. Nurses pass by periodically. The morning light spills brightly through windows at the end of the corridor. The patient from the trauma surgery survived. Barely, but he did. 

“How long was he unstable after we got upstairs?” Youngjae asks. 

You open the crackers.

“Twenty minutes. Maybe twenty-five.”

He purses his lips together slightly. You know exactly what he’s thinking because you were thinking it too. We almost lost him. 

Youngjae leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes for a second. 

“You did good in there,” you say quietly. 

His eyes open again immediately. Not because he’s embarrassed by compliments, but because somehow, he believes them when they come from you. 

“You too,” he answers. 

You split the crackers between yourselves in silence. Both of you have long gotten used to this kind of predicament. 

Youngjae finally takes a sip of coffee and grimaces. 

“You forgot the sugar.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“I put two,” you insist.

“You usually put three,” he points out. 

“You remember how many sugars I put in your coffee?”

Youngjae looks down at the cup. 

“You remember mine too.”

Well, he isn’t wrong. 

Before you can respond again, his pager beeps. 

“Multiple burn and smoke inhalation victims inbound. Structure fire. ETA three minutes. Trauma teams report immediately.”

Youngjae stands instantly. You’re already on your feet. Whatever peaceful moment between you disappears instantly, replaced by the urgency of said emergency. 

The emergency department flurries into action. The patients come in coughing, half-conscious, skin streaked with soot, oxygen saturations dangerously low. 

“Fifteen-year-old female, trapped in second-flood collapse, heavy spoke exposure!”

“Carbon monoxide suspected!”

Stretchers roll past rapidly. You’re positioned at trauma bay one. Junghwan doesn’t need to look at you twice. 

“You’re on airway.”

You nod. 

“Got it.”

Across the bay line, Youngjae scans incoming patients as he mentally maps out which ones are going to need the OR, which ones are most likely not going to make it, and which ones he can maybe still attend to. 

His eyes flicker to you for half a second. Then the first patient reaches your bay. She’s barely conscious. Her face is blackened with soot. Labored breathing. Wet, raspy coughs that sound harsh and wrong. Her oxygen saturation is dropping fast. 

“Airway swelling likely,” Dr. Choi Jungeun from the respiratory department says quickly. “Smoke inhalation injury.”

You move immediately. 

“High-flow oxygen. Prepare for early intubation.”

Smoke inhalation is tricky because airways tend to swell fast after thermal injuries. Sometimes, they close completely only hours after being exposed. So you don’t wait. 

The patient gasps panickedly. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly as your hand stabilizes her head. “We’re going to help you breathe.”

She tries to nod but fails. 

“Etomidate and roc ready,” you call out. 

A nurse hands you the meds as her attention stays fixed on the monitor. Behind you, Youngjae is already managing another incoming burn patient in the adjacent bay. You can hear his voice cutting through the noise. 

“Check for circumferential burns. If chest restriction, prep escharotomy consult.”

Your patient starts to deteriorate slowly. 

“O2 sat dropping seventy-eight.”

“Bag her,” you order.

The mask goes on. Ventilation begins. Her chest barely rises. It’s too tight. 

“The swelling’s worsening,” Jungeun warns. 

You don’t wait. 

“Intubation now.”

You position yourself with the laryngoscope ready. The airway is already narrowing. You can tell from the visible swelling. This is the dangerous part. If you miss, you don’t get a second chance. 

“Hold,” you say.

And just as you begin, a voice from the adjacent bay cuts in.

“Pressure’s dropping!” 

Youngjae. 

Hearing his voice steadies your hands. 

“Tube ready,” you say. The insertion is fast and precise. 

“Good placement confirmed,” Jungeun calls. 

The patient’s oxygen stabilizes. Barely, but it’s enough. You sigh with relief. 

Then, immediately, someone yells, “Next patient incoming!”

The doors burst open again. 

—

You’re not sure how long you’ve been treating emergency patients, dealing with smoke inhalation, burn wounds, IV lines, fluid resuscitation, and airway protection. 

At one point, you pass by Youngjae between bays. He’s covered in soot now too from working with patients all day. His scrubs are darkened with streaks at the sleeves. 

“Just a few more hours,” he murmurs as he passes by. 

You nod. 

“Yeah.”

And you’re both gone again. 

It’s near the next morning when the last of the incoming victims are confirmed to be stabilized. The ED looks wrecked. You’re washing black residue from your hands when Youngjae comes up behind you. For a moment, the only sound is the sound of water running. 

Finally, he says quietly, “I saw your intubation.”

You glance at him. 

“What about it?”

“It was clean.”

You let out a breath that sounds like a laugh. 

“You know, your escharotomy consult call was louder than the entire department.”

He smiles at that. 

You turn around to wipe your hands dry with a paper towel. 

“I’m clocking out now,” you say. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “Have a good rest.”

You just nod and walk back out.

—

You first knew Youngjae from medical school. You were both sleep-deprived first-years standing outside an anatomy lab at seven in the morning. You had forgotten your goggles, and Youngjae had an extra pair. 

Back then, medical school felt like an uphill battle every day. Every exam felt like it would be the one that would finally expose you as someone who didn’t belong there. Every practical assessment left you convinced that you’d somehow made it in by accident. Everyone around you seemed smarter, more prepared, less terrified. Including, and especially, Youngjae. 

The annoying thing was that he wasn’t even trying to seem impressive and above everyone else. While everyone else boasted about their grades and research and who managed to sleep the least amount of hours, Youngjae never bothered to join in. Yet somehow, all eyes would go to him anyway every time the professors talked about high-achieving students. Including you. 

“Do you understand this?” you had asked one night. 

You had been staring at a physiology diagram that might as well have been written in another language for the past thirty minutes. 

Youngjae looked up from his notes. 

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Well, that’s better than me,” you laugh. “I got nothing.”

You ended up studying together that night. Then again the next week. Then again after that. Over time, he became a constant in your life. He was there during exam weeks, failed practicals, that time you cried in a deserted stairwell after receiving an awful grade. He was there when you passed the board, and he was there when you opened your residency match results with shaking hands. Every major milestone somehow included him. 

Once, a classmate walked into a study room, found the two of you nodding off over your textbooks at five in the morning, and immediately asked, “So when are you guys going to get together?”

You and Youngjae had sprung apart instantly, both equally horrified. 

“Never!”

The answer came so fast from both of you that she burst out laughing. 

By the time medical school ended, you and Youngjae had practically known every single thing about each other. Neither of you thought much about anything at all. Those were just normal things for friends to know. Weren’t they?

And then residency started. Life moved much faster. Some friendships faded with time. People transferred. People quit. People burned out. Yet Youngjae remained through all of it. Maybe that was why neither of you ever crossed the line. Medicine took enough from people already. Sleep. Time. Relationships. Families. Entire years of their lives. The thought of risking the one constant thing you had for feelings that might not eventually survive felt reckless above anything else. 

So you didn’t do anything. But you expressed it in the coffee you left in the break room with his name scrawled on a sticky note. In checking in after particularly difficult shifts. In celebrating each other’s birthdays, Christmas, New Years, and every other major holiday together whenever either or both of you were stuck on call. Over time, they became moments that stayed engraved in the depths of your memories. Moments that you hold on to with the tiniest bit of hope that one day, maybe something would change. 

—

The case is already six hours in. They’re halfway through vascular repair from trauma due to a sudden collision. The fatigue is wearing everyone down to the point where patience starts running thin. Youngjae has been scrubbed in the entire time. His arms ache under the sterile gown. His eyes burn behind his mask. Sweat has completely soaked through his cap. But his hands have been steady. 

“Clamp,” the surgeon requests. 

Youngjae reaches for it. The clamp is taken from his hand and repositioned aggressively. 

“Don’t hesitate.”

The attending doesn’t even look at him when he says it. 

You’re on anesthesia today and currently positioned behind the sterile barrier where you’re supposed to be managing ventilation, blood pressure, and medications while surgery does its work. Right now, your attention is split between the monitors and him. His shoulders are slightly too rigid with tension.

“Blood pressure’s trending down,” you call out calmly. “Ninety over fifty-eight.”

Everyone looks back to the patient. 

“Volume up. Check blood loss,” the attending instructs. 

You see Youngjae’s hands again as he turns to the surgical field. His fingers pause for just too long. 

“Don’t freeze on me now,” the surgeon demands. “See? That. That right there. If you can’t keep up, scrub out.”

Behind the drape, you notice how his focus fractures just a little bit from the statement. You glance at the vitals, then back at him. 

“Pressure’s stable,” you say. “You have time.”

Youngjae’s head tilts slightly. That isn’t an anesthesia comment. That’s you. And he hears it exactly the way you mean it. Slow down. You’re okay. 

The procedure continues like nothing happened. Hours later, the case finally closes. The patient is stable enough for transfer. By the time Youngjae’s scrubbed out, you’ve already moved onto your other duties. Sitting in the break room is a cup of coffee with his name next to it. No note or anything. But he knows who it’s from. 

—

“Time of death 3:18 am,” Junghwan says quietly. 

You step back automatically, your hands still suspended in the air as if you’re hoping the work isn’t finished yet. But the monitor shows the flatline clearly. The curtain is closed gently. It’s a young patient, too. You swallow hard. 

Nurse Jeemin brushes past you quietly to gather documents. 

“You did everything you could,” she offers. 

“(Name).”

Junghwan says your name just to make sure you’re still there. You nod in response. 

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically. 

“Come on,” he says gently. “Take your gloves off.”

You don’t remember moving to the sink, but suddenly, you’re there. Water runs over your hands as you scrub them hard. Too hard. You turn off the faucet, but the silence afterward is far worse. The patient’s face keeps flashing through your head over and over again. 

Youngjae finds you in the break room ten minutes later. He’s still in surgical scrubs from the OR, evident by the mask still hanging loose at his neck. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. You don’t ask how he knows. He just does. You lower yourself down on a chair, and he follows. 

“It doesn’t get easier,” you whisper. 

“No,” he agrees. “You did your job.”

“I know,” you continue.

But I didn’t. I didn’t save them. So I clearly didn’t do my job properly. You want to say it out loud, but there’s no way you’d allow yourself to offload all of that emotional baggage onto Youngjae. He has his own duties to worry about, and that’s already more than enough. 

Instead, you stare at the table in silence. Youngjae doesn’t push. That’s another thing about him. He has the ability to comfort you even when he’s sitting in complete silence. His presence is more than enough. 

“How old were they?”

Youngjae is still looking straight ahead. You swallow. 

“Nineteen.”

Youngjae closes his eyes briefly. Too young. You both know it. 

“My attending once told me that some surgeons have egos big enough to believe that every life is theirs to save. Obviously, not everyone is like that. Some people, most people, simply beat themselves up over it when it doesn’t happen because it feels like they’ve failed,” he starts. 

He continues, “Then he told me that’s not how medicine works.”

You hate that sometimes everyone can do everything in their power and still lose. 

Eventually, Youngjae stands up when his pager goes off again. 

“You should try to eat something,” he says, looking down at you. 

You immediately make a face. He points at you. 

“There it is.”

“What?”

“That expression.”

You crack a small smile on your face. 

“Go,” you tell him quietly. “Before you get punished for not arriving in time.”

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll see you later.”

That alone is enough to get you through the next hour. He’s as certain and reliable as the sun that rises each morning. He always finds his way back to you. And you realize with dread that you’ve come to depend on that far more than you maybe should. 

—

The wedding means you finally get a small break from residency. Only for a few hours, but still, you’re counting your blessings. One of your friends from medical school, Dr. Tomioka Mai, a dermatologist, is getting married to her longtime boyfriend, and she had invited you along with a smattering of other alumni. Including Youngjae. 

When you enter the venue, you realize that this would be the first time that you’d see Youngjae wearing something other than scrubs in almost six months. Right on cue, he steps within your line of sight, and you have to tear your eyes away before he can catch you staring. Your cheeks redden in embarrassment. It’s unfair how good he looks in his dark suit and styled hair. 

The event is filled with people from medical school that you haven’t seen in years. You smile and wave happily at old friends and classmates that you maybe haven’t seen since graduation years ago. And the ceremony is short but nothing short of beautiful. Your eyes tear up as Mai and her husband give each other their vows. Mai had always been one of the exceptionally kind ones that you had gotten to know, and you consider yourself lucky to be friends with someone so precious. 

Afterward, everyone spills out into a larger conjoined room for the reception. 

“Mai unnie!” you squeal as you finally make your way to the bride. 

“(Name)!!” she exclaims. “Oh I’m so happy that you made it!”

“Of course, I couldn’t miss it,” you reassure excitedly as you bring her into a warm hug. 

And all of a sudden, it feels as if nothing has changed since medical school. Mai pulls back so that she can take a proper look at you. 

“Are you still completing your residency?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “On the bright side, my second year is almost finished.”

“Well, that’s definitely good news,” she smiles. 

“We really need to catch up sometime,” you say. “Whenever I can catch a break, that is.”

“I get it,” Mai replies understandingly. “It’s never really over until it’s over, right?”

“Definitely.”

She leans in closer as she whispers, “So, how are things with you and Youngjae? Are you finally together?”

“See… it’s complicated,” you start before you’re interrupted.

“Don’t tell me you’re still not together?” she exclaims, causing a few nearby heads to turn. 

Thankfully, Youngjae is well out of earshot on the other side of the space. You look around nervously. 

“Shhh, lower your voice a little, Mai. And yes, nothing’s happened since the last time you saw us together at med school.”

“But why?” she questions, bewildered. “Anyone could see that you’re perfect for each other. He never saw any other girl the way that he saw you. Even now. Earlier, I noticed that he couldn’t look away from you during the ceremony.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was honestly quite obvious. I bet he was so stunned by how beautiful you are all dressed up,” Mai laughs endearingly. 

“You’re so kind,” you reply, laughing as well. 

“Oh, hey!” Mai exclaims. 

Her eyes follow someone behind you as you watch her wave someone over. 

“Youngjae! Come over!”

Mortified, you turn around just as he appears right beside you. 

“Congratulations, Dr. Tomioka. You two make a lovely couple,” he says. 

“Oh please, drop the formalities,” she waves. “Just call me Mai.”

She holds her hands out in front of her and gestures. 

“You know, there’s going to be dancing over there on the dance floor. You two should totally dance! Otherwise I’m worried no one is going to bring the energy. Since we’re all alumni and such anyway, right?”

You laugh awkwardly as you narrow your eyes pointedly at her. She smiles cheekily in response. 

“Well, I’ll have to be off now. I gotta go greet some more people real quick.”

And just as she leaves, the music starts playing. Contrary to what Mai had said she expected, which you suspect was just a ruse to get you to comply, guests rush onto the dance floor as if they’re in sync. You groan quietly at her antics. 

“Why is it always me?” you mutter to yourself. 

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts. 

“Well?”

You look up to see a hand gestured out in front of you. Your eyes follow the outstretched hand until they meet with Youngjae’s.

“A dance?” he repeats. 

Before you can open your mouth, he reaches out for your hand and takes it in his grasp. You gasp slightly as he pulls you onto the dance floor along with everyone else. Around you, people continue to laugh and talk and celebrate. But all you can focus on is the warmth of his hand and the fact that he still hasn’t let go. His cologne still smells the same as the one he wore during medical school. You blink that thought away, horrified that you somehow still remember. 

You want to say something to melt away the awkwardness. 

“This is nice.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. 

You can feel his eyes still trained on you. 

“So was getting yelled at by Dr. Kim yesterday,” you add quickly. “Nice to be somewhere else.”

He raises his eyebrows at you in amusement. 

“Right,” he says. 

On the drive home, you find yourself still replaying the feeling of his hand in yours far more than what is probably healthy. 

—

It’s a good thing that Mai’s wedding was the day that it was, because the next day, a blizzard is unexpectedly forced to hit in the late evening. You’re so caught up in your shift that you don’t even realize how bad the weather is until you look outside and discover that the parking lot has completely disappeared beneath heaps of snowfall. 

Every road is closed. Staff can’t leave, and replacement shifts can’t arrive. Everyone is stuck. Doctors and nurses scramble to figure out temporary sleeping arrangements. Every single couch is taken up. Even the conference rooms are filled. Some people literally sleep in office chairs. 

You finally finish your fourteen-hour shift and reach the residents’ lounge around midnight only to find that every bed and remotely comfortable surface is occupied. You stare at the situation quietly in despair. All you want after such a long shift is to find a space to sit down. 

“I found a room.”

You turn around. Youngjae stands in the doorway holding two blankets. Five minutes later, you’re carrying your bag down the hallway. The room is tiny, with two narrow beds, one desk, and a lamp. Youngjae tosses a blanket onto each bed. 

“There.”

You sit down, and the mattress creaks. It’s funny because you spend so much time together at work, yet you’re almost never alone like this. Youngjae changes into a hospital t-shirt and lies down first. You turn away quickly when you realize. 

Finally, the lights are turned off, and darkness fills the room. You stare at the ceiling as the sound of snow hitting the windows suddenly seems to magnify. Youngjae is six feet away. Maybe five feet. Maybe less. Not that you’re measuring. You can feel the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears. 

“You awake?”

His voice cuts through the silence.

“Unfortunately,” you sigh. 

He laughs softly. 

“Remember first-year anatomy?”

“Oh no,” you groan. 

“You dropped your forceps.”

“I know exactly where this is going.”

“They landed on Dr. Han’s shoes.”

“He threatened to fail me!” you exclaim. 

Youngjae’s laughter fills the room. And suddenly, you’re back in medical school. Back before residency made everything complicated. Memories come flooding back one by one. Study sessions, exams, awful professors. At some point, your eyes start getting heavier, and your responses slow down. 

“(Name)?”

“Hm?”

A pause stretches long enough that you’re starting to think he’s fallen asleep. 

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Your heartbeat quickens as you freeze, staring into the darkness. Youngjae doesn’t say anything else. And neither do you. 

Some lines shouldn’t be crossed. Especially when you’re standing directly on top of them

—

The snow is still there three days later, but the blizzard cleared up the very next day. Everyone is still catching up from the storm and the staff shortages. You haven’t had a day off, and neither has Youngjae, though that’s hardly unusual. 

Except now, whenever you pass a window, you find yourself remembering what happened that night. I’m glad you’re here. 

You haven’t talked to Youngjae since. You excuse it on the fact that you’re simply too busy, and so is he. Which isn’t exactly wrong. The ED is already crowded when you arrive. Two doctors call in sick in one day. You haven’t sat down once. Around noon, Youngjae is cleared to leave. You think nothing of it, except that hopefully, that means you will be too. 

The call comes forty-seven minutes later. You’re reviewing a patient chart post-op when your pager sounds. You don’t think much of it; after all, it happens dozens of times a day. The ED begins preparing automatically as nurses and residents gather. 

“Multi-vehicle collision…”

Someone beside you asks for equipment, and you hand it over automatically. The report continues. 

“Male driver. Unconscious on scene.”

You keep writing. 

“Approximately twenty-eight years old.”

Your pen stops for a second before continuing. 

“University Hospital identification badge recovered at scene.”

The pen slips from your fingers and clatters loudly against the desk. Nobody notices amidst all the action. The report keeps going. 

“Believed to be hospital employee.”

Your heart begins pounding. 

There are thousands of hospital employees. Thousands. This means nothing, you tell yourself.

The ambulance arrives six minutes later. Six of the longest minutes of your life. You spend the entire time telling yourself that you’re being ridiculous. By the time the trauma bay doors burst open, you’ve almost succeeded. 

Then the paramedics wheel the stretchers inside. And you see him. Everything stops. Everyone’s voices mixed in with the continuous beeping of monitors starts ringing in your ears. 

His face is streaked with blood, and bruising is already spreading across one side of his forehead. His eyes are closed. Motionless. 

Your knees nearly give out. Someone says your name. You don’t hear them. Someone says it again. Louder this time. It’s Junghwan. 

“(Name).”

He’s staring at you. 

“Step out.”

His words hit like a slap. 

“What?”

“You can’t be on this case.”

“No,” you say immediately. 

“(Name).”

“No, please,” you say, even though you know the regulations. 

Yet you find yourself standing outside the trauma bay doors, your report taken from your hands. The waiting is worse. Much worse than any treatment or operation you’ve ever been a part of. 

Updates arrive painfully slow. No brain bleed. Thank God. Multiple fractures. Concussion. Internal injuries. Surgery required. Stable. 

You’re still standing outside of his operating room at midnight. Two hours later, the doors finally open. The surgeon steps out. Your heart has been pounding so hard that it hurts. 

“He’s okay.”

The relief hits you so intensely that you grab onto the nearest chair before your legs betray you completely. If the surgeon had walked out and said anything else, you wouldn’t have survived. 

You’ve loved Youngjae for years, and not once have you ever said it aloud. If it was any other outcome tonight, you would have lost that chance forever. But before you can dwell any further, the nurses wheel Youngjae out. You’re moving to follow instantly. In his hospital room, you can finally get a proper look at him. The sight nearly stops your heart. Bandages are wrapped around his forehead. The bruises are now dark and swollen on one side of his face. He looks so vulnerable and fragile in a way no one could imagine. 

—

Youngjae doesn’t wake up that night. Or the next morning. The doctors assure you repeatedly that it’s expected, even though you technically know it yourself. His body needs rest from the concussion, the medications, the surgery. That doesn’t make the waiting easier. You’ve taken the next few days off even though you rarely touch your PTO. 

Around noon, the sun shines brightly into the room. You haven’t slept, but you don’t care. Quietly, you reach forward and take his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his before you can second-guess anything. No one is around to see, so you start talking. Your voice sounds strange after so many hours of silence. 

“You scared me,” you confess. 

Your thumb brushes against his knuckles. No response. Of course not. You lower your gaze. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared.”

Your throat tightens involuntarily. You swallow and try again. 

“When they brought you in…”

Your eyes burn, and you blink rapidly. 

“I couldn’t help you. I wasn’t allowed to.”

A shaky sigh escapes you. 

“Do you know how much I hated that?”

You stare at your joined hands. 

“I think I’ve loved you for a really long time. I just kept waiting.”

Waiting until it was far too late. 

A tear rolls down your cheek. You wipe it away immediately. You’re annoyed, exhausted, embarrassed even though he’s literally unconscious. 

“You don’t have to say anything back. You know, you’re kind of terrible at conversations right now.”

You smile weakly at that and squeeze his hand gently. Your forehead comes against the edge of the mattress. Just for a minute. Just until your eyes stop burning. At some point, without realizing it, you fall asleep with your hand still in his. 

Hours pass. When Youngjae finally forces his eyes open, disoriented and exhausted, the first thing he sees is you asleep beside his bed with your hand holding his like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. 

At first, Youngjae thinks he’s dreaming. But the beeping coming from various monitors seems too real. He feels pain, but the meds tone it down a little, at least for now, so that it doesn’t feel sharp and rather muffled. He frowns slightly. The movement hurts. His eyes drift downward, which is when he sees you curled awkwardly in the chair beside his bed, fast asleep with one arm folded beneath your head and the other stretched across the mattress so that it’s wrapped around his. The second he notices, it all comes back to him. Snow. Brakes screeching. Sirens. Then nothing. 

His thumb lifts weakly above your hand. The effort feels ridiculously heavy for such a small movement. But he does it again and again, taping your hand until your eyes open shortly after. The first thing you think of is how badly your neck hurts from sitting in such an awkward position. But the moment you notice that Youngjae’s awake, you sit up so fast that your chair nearly tips over. 

“You’re awake,” you exclaim, standing up immediately only to sit back down. 

“Hey,” he whispers hoarsely. 

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You just keep staring at him with your mouth open and eyes widened in speechlessness. 

“You okay?”

The question is so absurd coming from him that you don’t even know what to say. The relief is so overwhelming that you almost mistake it for anger at his ridiculous question. Your eyes sting, so you look away immediately, but it’s too late. He’s already noticed. 

“You scared me,” you say as you stare at the ground beneath your feet. 

He seems completely unsure what to say. 

“You got into a car accident. I watched them bring you in. I couldn’t even help.”

Your gaze drops to your hands sitting limply in your lap. 

You continue, “You were unconscious for almost a day.”

You swallow and take a pause so that you can compose yourself, but it doesn’t really work. It feels like you’re using as much power to will your tears to withdraw back into your eyes. 

“I really thought I was gonna lose you there,” you whisper quietly because you just couldn’t say it any louder. 

“How long have you been here?” he asks. 

“I don’t remember,” you answer honestly. “I lost track somewhere.”

“You should’ve gone home,” he insists. 

“You know I would never be able to do that.”

Youngjae just nods. His eyes drift away toward the windows on the other side of the room. 

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt out, “While you were out, I said I love you.”

He whips his head around at you instantly, wincing at how fast he moved. You refuse to look him in the eye. Absolutely not. Instead, your fingers fidget as you stare at the wall next to you. 

“Oh.”

Embarrassment floods your entire body. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” you say rapidly. “Not here, and definitely not now. I’ll leave you to rest.”

You get up from your chair, but you haven’t even taken a step away before Youngjae’s hand is on your wrist. As a result, he’s sitting up now, and the effort it took to move that drastically doesn’t even hit him until he’s actually up. 

“Wait, (Name).”

You can feel him watching you. You stay turned away. 

“I love you too,” he says softly. 

You forget how to breathe. You forget how to think. It feels like you’ve forgotten everything except those four words. 

“Turn around,” he begs. “Please.”

You have to blink away the tears that are welling up. 

“Oh my god.”

Youngjae smiles at the sight. 

“Oh my god,” you repeat, now embarrassed at your reaction as you fan your face.

“That’s your response?”

“Oh shut up.”

Youngjae laughs softly and then immediately regrets it as his hand moves to touch his ribs. 

“Don’t laugh,” you instruct. 

“Easier said than done, that’s for sure.”

“You almost died,” you say aloud. 

Youngjae looks down at your hands, which are joined now with his. He squeezes them gently. 

“I know,” he replies. 

“I kept waiting for the right time to say something. But then everything snowballed until we were way too busy in residency for me to even try. And then eventually it took me so long that I just talked myself out of it. In a way, I just couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of what we already have. It was selfish of me,” you admit. “But then, I finally had the realization yesterday that I just couldn’t put it off anymore.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” Youngjae starts. “I was just as selfish as you for not doing anything either. All these years, I’ve loved you. Ever since the first day of medical school, where I saw you for the first time.”

“I love you,” you reply. “So much.”

“Me too,” he says. “So I’m assuming we’re together now?”

“i would hope so,” you laugh weakly. 

—

“Morning, Dr. (Last name)!”

“Good morning,” you reply. 

“How are you, Dr. Choi?”

“Doing well, and you?” Youngjae says. 

Nurses greet you as you walk down the hospital halls with Youngjae right beside you. At the top right of your scrubs sits a shiny nameplate for each of you:

Dr. (Full name) – Anesthesiologist (Trauma and Recovery)

Dr. Choi Youngjae – Trauma Surgeon

You’ve long adjusted to your new role as an official independent doctor alongside Youngjae. But what still manages to catch you off guard sometimes is the hand that brushes yours occasionally as the two of you navigate medical life side-by-side. Through it all, the two of you still remain together, as if it had always been meant to be this way. Maybe it was. 

Youngjae glances over. 

“What?”

You hadn’t realized that you were smiling. 

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“You’re about to be late,” you urge as you try to shoo him away. 

“I still have ten minutes!” he whines. 

You roll your eyes, but there’s affection behind them. The elevator doors slide open, and Youngjae steps inside first to hold the door for you. 

“Such a gentleman,” you tease.

“I know.”

“Yet you still leave your socks everywhere at home.”

Yes, the two of you moved in together. And now, you’re getting to experience firsthand the joys of finally living with a man. 

“That was one time,” he protests, but it’s futile.

One glare from you and he’s already pressing his lips together in surrender. 

“I’ll see you later,” he says as the elevator dings and the doors slide open again. 

You smile immediately. As always, as certain and reliable as sunrise. 

all relevant medical terms used: Level one MVC

MVC: motor vehicle collision

Level one trauma: most severe trauma (patient critically injured and may die)

Hypotensive: low blood pressure, severe blood loss, shock, internal bleeding

Attending: a fully trained, senior doctor who supervises residents

GCS dropping: Glasgow Coma Scale measures consciousness, so dropping means worsening brain function

FAST exam: a rapid bedside ultrasound done in trauma cases checking for internal bleeding around heart, lungs, and abdomen

Positive FAST means they found internal bleeding

Rigid abdomen usually signals internal bleeding

Laryngoscope: a medical tool used to see the vocal cords during intubation

Intubate: very high-pressure procedure in emergencies where a breathing tube is placed into the airway so a machine can breathe for the patient

Etomidate/roc: medication for intubation/sedative used to rapidly knock a patient unconscious and relax muscles or tube placement

PACU: Post-Anesthesia Care Unit

Oxygen saturation (O2 sat): a number showing how much oxygen is in the blood, with low numbers meaning dangerous breathing problems

Bagging: using a mask and squeeze bag to push air into a patient’s lungs manually

Escharotomy: a surgical procedure used in severe burns where tight, burned skin is cut to allow the chest or limbs to expand and restore circulation/breathing

ED: emergency department

At first, you muttered under your breath, frowning, things you didn't even remember exactly anymore. It was blurred in your mind, and trying to remind them only made you want to cry. You only knew it was because you had complained rudely. You had complained about everything and nothing. You were stressed, and Youngjae hadn't really been around much those days. He was also busy with the upcoming comeback, and you certainly... missed him. A lot.

Although, as always, all this came to light in the worst way possible.

It all started with an unshared orange and escalated to the question that had been on your mind the whole time until then—when you slept, when you woke up, when you ate...; a short sentence, only 5 words and 16 letters, but one that expressed more than you would like to admit, a sentence that had become a daily doubt.

“Do you really love me?” you shouted at him then; and Youngjae, who had led you out of the dressing room to hide in a more private place, looked at you like a fish out of water. As if he had heard you say that the Earth was flat or something like that. Luckily, no one else heard it. Or unluckily, Youngjae did.

You bit your lip, as you did every time you kept something to yourself too intensely. Because you knew that if you opened your mouth, everything would come pouring out. You knew that the image you had worked so hard to create and project, one of a confident girl who never doubted herself, could disappear in an instant. And maybe you weren't ready yet.

You shook your head, moving away from Youngjae with two simple steps, which increased the gap between you.

“Nothing.” You denied, your eyes glued to the floor.

“No, tell me.” He protested, running a hand through his hair unconsciously, as he did when he was exasperated. “You have to communicate, for God's sake! Things don't just magically get better, (name), I'm not a mind reader.” He scolded her, as if she were a little kid. Let me take care of you, is what he didn't get to say. Youngjae cared too much about you, even if sometimes that concern clouded his brain and he said things in the worst way.

You gave him a look, half angry, half sad, that left him defeated. He hated to see you like that.

“I said nothing, Youngjae. Leave me alone.” You replied as curtly as possible, without even using the nickname you had for him. You knew that if you looked up, you would see the pain on Youngjae's face, because you also knew that it had hurt him more than anything else in the world. You wanted to disappear from the face of the Earth, to be swallowed up and never let go. But the words had already left your mouth, and the damage was done. You left, unable to take it anymore, walking quickly down the hallway, wanting to get as far away from him as possible— for the first time since you met him.

You left Youngjae there, his mouth half open, his heart aching. Aching like never before, pounding with anxiety.

I love you, I'm sorry, you thought to yourself. 

It had been your first big fight, and of course, you could feel it in the air. There was so much tension that you could cut it with a knife, even though every time you had to remind them about something for the presentation, you acted as if nothing had happened and gave them the same smile as always. Well, it wasn't quite your usual smile, and you weren't the only one who knew it. You had changed; you no longer had that silly smile on your face that had started to appear when you fell in love with Youngjae. It… just turned plain. As if it was only fake.

The presentation went well, and although they always did well, it had been all too obvious that Youngjae wasn't really there. He had missed a few notes here and there and made a couple of mistakes (thankfully when the camera wasn't on him). It was clear that his mind was elsewhere—or rather, on someone else.

It didn't take a genius to figure it out, but Shinyu was the first to dare to ask him about it.

“Hey, how's your day going, Youngjae?” he asked after a long silence in the room they shared. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, and although he couldn't see Youngjae, he knew he would be in the same position.

“Fine,” he heard. It didn't sound very convincing. Shinyu nodded in response.

Silence filled the room again, just until Shinyu couldn't take it anymore and asked him directly, “Did you and (name) have an argument or something?” He dropped the bomb in what had previously been a peaceful territory. “You know you can tell me anything,” he added, tilting his head toward Youngjae's bed, covered by the white curtain he slept with.

“Hm.” He sounded like he was shifting position. “Yes, we've had an argument. But it's nothing important, there’s nothing to worry about,” he replied, although he didn't seem entirely convinced himself. He knew Shinyu wasn't either, and perhaps that's why he added softly, “don't worry, we'll talk about it tomorrow when everything has calmed down. I'm sure.”

Shinyu nodded again, a bit relieved now, and they didn't bring up the subject again. He hoped you two would make up easily, because he hated seeing him like that. So… empty.

But the tension continued the next day, and the day after that. And that conversation never happened.

It started to become so uncomfortable to see each other that you couldn't look him in the eye, and he couldn't look at you either. You just pretended you didn't know each other. But every time the other turned their head, everyone else could see the longing look in each other's eyes, the look of someone who didn't know how to fix the situation. It was all too clear that it was something important, not as Youngjae had said.

The topic became the talk of the town among the members, who were more concerned about both of them with each passing day (or hour). Youngjae woke up with red eyes, and Yejun came to work every day with dark circles under his eyes. Everyone knew what was going on because Shinyu had told them (and, well, they had eyes!), and they tried (really) to give them space to work things out.

Until they couldn't take it anymore.

“We have to do something,” Kyungmin said when Youngjae went to eat at his usual hiding place. “I can't take it anymore. If they keep this up, I'm going to throw myself out the window. I don't like seeing my parents fighting...”

A giggle because of his last comment came from Hanjin, who was sitting to his right. “But what?” he asked, slurping noodles curiously. 

The room then fell into thoughtful silence until Jihoon spoke up. “Okay, I have an idea.”

With the help of Dohoon and the charms of the youngest member of the group (aka Kyungmin), they summoned you and Youngjae to a small room that the boys always used for live streams. Yejun was already there, sitting in a chair humming a song — and why to lie, repeating in your head the fight over and over again — when Youngjae walked in, looking at his phone; maybe expecting to receive a text from you.

“You're finally here, Kyungmin. I thought you'd be faster,” you complained grumpily, as you had been since you and Youngjae had argued,  coming out of your reverie and expecting to find a 20-year-old boy with orange hair.

However, you were widely surprised when there wasn't a single strand of that color in the hair of the guy standing in front of you. You were speechless, your mouth open, and you got up from the chair as quickly as you could.

The guy wasn't any better. He had gotten the word “Dohoon” halfway out, and his mouth had ended up in a surprised expression.

“Youngjae...?” You frowned. What the hell? You looked at him, searching for some answer as to why he was there and not Kyungmin, but he looked just as confused. You also didn't know whether to feel relieved or not that he was there.

“(Name)... What...?”

Click.

The sound of the door locking on the other side of the room filled the room for a few seconds.

You looked at each other, completely confused. You went instinctively to protest, banging on the door expecting someone to open it up for you.

“Hey! Let us out of here, you scoundrels!” You shouted, a little (very) angry.

“I'm sorry, unnie,” Kyungmin's little voice came from the other side of the door, “but you have to make up! You can't leave here until you decide something.”

“Kyungmin!” you shouted. “Lee Kyungmin, open the door!”

But there was no answer, not even 5 minutes later, after shouting a bit more. So, in the end, you decided it was pointless to continue.

“I swear to God, when I find this guy, I'm going to...” you said, leaning back against the wall, so done with everything.

Youngjae was just sitting on the chair where you had been sitting, staring at you intensely. As if he hadn't seen you in ages, as someone who also missed you a lot.

“You're not going to do anything about this?” you asked incredulously to your... boyfriend? Honestly, you had been struggling lately to find the right word to describe your relationship. And that made your chest hurt a lot, even if you didn’t know exactly why.

“I actually wanted to say something to you...” he started, playing nervously with his fingers.

“Oh, so you planned this with them. Perfect,” you said, and even if you knew you were being too harsh on him, your lips moved faster than your brain. It seemed to be a habit lately.

“You know it's not like that, (name)...” he said, his gaze that of someone tired, someone who didn't want to continue arguing. It was the gaze of someone who hated it.

Maybe that made you shut up, close your mouth, and take a deep breath; calm down. They say a look is worth a thousand words. Perhaps, they may be right.

You knew Youngjae hated arguing. But there you were, fighting over stupid things. What had orchestrated your fight after all? You hadn't seen the guy in weeks, the stress was eating you alive, and it had cost you many nights crying in the shower, in an empty apartment.

Without him.

You bit your lip indecisively, before a sigh escaped your mouth. You missed him, more than you valued your pride.

“I'm sorry, Youngjae.”

“I'm sorry, (name).”

You whispered at the same time.

For the first time, those words seemed to carry all the meaning, all the love in the world, something that meant your whole life to you. Youngjae's voice had come out half broken from his throat, though his gaze seemed to remain lost in whatever it was you had on your face. (That is, your eyes, because for the first time in a long time you were looking him in the face).

Your eyes rested on his hazel ones and you waited for him to speak.

He stood up with the same care that Youngjae always did everything, and took your hands in his, intertwining only your pinkies. As if he wanted to promise you something.

“I...” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

You looked at his face, searching for his gaze, even though it was now fixed on your pinky finger, his head bowed. You ended up looking at the floor too.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you too, Jae. It wasn't your fault either... It wasn't that important.”

Youngjae pursed his lips and frowned as he lifted his head swiftly.

“But it matters to me.”

You blinked slowly, not quite sure you had heard him correctly. Surprised, you lifted your head and looked into his eyes—the eyes you had wanted to see so badly and had longed for so much.

"I care about how you feel, (name). I'm your boyfriend. And above all else, I... love you. What I think of you isn't going to change because you tell me how you feel. In fact, I want you to tell me how you are, how you feel, I want to know. I want to get to know you. Tell me how work is going, or tell me how you like Indian food and talk nonstop about how you miss home sometimes. I want you to tell me even the smallest details about yourself, and I want you to tell me what bothers you. I don't mind if you do, in fact, I want you to.” He paused for a moment before adding:“Only if you want to tell me everything, of course.”

You swallowed hard. Those words felt like a big, big, hug for someone who really struggled to express everything they felt, because you had always been too much. Tears welled up in your eyes and, unable to hold back any longer, you gave Youngjae a quick hug, resting your head on his shoulder. Your boyfriend's shoulder, and probably the one of your favorite person in the whole world.

This caught him a little off guard, and even though he froze for a moment, he ended up gently stroking your back, with a soft smile that showed how much he had missed you.

A tear rolled down your cheek and you buried your face deeper into his chest. No one has ever made you feel so safe. “I... I want you to tell me everything too, Jae,” you whispered. “...if you want to, of course.”

His smile widened, and his eyes watered for a moment, holding you closer. 

Gosh, how he had missed you.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Bonus .ᐟ.ᐟ

On the other side of the door...

“Kyungmin, can you hear anything?” asked Hanjin, who had his ear pressed against the door, just like the youngest one. The rest of the group was scattered around the hallway.

“I can't make out what they're saying...” he said, pressing his head closer to the door, as if that would help him hear better. (Spoiler: it didn’t) “Do you think this was a good idea? I don't like seeing (reader) angry. She’s a little scary.”

Dohoon laughed. “You're a coward, Kyungmin.”

He looked back at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Look who's talking! When (reader) was in a bad mood, you were the one who made me talk to her because you were busy talking to the plants,” Jihoon retorted in front of him, grinning.

Now it was Dohoon's turn to narrow his eyes. “Tch, traitor.” He kicked him. “Plants need positive reinforcement too, you know, Jihoonie.”

Shinyu laughed, shaking his head.

What a bunch of losers they were.

Well, at least Youngjae had someone with him who loved him. That alone made him less of a sucker than the rest.

“They'll be fine,” the oldest one assured them. “After all, they truly love each other.”

And the rest could only nod in agreement. Because they had seen how much the two loved each other, which was no small thing.

© jellyluvsjihoon 2026. do not copy or repost. ask to translate.

Shinyuㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤShin Junghwan !

The time no longer makes sense. It could be three or five in the morning. It doesn't matter. Time lost its structure hours ago, just as the music stopped having a rhythm for you. The only thing that illuminates the practice room is the bluish screen of the sound system, vibrating with outdated decibels, and the dull reflections that the mirror spits back. The track plays on loop, for the umpteenth time. A fragment of new choreography. A particularly demanding step. A tricky transition. A part you've already done well, more than once, but that your mind insists isn't good enough. It never is.

One more time. And again. And again. Another one.

Your feet fall with the weight of a will that has nothing to do with passion, and everything to do with something darker. The skin on your knees, despite the clothes, burns. Sweat soaks your shirt and slides down your neck, icy and sticky, mingling with the trembling that you no longer even try to conceal. It's been a while since you stopped dancing. You're not perfecting anything. You are surviving. Repeating the movements with an empty mechanics, as if you could punish with each step the insufficiency you feel in your chest. As if your body could sweat out that insecurity. As if you could turn it into strength. Into something tangible that you can mold with your fingers.

But it doesn't go away.

In fact, it intensifies. And the worst part is that you don't admit it. Not fully. Not in front of them. Not even in front of you.

Then, without you hearing him enter, you know. No footsteps. No voice. But there is something. An energy. A specific presence that always manages to sneak through your senses even when you're on the verge of collapse.

Shinyu.

It doesn't need to speak. He doesn't need to touch you. He stops in the doorframe, silent, his brow barely furrowed, his arms crossed, his weight on one leg as if he only stopped there by chance. But there is nothing accidental about him. The reflection in the mirror gives him away: he looks calm, but the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes don't leave you speak louder than any words.

—Again… —he murmurs, barely audible, as if he's thinking it more than saying it. As if he's said it too many times before.

You don't respond.

You just look down. You press the play button harder than necessary. The song starts from the beginning. Again. It's not even pride. There's no anger in your fingers. It's fear. Fear of not measuring up. That they, all of them, will one day wake up and realize that you shouldn't be there. That your place is on loan. Temporary. That you're going to be left behind, inevitably, and that only you are seeing it coming.

Shinyu doesn't move. He waits.

Their silence is not passivity. It is intention. He knows that intervening too soon would make you close the doors, armor you again. So he waits. He watches you as you repeat the choreography as if your body were a machine programmed with pain. The steps no longer flow; they drag. Your muscles protest, your knees falter at every turn, and when you fall into the last pose, awkward, misaligned, undone, there is no more music to sustain you.

Sweat pours down your back like hot frost. The soaked T-shirt sticks to your skin, catching your every movement. Your lungs shrink. Each breath is a struggle that you lose little by little. Your ribs burn. Your neck creaks with every slightest twist.

And then you turn to the table to reach for your water bottle. But he is no longer where he was.

Shinyu is closer. He carries a towel in one hand. In the other, nothing, but his gaze weighs more than any object. That way he looks at you, direct, without harshness, without judgment, but with an uncomfortable truth, leaves you with no room to run away.

—What do you think you're getting at with this? —he asks, without anger.

His tone is calm. Too calm. And that's what's most frightening. Because you know that in that calm there is restraint. That his every word is carefully measured so as not to break you, even if he himself is about to do so.

You try to respond. You look for something to justify your actions. Something that sounds logical. Professional. Dignified.

But you can't find it.

You just wipe your forehead with a rough gesture, as if that act could cover the tremor you can no longer hide in your fingers. Or on your lips.

—I'm practicing —you say at last, your voice so thin it breaks as it comes out.

Shinyu nods. But it's not a gesture of agreement. It's more like he's giving you space. As if he needs you to say it so that you yourself will hear the absurdity.

Then he takes a step closer.

Not abruptly. He does it with that calculated serenity that disarms you. With that certainty that seems to invade the air around him. He shortens the distance without asking permission. And without a word, he lifts the towel and wraps it around you, as if you were a little girl soaking wet in the rain, shivering with cold.

You freeze.

The fabric is rough, warm even from the heat of his hands. It wraps around your shoulders, down your back, falls to your hips. It warms you. But what warms you most is not the fabric.

It's the way it does it. As if you were broken. As if, in that gesture, he's picking up all the pieces of you that you refused to look at yourself.

—You're not practicing —he says, his voice soft, barely more than a whisper—. You're punishing yourself.

The phrase hits like a dagger. Not because it's aggressive, but because it's accurate. Because you can't refute it. Because you can't hide it. Because you've spent so many days ignoring that truth that now it hurts more than any sprain, any wound, any fall on the living room floor.

Your lower lip trembles. You feel it. You hate it.

You swallow saliva. You want to say something. Scream at him that he doesn't understand. That you need more. That you can't be left behind. That you can't be the weak one. That you can't lose what you've worked so hard to keep. That you have to prove that you are worth every second at their side, at their level.

But none of that comes out. The only thing that comes out is silence. And that tremor in your jaw that you can't hide.

Shinyu doesn't let you back down.

When you take a step back, his hands instinctively reach up and grab your arms. Not with force. Not to impose himself. He does it firmly. With that mix of gentleness and authority that makes you feel as if, at that moment, he is the only anchor point in a storm that has already swept you too far.

Your breath hitches. You feel his thumb, barely, brush against the exposed skin of your shoulder, marking a contrast between his constant warmth and your soaked, cold, vulnerable skin. You want to say something, anything that will give you back the distance, the control, that barrier you've worked so hard to maintain…but you can't. Your throat closes in a thick, impenetrable knot.

And then you say it.

—You're not less because you're tired. You don't need to prove anything for us to love you. And you know that.

The silence is broken only by his voice, and what he says is not an opinion. It is a truth. A sentence that allows no argument. He doesn't shout, he doesn't raise his tone. He says it so surely, so clearly, that it is impossible not to hear him.

And yet… Your body gives way. Just a little. As if the sentence had loosened an invisible string that you were carrying too tight in your chest. But your mind still fights. It still can't let go.

—Shinyu… let me finish. —It comes out more like a plea than a command. A tired echo of that need to push beyond the limit, even though you're already far beyond it.

But he doesn't grant you that wish. —No.

Just a word. Spoken with a softness that disarms more than any scream.

And in that “no” there is a world. A limit that is not punishment, but care. It is a barrier erected not to shut you in, but to protect you from yourself.

You stand still. Breathing as if your lungs were full of stones. Your fingers twitch on the towel cloth, squeezing for no reason. But you can't speak. You don't know how to contradict him without lying to yourself.

And then he takes a step. Just one. Just enough for the distance to disappear completely.

His chest brushes against yours, warm. His scent, clean, faint, with that faint trace of shampoo and skin, envelops you. And when his arms come up to encircle you, they don't do it with possession. They do it with an almost reverential care. As if embracing you in that state is a sacred act.

—If you fall, you're going to drag me down with you. His voice is a whisper, soft, broken—. And I'm not going to let you get lost like this.

Then he wraps his arms around you. His arms firm behind your back, one hand on the back of your neck, the other running down your quivering ribs to rest on your waist. And in that embrace there is something that crumbles you.

Because there's no more room to fight. The relief that shakes you is so great it hurts.

You feel a dull pang in your stomach. The kind of pain that comes when you've been holding back tears for too long. As if every part of you that was stiff with necessity is finally allowing itself to surrender. To let go.

Your forehead falls against his chest, and the sound it makes is muffled, almost inaudible. But you feel it. His heart. It beats strong. Regular. Sure. As if, by touching it, it's telling you, "I'm here. Still here."

And then he lowers his head a little. His lips barely graze your hair.

—You make me strong. And he says it as if it were a fact, a universal law—. But don't ask me to stand still while you break. Not more.

That last sentence breaks you. Like a dam that breaks in silence. The tears don't burst. They fall. Heavy. Slowly. Without drama. Like rain at dawn.

You lean your forehead against his collarbone, seeking his warmth as if you were a lost child. And he doesn't move. He doesn't say anything else. He just holds you. Strong. Immovable. As if nothing else really matters.

And to him, nothing else matters.

A minute goes by. Or two. Or maybe ten. Time loses shape amidst the trembling of your body, the echo of your contained cry and his hand, which slowly moves up and down your back, in a back and forth that is in no hurry. That only seeks to hold.

Shinyu tilts his face, brushes his nose against your temple. And with an ease that could only come from habit, from the bond, he slides his hands to your waist.

—Up —he murmurs softly, as if asking permission and giving it at the same time.

You don't resist. You don't have the strength. But beyond that, you don't want to resist.

Your arms reach up, cross behind his neck, and your fingers clutch at his shirt. Carefully, as if the moment might break if you make a sudden move, Shinyu reaches down slightly and grabs your thighs.

With an ease that should scare you, it lifts you off the ground. As if you weighed nothing. As if carrying you were the most natural thing in the world. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. And he effortlessly settles you in his arms.

He rocks you.

Not with rhythm. Not with intention. Just a gentle rocking, like someone trying to calm a heart that has been beating too hard for too long.

Your cheek rests against his shoulder. You breathe against his neck, your lips barely open from the effort, from crying, from the trembling that has not yet dissipated.

He keeps the embrace. He does not speak. He doesn't try to reason with you. He just is. As he has been before. As he will be later. As if it were part of the very air you're missing.

And when, at last, the trembling in your ribs begins to subside, when your breathing becomes less spasmodic and your body gives way, you raise your face just barely.

Your lips are dry. Your throat, it burns. But you manage to form words:

—Thank you… —It's a thread of a voice. A whisper that barely crosses the space between you.

And before he can respond, before the moment becomes heavy again, you lean in slightly and, with the same delicacy with which he carried you, you place a small, trembling, but deeply sincere kiss on his neck.

Your lips touch his skin for just a second. Just enough to leave there everything you don't know how to say in words.

Shinyu does not move. He doesn't speak. But his arm tightens a little tighter around your back, and his breathing hitches just for an instant.

And in that gesture, you know:

He understands everything. Even what you can't, or don't yet dare, to put out loud.

And for now, that's enough. For now... you're safe. In his arms. Where the world stops hurting a little.

Dohoonㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤKim Dohoon !

The clock in the studio reads 2:43 AM. But you don't see it. Your eyes are fixed on the screen, where the melody line still doesn't fit the way you want it to. The cursor blinks with mocking insistence. The lyrics you wrote just half an hour ago now seem insipid. Cold. Flat. Everything seems mediocre to you. Everything. Even your voice in the demo sounds muffled, as if you had no soul. As if you have completely emptied yourself and the echo of your own delivery no longer serves to create.

And that… that tears you apart. Because you shouldn't be the one failing. Not now. Not when they look at you as if you are invincible. As if it's enough that you're there for everything to work. Not when you silently carry that image you think they need you to be.

You play the track again. You stop. You go back three seconds. You go back. You cut a sentence. You take a breath. You tap your knuckles against your forehead.

The pressure isn't coming from anyone on the outside. No one has told you that you're not doing enough. What's more: everyone has told you a thousand times that you don't need to prove anything. That you already are. That you're already good enough. But you can't help it. There is a small, persistent voice in the bottom of your chest that whispers to you that if you slow down, if you slacken just a little, if you allow your delivery to be less than perfect… they will stop seeing you with those eyes that scare you so much and that you love so much.

You can't let that happen. You can't.

You are so deep in that spiral, so deep in that well, that you don't hear the door open. You don't see the tall, slender figure that enters silently. Nor the shadow creeping from the hallway with soft, almost soundless footsteps. You only feel it when a warm paper bag is placed just above your keyboard, slightly shifting the mouse. The aroma of rice, broth, sweet onion and freshly cooked ginger hits you like a gentle, warm, almost ghostly wave.

—You last ate nine hours ago —Dohoon says.

His voice is no louder than a whisper, but it is wrapped in a gravity that cuts like a thin blade.

You startle. You turn your head, barely. And you frown in annoyance.

You are exhausted. Irritable. Empty. Deep down, hurt. But even you can't put a name to that.

—I'm fine —you lie, without looking at him.

Dohoon doesn't answer right away. He doesn't move. He just watches you.

His dark eyes roam over you as if they could take you apart by layers, one by one, until they reach the most hidden part. And the truth is, he can. He always has been able to.

It has that uncanny way of seeing you even when you don't want to be seen. To know when you're really bad and when you only think you are. To hear your silences more clearly than your words. Of loving you, without being too noticeable, but leaving no room for doubt.

—No. You're not —he finally says, and then turns off the screen with a firm click.

Everything goes black.

The blue glow suddenly disappears and leaves you naked in front of the opaque reflection of the monitor. As if the room is darker now. As if you are now more exposed.

—Dohoon! —you protest, turning to face him, indignant.

But he's already too close. Inches away. And he doesn't back down.

His presence overwhelms you. Not because of what he does, but because of who he is. The way he is. Because of how it envelops you, soft and firm at the same time. Like a heavy blanket on a night when you no longer know if you're hot or cold. You just know something hurts.

Dohoon doesn't blink. He doesn't frown, doesn't harden his gesture. But still, in that tense silence, he becomes a wall.

Not one that rejects you. But one you can't run away from.

—Are you going to tell me it's inspiration? —he asks, in a low voice, so controlled that it gives you the shivers—. Or are you going to lie to me with something new?

The way he says it doesn't seek to expose you. It doesn't hurt you. But it leaves you with no room to hide.

You tremble. Not physically, you still don't, but inside. In that exact place where the knot you've been swallowing all day forms. The one that neither the hot coffee, nor the music, nor the loneliness managed to untie.

Because you know you can't handle it. You never have been able to. Not when he talks to you like that. Not when he looks at you like that. With that absolute, immense, unmoving affection. So still that it weighs.

He doesn't press you, but he doesn't move. And that's exactly what disarms you. That love that doesn't need to raise its voice, or demand. Just stay. Just be.

—I just want it to sound good —you whisper at last, as if those words could sustain you. As if clinging to the technical excuse is enough to keep you breathing.

Part of you knows it's not true. That that's not the only thing you want. But you say it anyway, because it's easier to talk about notes and harmonies than about that knot you've had in your chest for days. Weeks.

He tilts his head, without taking his eyes off you. —What if it sounds good tomorrow? —he asks— What if it sounds good when you're not dying inside?

The question hangs in the air, like a drop about to fall from a branch. Simple. Straightforward. So immensely painful.

You bite your lip, hard. So hard it almost hurts. But you prefer that physical pain. It's easier. More controllable. The others, the ones you can't name, are much more dangerous.

You feel your eyes water. Do not cry. You don't want to. You can't. Not yet.

The air you breathe is heavy now. It's hard to get it into your lungs. As if each puff has to make its way through all the thoughts piling up in your head. The music. The pressure. The expectations. Your reflection. The times you feel like you don't measure up.

Dohoon kneels in front of you, without hesitation, with that calm movement that only he has. The one that doesn't ask permission, but doesn't impose either. And in that gesture, there is a kind of love that scares you.

Because you have not learned to receive it. Because you don't think you deserve it.

He takes your hands. Yours are cold. More than you imagined. More than he imagined. And as soon as he wraps his own around them, his face changes.

A shadow of concern creeps between his eyebrows. As if touching them confirmed something he already suspected, but didn't want to accept. And he squeezes them. Not abruptly, but firmly. As if she wants to give you back something you forgot how to hold.

—You're being cruel to yourself —he says, in a low, restrained voice—. Why?

The question is not a reproach. It's a caress disguised as truth.

You shake your head. You can't say it. You don't want to.

Because if you say it, it's real. Because if you say it, then you won't be able to sustain the image. That image you've built over the years, by dint of discipline, by dint of surrender, by dint of not showing yourself broken even though inside you're falling apart.

Because if you say it, you're going to have to admit it: That maybe you don't feel good enough. That every song you do is a desperate way to convince yourself, yourself, not others, that you deserve to be there. That it wasn't luck. That it wasn't a mistake. That you do have talent. That you are worthy. That you won't let them down.

But you don't say it. Your throat is closed, as if those words had thorns in them. As if when they come out they're going to tear something essential out of you.

And then, as if he can read it, not just understand it, but feel it, he whispers something that leaves you breathless: —I don't need you to be perfect.

Your heart is turned upside down. —I don't love you for your accomplishments —he continues—. I love you because you are you. Even when you hide from yourself.

And there. That's when your shield breaks. That invisible armor you've been wearing all night. The one that builds a foundation of self-control, of well-placed smiles when everything inside you was crying out for help.

Your throat closes completely. Your eyes no longer obey you. The wetness turns into silent tears that begin to fall, one after another, without making a sound.

He raises a hand. Slowly. With a measured, almost reverent gentleness. As if by coming closer he knows you are about to break. As if he understands that a sudden gesture, a sound louder than it should be, could make you explode into a thousand tiny fragments that no one, not even you, would know how to put back together again.

With his thumb, he strokes your cheek. It is a slow, circular brush. As if trying to erase the trace of the pain that has dried there, on your hot, vulnerable skin. You can no longer hide the wetness. Nor the look that trembles. Nor that slight tremor that starts on your lips and spreads, little by little, inward, like a wave that seeks to sweep everything away.

He does not flinch at your tears. He does not turn away. He does not frown. He doesn't run away.

He just looks at you, with that quiet, loving intensity he has only when there are no cameras, no lights, no outside voices. Just you. Just him.

And then he says it. In a low, slow voice. With a tenderness that penetrates to the bone.

—Come here.

There is no judgment in his tone. There is no rush. Nor is it a request.

He pulls you gently, but without hesitation. As if he knows you can't decide for yourself right now. As if he senses that, if you think too hard, you're going to find an excuse to walk away, to lock yourself away again.

So it doesn't leave you. It takes you with it.

In a single movement, careful, slow, unavoidable, he settles you in his lap. And suddenly you are there: Wrapped in his arms. Your body fitting into his as if it had been made for that. Your face hidden against his neck. Your nose filled with his scent. That mix of soft cologne, warm skin and something else….

Home. That. It smells like home.

He doesn't talk anymore. He doesn't try to explain anything. He just surrounds you. All around you.

His chest against yours. His arms around your back. His chin resting gently on your head. One of his hands moving slowly up and down your back. The other holding you tight against him, as if he knew that, if he didn't anchor you like this, you might fade away altogether.

And you… you give yourself away.

There is no strength in your hands. No tension in your neck. No resistance. For the first time in many nights, you stop struggling.

You don't pretend. You don't act. You don't calculate what you look like from the outside.

You just sink into it.

And there, in the middle of that dense and tender silence, you start to cry. Quietly. No fuss. No contortions. No screaming.

But with a shattering truth.

You don't cry because of the song. Not for the harmonies that don't close, not for the lyrics you hate, not for the hours that slip through your fingers.

You cry for what you can't admit out loud.

For the brutal way you talk to yourself. For the times you pushed yourself beyond the limit, believing that was the right thing to do. For the times you gave yourself no respite, no compassion, not even a fucking breath. For all the versions of you that you sacrificed in the name of perfection. For every automatic smile you used to hide the panic. For nights like this, where the only way to go on was to force yourself.

To force you. To ignore you. To hurt you. Dohoon says nothing. And that, oddly enough, is the most healing thing.

Because his silence is not empty. It's not awkward. It is not absent.

His silence envelops you, like a warm blanket placed over shivering skin.

It contains you. It embraces you. It respects you.

He continues to caress your hair. His fingers glide with a slowness that does not seek to calm you, but to tell you without words: "I'm here. I'm not going to leave. No matter how much you cry. No matter what you've believed about yourself. No matter what you can't yet see. For me, you are enough."

And you… you just cry. You cry as one who finally finds permission to be fragile.

And in the midst of that vulnerability, he leans into you. Leaves a long kiss on your forehead. Gentle. Calm. Deep.

As if he wanted to mark your skin with the only certainty that you still don't know how to accept: That he loves you like this. Just like this. Broken. Fragile. Real.

The kiss is not in a hurry. It's not to shut you up. It is not to stop the tears.

It is to accompany them.

And when he breaks away, just a few millimeters, you feel him take a deep breath. As if holding you like this would break him a little too. But he doesn't complain. He doesn't move. He doesn't seek relief.

He just holds you.

And for the first time… that's enough. That's enough.

Because now you understand, somewhere deep down, where words don't reach: You don't have to be strong all the time. You don't have to prove anything. You don't have to finish that song tonight. You don't have to earn affection by dint of performance.

You've already got him. You already have him. And he's not leaving.

There, in that silent studio at 3:07 AM, between cold cups of forgotten coffee, open documents and loops of melodies that don't quite fit, you find the one chord that was missing.

This one. The one of surrendering without guilt. The one of being held. The one to cry without hiding. The one of loving, also, from the broken.

And when your breathing begins to calm down, still without moving, still with your face hidden in her neck, you feel something inside you —something very deep, very dormant, very forgotten— begin to blossom.

A root. A seed. A low voice that says:

"Maybe… just maybe… I deserve this too."

And for now, that's all you need.

Youngjaeㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤChoi Youngjae !

There is no noise. Just the metallic click of your keyboard buttons, dry and sharp in the thick studio air. The cursor blinks on the screen like a small mockery. You're correcting, again, the lyrics of a song that was already approved by the team, the producer, even the guys. They all said it was fine. That it was perfect. That it conveyed just what it was supposed to.

But that's not good enough for you. Nothing. lately.

Your eyes slide across the screen, and all you see are cracks. Sentences that could be better, emotions that could hurt more or sound more real. In your eyes, it all seems insufficient. Mediocre. What you do. What you are.

You lean forward, chasing perfection through gritted teeth, and your back creaks with a high-pitched whine, as if protesting as well. As if your body no longer wants to follow your orders. You ignore yourself. Once again. It's not new.

Your head pulses with a nagging pain, as if filled with murky, thick, silent water. Each throb seems to remind you that you've been here for hours. Maybe more than you should. Maybe more than you're capable of admitting.

Deep down, you know it.

You know you're doing it again. That you're pushing yourself past the point of exhaustion, past the point of reasonableness, past the point of self-love.

You know you're punishing yourself. But you won't admit it. You can't.

Because to admit it would be to open the door to a well you'd rather not look into. Because if you acknowledge it, then you would have to stop. And stopping is scary. As if stopping is the same as failing. As if showing yourself vulnerable is the same as not deserving what you have. As if everything you've achieved is slipping through your fingers.

The light from the hallway sneaks under the door. Yellow. Warm. It shakes for a moment, flickers, when a shadow steps in. Silence. One second. Two. Three. No knocking. No announcement.

Just the sound of the doorknob turning slowly. So slowly that it seems as if the air itself is still. The door opens with a faint, restrained creak, and you don't need to look.

You know it's him.

No one walks like Youngjae. No one breathes like that. That way of his of moving as if he doesn't want to disturb the world, but with an unavoidable gravity, as if even in silence, he always leaves a mark. As if his very presence weighs in the air.

You say nothing. You wait for him to tire. To close the door. To go back to the others. That he leaves you alone in your spiral. That he won't look at you the way you know he's going to look at you.

But he doesn't.

He sits in front of you. Silent. Still. Not a whisper. Just you, him and the faint hum of the monitor, the echo of the cursor, the clumsy clicks of your fingers that no longer hit the keys.

Discomfort creeps up your throat. Not because you resent their presence. It's the other way around. Because he knows you. Because you know Youngjae only stays quiet when he's already understood. When he has already read between the lines what you are not yet ready to say.

You sink a little deeper into the chair. As if you can hide. As if that stiffness could disguise your exhaustion. You write again. One line. Another one. And another.

You get them all wrong. Split words. Too many letters. An "I love you" where it shouldn't go. A "I'm sorry" where no one asked for it.

Your hands are barely shaking. Not from cold. From frustration.

You hate yourself a little. For not being enough. For not knowing how to stop. For needing these kinds of interventions that, though you secretly crave, leave you even more exposed. Because there's nothing more terrifying than being seen just when you most want to disappear.

—How long are you going to keep running away from me? —he asks, his voice so quiet, so low… but always right in the middle.

Your fingers stop immediately. As if he had pulled an invisible thread that controlled your every decision. The phrase bounces inside you, not just because of what it says, but because of what it implies.

Running away. From him. Is that what you're doing? Again?

You move the cursor mechanically, trying to pick up the thread. But everything inside you has stopped.

—I'm not running away. I'm working.

The excuse comes out automatically, almost dry. A line of defense repeated so many times that it almost sounds real. But it isn't. Not with you. Not with him.

Youngjae nods. Once. Briefly. He doesn't contradict you. He doesn't need to.

—Then look at me.

Your jaw instantly tenses. You knew it. You knew it was coming. You knew the look would be the hardest part. Because it's not about looking at him the way you look at anyone. Looking at him is about letting him read you. Let him look right through you. To let him see, without you telling him, every crack, every shadow, every word you haven't said in days.

And that… that scares you more than any failure.

But you do it. Not because you're ready. But because his voice asks for it in a way you can't ignore. You look at him.

And it hurts. It hurts in places you had learned to anesthetize.

Youngjae has the most beautiful eyes when he's hurt. Not because they break but because they shine. They shine with that soft intensity that doesn't judge, that doesn't demand, but sees everything. That sees all of you.

And it hurts you because, even so, he stays.

Because he loves you even when you can't with you. Because he's there… even when you're not there for you.

—You're the most talented person I know —he says, unhesitatingly, with that assurance of his that never wavers—. But that doesn't protect you from yourself.

Your throat closes. As if a knot suddenly forms between your ribs and slowly rises, crushing your every attempt at a response.

You don't know what to say. You don't know how to contradict him without lying. Because it's true.

All that stuff you try to perfect, that lyric, that melody, that choreography that you repeated five times more than everyone else… you don't do it out of passion. At least not just that. You do it because you think that if you do enough, if you try twice as hard, three times as hard, then maybe no one will notice how insecure you feel.

Because there's a part of you that still believes you have to deserve to be here. And that you still haven't made it yet.

—Every time you're left alone like this —he continues, his voice not rising, but piercing you like a surgical needle—. Every time you destroy yourself for no reason… I feel like you're shutting me out.

You close your eyes, just for a second. But the weight of his words lingers.

—As if you no longer trust me enough to show me what really hurts you.

It sounds like a demand, but it's not. It's a plea cloaked in respect. A wound offered with open palms.

—It's not that —you murmur, and your voice trembles, broken, more truth than sound—. It's not that I don't trust you….

You can't finish the sentence.

The next part is there, stuck between your sternum and your throat. Squeezing, like you're holding back an entire stream of water that's been pressing too long against a dam made of excuses and silences.

And then he moves. Youngjae comes closer. Slowly.

Every step is a mute statement, his every breath mingling with yours before it is even touched by the air between you. He is imposing in his silence, yes, but not in the way other people are. There is no judgment. There is no rush. No coldness.

Just a tenderness so dense it almost seems physical.

He places his hands on either side of your chair. One on the left, one on the right. And he leans toward you.

He corners you without aggression, without weight, without contact… and yet you feel completely trapped. Surrounded by its presence, by its warmth, by the way it watches you without blinking.

And you can't move. Not because you don't want to. But because you feel that if you do, something will break. Something very much yours. Something very old. Something you've hidden even from yourself.

—Then what is it? —she whispers.

And for the first time, his voice trembles. Barely. But you feel it. Because you know it as if you created him. Because that tremor is a crack. An echo of the wound you're leaving him.

—Why won't you let me in when you need it most?

And that question. That simple question, said so softly, with so much restrained love… it breaks you. Not like a rope that's stretched too tight breaks. It breaks you like an iceberg breaks when the thaw begins.

Slowly. From the inside.

And the tears escape you before you can stop them. You don't even make a sound at first.

Just water. Hot, painful water, overflowing down your face without permission. And then, you say it. —Because I'm afraid.

You spit it out as if it were poison. As if you were surrendering to the most primitive, simplest truth. —Because if I stop… I feel like I'm going to disappear.

There is a silence afterwards. A brief one, cut by a single second of pure restraint.

Youngjae closes his eyes. Not to avoid you. Not to block anything.

But as if he has to contain something inside himself. As if your confession is so powerful that he has to gather it in his chest with both hands before he lets himself feel it at all.

Take a deep breath. And then, as calmly as an ocean decides to sink or save you, he lifts you out of the chair. He doesn't ask. It doesn't warn. It just envelops you. He embraces you tightly.

With that intensity of his that is never violent, but that sweeps you away. Like a warm hurricane. Like a shelter that slams shut to protect you from the world.

He holds you against his chest as if he were afraid you were going to disintegrate in the air. As if his arms were the only thing keeping you from falling apart altogether.

And you… You don't resist.

For the first time in who knows how long, you don't tense up, you don't make the automatic gesture of pulling away or apologizing or justifying your tears.

You just stand there. Sinking into it.

—You're not going to disappear. Not while I'm here —he says in your ear.

And his voice… His voice is low, harsh, urgent. Almost as if he had to repeat it not only to convince you, but to reaffirm it within himself.

As if it also hurts him to have hesitated even for a second.

He holds you by the nape of your neck with one trembling hand and with the other he presses you against his back, as if in that gesture he were trying to give you back the weight you lack to keep you on your feet.

And then… he kisses you. He kisses your temple. Your hair. Your jaw.

In silence. In despair. In consolation.

Each kiss is an anchor. A piece of life. A reminder that you're here, that you're not gone, that he hasn't lost you yet.

You hold on.

Hands behind his back, forehead pressed against his neck, trembling fingers clutching at his shirt like it's a life preserver.

Because it is. Because he is.

—That's enough —he murmurs, and this time, his voice breaks a little. Just a little—. I love you too much to keep watching you break without doing anything.

And those words… They pierce you.

Not because of the confession itself-because you already knew it, because you've known it for so long, because the love between you never needed to be declared out loud to be true-but because that's his way of promising.

To commit. Of staying.

And for the first time all night... you let someone else carry you. You let yourself be cared for. You let yourself break. You let yourself be weak, finally.

And in that shipwreck you've been in for weeks, floating barely between the waves of your self-demand, Youngjae is the only piece of solid ground.

As he rocks you without another word. As he keeps kissing your hair every now and then, as if that gesture is the only way to rebuild you without breaking you further. As his chest rises and falls, calm, steady, like a heartbeat that envelops you.

Because Youngjae is always there.

Even when you no longer know how to be with you. Even when you yourself have stopped looking for you.

He stays. And you, this time… you don't stop him.

.⋆ ༘ - always notices and helps when you’re anxious. he has a knack for sensing when theres a situation that’ll make you want to curl in on yourself. he’ll see you pick at your nails or fidget with a loose thread on your top and slide his palm into yours. you feel three reassuring squeezes to let you know he’s there for you, maybe even keeping you a little closer to his side. other times, he watches as your leg shakes below you restlessly and sets his hand against your knee, swiping easy circles with his thumb to ground you. sungho’s picked up on your habits before you even realize you do them, doing his best to avoid anything that would make you feel worse. he’ll carry some earbuds on him or keep a sweater that smells like him in his car, “just in case.” you tease him for it but are ultimately grateful he’d even think of going out of his way like this. and if all else fails, he is more than okay with taking the time to break you away from the crowded noises, or even leave altogether if need be. he’s never made you feel like a burden for something you can’t control, always reassuring you that it’s his job to keep you happy and comfortable. besides, he has more fun when there’s a smile on your face anyway.

.⋆ ༘ - loves treating you like the passenger princess you are. seat heater on, drink in the cup holder, a blanket if you’re still cold, and obviously you’re on aux. he’s an absolute gentleman when it comes to escorting his girlfriend around, because why should you have to drive yourself around when he’s there? he opens the door for you and kisses your cheek before closing it. the seat is adjusted to the perfect setting for your comfort and hasn’t been changed since he set it ages ago. he’s always happy and proud to drive you wherever you need; your work, the store, out with friends, with no complaints as long as you’re back in his car on the way home. he’s never had a reason to doubt or question your whereabouts, sungho is just naturally a protective person when it comes to you, so it eases his mind to know you’re safe with him by your side. his only ask is that you’re holding his hand the entire drive.

.⋆ ༘ - he loves to cook with you. fortunately, he isn’t the “gtfo of the kitchen while i cook.” type of person, so he has you sitting pretty on the counter while he prepares a meal. he likes when you help cut veggies or prep the side dishes while he works on the main ingredients and seasonings, watching as everything comes together just like it should. he’ll hold a steady hand under your chin while he spoon feeds you a bite to taste for flavor, smiling at how your face lights up when it’s good. but of course it’s good, he has your preferences memorized. sungho even keeps a list of foods he knows you like and peruses the supermarket with a guiding hand on your back to make sure they end up in your dinner that week. you think it’s a little corny when he talks about teamwork but he’s right, the food always ends up coming out tastier when you help each other.

.⋆ ༘ - is always holding your bag(s) for you while you’re out. he really doesn’t let you hold anything while you’re out, claiming it’s his responsibility as your boyfriend to make sure your hands are free. in his mind, the only thing you should be carrying around is his wallet and a sweet treat. it’s a struggle to convince him to let you hold something yourself. no matter the amount or how heavy your bags are, he’s carrying them without breaking a sweat and still holding your hand. “that’s what i work out for,” he says, encouraging you to buy even more. and if you’re out on a date? good luck. the only way he’ll begrudgingly agree to let you hold your own bag is if you argue that it goes with your outfit. otherwise he’s slinging it over his shoulder with an arm around you and walking down the street with pride. (plus it makes him look cunt !!)

⤷ ゛riwoo ˎˊ˗

.⋆ ༘ - always gives you the first bite of whatever he’s eating. not only is it important that he keeps you fed, but seeing your expression when something is really good makes it all worth it. especially with desserts; he’ll lift his fork to your mouth and insist you try it first, even if it’s his favorite. he doesn’t even think about trying it himself before asking “is it good?” in a tone even sweeter than the cake. it goes without saying that whatever he’s eating, you should be the first to appreciate its flavor. riwoo’s started to form a new habit of basing his tastes off of yours because of how you describe each bite you take, it gives him a greater appreciation for foods he’s never thought much about. if you try to feed him the second bite, he all of a sudden grows shy and turns his head with flushed ears after eating off of your fork.

.⋆ ༘ - cannot stay away from you for long after a fight. it’s not too often you guys have disagreements. but when you do, you typically like to take some space for yourself. your boyfriend, on the other hand, does not. of course he’ll respect your decision and let you have a breather to collect your thoughts. but not even 20 minutes go by before he’s knocking on your door to make up. he swears he’s not an overthinker but just the thought of upsetting you over something silly makes his heart ache. so he’s quick to get back on your good side. riwoo’s very patient and understanding when hearing your opinions, admitting when he’s wrong and agreeing when you’re right. but you’ve been away from him for too long and he knows how to get through to you with that charmingly cute face of his. there’s something in his expression that makes you realize this argument wasn’t worth seeing his lips downturned. and even if you continue to give yourself alone time, he’ll wait patiently by your door until you’re ready to talk and invite him into your arms again.

.⋆ ༘ - matching nails is like his love language. he’ll notice you staring at his hands a little more than usual and offer to do your nails to match his (not before teasing you a bit, of course). his hands work steadily, putting all his concentration on every little detail to make the design as cute as possible. once he says he’s done, the fond grin on your face at the reveal brings him a joy that’s unmatched by anything else. he’s even gone as far as to schedule nail appointments for when there’s an aesthetic you both love and would like to get done. the nail techs coo in adoration when they realize you’re matching and hope to see you both again. and of course, when you’re both walking out and gleaming with excitement, you know you’ll end up seeing candid pictures of your hands across your boyfriend’s social media. you holding a cup of coffee, his fingers laced with yours, even just resting on the couch. riwoo is just so happy to show off how beautiful your matching accessories are.

.⋆ ༘ - side quest final boss. you two go everywhere with each other no matter the situation. oh you have a package to ship? he’ll join you at the post office. craving that ice cream from across town? he’s slipping his coat on before you finish that sentence. he enjoys the spur of the moment ideas you can come up with throughout the day too. like if your local arcade is having a discount on play tokens or a new line of plushie blind boxes at a store, you both wordlessly decide that you’re going. as your partner (in crime), he’s made it his mission to keep you on your toes. so he also just..shows up at your door on multiple occasions to drag you out of the house for whatever adventure he’s decided to take you on. many of your dates and outings have sprouted from the simple phrase of “hey, do you wanna —” because you two are just joint at the hip now!

.⋆ ༘ - you guys have way too many inside jokes. ever since you started dating, the back and forth of making jokes has been a constant between you two. you’ve since made a handful of on-going jokes that you’ll bring up from time to time that have weaved themselves into your relationship. he can’t even make eye contact with you for a while after either, otherwise he starts laughing all over again. the moment will pass when you’ve calmed down but you can still hear him giggling quietly every now and then. it’s impossible to get the two of you to be quiet when you’re in a group setting because you’re going back and forth making references no one understands. “riwoo, look…it’s a.. banana…” and then you’re both giggling. even just the tone in which you say something creates a pattern in your jokes. in his mind, there’s always something to giggle about. he has single-handedly brought so much whimsy into your life and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

.⋆ ༘ - always remembers to buy you flowers. every week or so when he realizes the last bouquet is wilting, he walks over to the flower shop and gets you a new one. the owner recognizes him by now and thinks it’s so sweet how he speaks of you with the sweetest smile and faint blush. he shows up to your door with the bouquet and sweet little treat in hand, ready to watch them bring new life to your home. he has your favorite flower memorized and always includes them in every bundle. they’re never the same either. always a different color scheme or a different arrangement of flowers, to change things up a bit. of course, he keeps a flower to himself in his room as a reminder of both your presence and your love. and in the months leading up to your anniversary, he gathers the dried petals and presses them in a small picture frame to surround a picture you had taken on your last date. you recognize each petal from every bouquet, realizing he had planned this from the start.

⤷ ゛jaehyun ˎˊ˗

.⋆ ༘ - gives you the most loving, heart melting smile ever. the look in his eyes is so warm and genuine, especially when you tell him you love him. his ears flush and his eyes turn into adorable crescents before he says he loves you more. he’s just so mesmerized by you doing anything that a cheesy grin spreads on his face before he realizes. watching you be so kind to the world just melts his heart and he gets a little emotional thinking about how perfect you are. anyone that talks to him knows about you. and they can tell just how whipped he is for you by the dreamy look in his eyes and how he can’t stop smiling. on the days that are harder, you’re the only one to get his spirits back up by making him smile, and all you have to do is.. be you. knowing how much you love and care about him is enough to energize him for weeks.

.⋆ ༘ - his camera roll is filled with more picture and videos of you. you occupy his storage more than anything else. you’re not even sure how he has so many reminders of you on his phone, he’s just always thinking of you. he may not be the best at taking candid pictures, but he captures the raw and real you. when you’re laughing hard enough to fall over, when your favorite song comes on the radio, and he notices that you’re a lot brighter when you’re with him. it makes him happy to see he’s had as much of a positive impact on your life as you have to his. jaehyun doesn’t care how much of his storage you take up, he’s never deleting anything. he keeps pictures, videos, voice memos, even the grocery list you typed in his notes app when your phone was dead. to him, they’re all memories of you that he needs to keep forever, he’ll buy a whole new phone if he has to!!

.⋆ ༘ - is obsessed with kissing you. as in, any chance he gets, he’s pressing his lips onto your skin and pulling you close. working on your laptop? shoulder kiss. brushing your teeth? kiss on your temple. just standing there? big fat smooch. he just thinks you’re too cute and the opportunity is too perfect to pass up. he thinks your face fits just right in his hands and goes in before you can protest. sometimes he gets a little carried away and the two of you end up making out for a lot longer than anticipated, but it’s so hard to resist him. he’ll send you a flying kiss from across the room and you watch as his ears go red when you return the favor. one time, you forgot how pigmented your lipstick was and kissed him on the cheek before a date. that man refused to wipe it off and wore it out on the town with so much pride. he’s actually asked you to do that before every date because he was obsessed with it. oh, and never forget to kiss him goodbye before either of you leaves for work. he’ll hold a grudge, that doesn’t last that long anyway, and sulk until you kiss him properly.

.⋆ ༘ - he loves being obnoxiously clingy. he will make a show of resting his chin atop of your head or caging you against a fence with a sly smile. he truly doesn’t care if people are staring with a stank-face, he’s happy to be molded to your side like this. as your boyfriend, jaehyun will find any excuse to hold you, which includes clinging to your back while you stand there. he’s definitely a huge fan of pda, excited to be able to show off your relationship when he can. you’ll find his arm draped around your shoulder and twirling your hair around his fingers absentmindedly. soon, it’ll drag down and linger around your waist as if ready to pull you in at any moment. and when that moment comes, he presses a big smooch on the crown of your head with a wide grin. you know he means well and doesn’t mean to embarrass you but that won’t stop him from at least squeezing your hand as a small ‘i love you’.

.⋆ ༘ - really good at comforting you and calming you down after a rough day. he can tell you’re not feeling your best right when you walk through the door. your bag quickly thuds on the ground and he can tell you’re dragging your feet. and once he sees that drained expression on your face and it’s almost like he’s more upset about whatever happened than you are. jaehyun pulls you in, cooing about how he’ll make you feel better as he kisses your cheeks. his hand is warm and solid as he runs it up and down your back, the pads of his fingers brushing against your spine. his other arm holds you close to remind you he isn’t going anywhere. he’ll always offer to let you rant it out and is a great listener; he knows what it’s like to keep these feelings to himself. he knows the importance of not only voicing these feelings but also giving them time to pass and process through your system. you work through it together and watching you regain your spark only gives him more motivation to work harder for the both of you. and even if this streak of poor days continues, you’ll always have your number one supporter waiting at home for you to get you through it all.

.⋆ ༘ - your family loves him and he loves them just as much. as expected, jaehyun is nervous to meet your family at a gathering. he needs to make a good first impression, to prove he’s worthy of standing beside someone as lovely as you. he knocks on the door, anxiously waiting for the door to swing open. but instead of a stoic man, his gaze drops to a smaller, much more energetic child. he lowers his guard almost immediately as he crouches down, noticing your cousins shirt. “i love that show!! is that your favorite character?” and he blends right in, safe to say he’s a fan favorite. your aunts will tease, saying they realize why you like him so much. he’s respectful towards your elders yet caring and lively with your siblings and cousins. they treat him as one of their own and he gets shy when they mention how often you talk about him. it melts your heart to see him get along with everyone despite being so nervous. he’s beaming by the time you two leave, his heart warm with how openly he was accepted by the people who made you who you are today. your grandparents send him home with food and he is elated when he realizes this means he’s officially apart of the family.

⤷ ゛taesan ˎˊ˗

.⋆ ༘ - he will not have a good nights sleep if you’re not in his arms. it’s like his body doesn’t know what to do with itself unless you’re there. he’s tossing and turning in bed trying to get into a comfortable position, even if he already knows it’s no use if you’re not beside him. he has some sort of sixth sense for when you’ve moved out of his arms in your sleep. he wakes up, already pouting despite being disoriented, and pulls you back into his chest before falling right back asleep. and if he’s feeling extra dramatic? he’ll throw his leg over you “for good measure,” he mumbles. the nights you’re away are always difficult. he’ll sleep in the hoodie you sprayed your perfume onto and it normally helps but it still isn’t you. his members aren’t sure whether to be amused or scared at this change since he’s a little snappier in the mornings without you. he’s a bit embarrassed he can’t sleep alone comfortably anymore but he uses it as an excuse for you to stay at his place more often (and to move in sooner..)

.⋆ ༘ - does the cliche of sharing an earbud with you in public. some may say it’s cheesy but it’s just another reason to keep you by his side. at the beginning of the relationship when he was a bit quieter and more shy, he made you a playlist of songs that reminded him of you or ones you’ve mentioned you liked. the blush that crept up his neck when he showed you was adorable and you both still add to the playlist. so if the two of you are standing in a long line or taking the train home, he pulls out an earbud and offers it to you. he holds you closer if you fall asleep on his shoulder, staring at your face a little too hard when a favorite song comes on. other times, he’ll put a random album on the queue and you both rank the songs in his notes app until you arrive at your destination. he’s kept them all and added your favorites from said album into the playlist, with mental notes of your feedback.

.⋆ ༘ - uses pictures of you (and his members) as reaction images/stickers. you’re convinced he hasn’t used a normal emoji in years considering how many he’s collected. there’s an album in his phone just full of pictures of his friends. some are heartwarming and let you see the members through taesan’s eyes, seeing how he’s collected these memories seemingly without them noticing. but most of them are unflattering and dumb. you, however, have your own special album that to you seems so much worse. you when you’re sleeping, eating, working, studying, even zoning out. but to your boyfriend? there’s not a single bad photo in there. he finds some of them funny but mostly uses them because he gets to stare at your face. he has a system with them. jaehyun images are for when something is funny, woonhak for when he disagrees, and sungho for when he’s confused. riwoo and leehan are very versatile so he uses their reaction stickers on the regular. but girlfriend pictures are strictly for when he’s happy, because that’s all he feels around you. he’s also infected you and your messages are full of every sticker he has.

.⋆ ༘ - he will break his nonchalant streak just to see you smile. at first glance, everyone assumes that in public he’d keep to himself and linger quietly by your side. but in reality? he’s incredibly chalant and is conjuring up the most devious plan to embarrass himself, or his friends, to make you laugh. it’s completely unpredictable too, the 1001st possibility fr. he’ll make a dumb joke completely out of nowhere that he knows only you’d understand because he loves the way your face lights up. his reputation is long gone anyway so he thinks being embarrassed for the sake of your amusement is nothing. like a court jester to his queen… partially because you’ve helped him become a more expressive and extroverted person since you got together and he wants to repay you for that. he would fight wars for that smile of yours. #1 aegyo hater but he will change that for you.

.⋆ ༘ - claims to be a night owl but, in reality, can’t stay up past midnight. he’ll insist that you have a movie marathon and pays attention no problem for the first part. but in the middle of the third movie, you notice the clock reading 11:47pm and your boyfriend is laying his head on your lap just a little too still. he shoots up when you question if he’s okay to continue and nods his head, determined to finish and stay up. but to no ones surprise, he’s fast asleep when you come back from the bathroom after the movie at 12:30 sharp. the only times you’ll see him awake in the late hours of the night is when he has a deadline to make or is cooped up in the studio finishing something up. otherwise, his words start to slur and his responses get shorter as the night drags on. he’s definitely gotten better since adjusting to your late night antics, but it doesn’t stop him from clinging to you as the clock ticks closer to the later hours of the night.

.⋆ ༘ - seeing you in his clothes makes his brain short circuit. the first time was when it had started to rain in the middle of your date, and he couldn’t have you soaking your shirt and freezing your skin. so you took shelter under a small awning as he took his sweater off and handed it to you, not thinking much about it. however, it had then clicked that the sweater that’s even baggy on his 6’0 frame would look big on you, and he got noticeably quieter. taesan couldn’t think straight when you had commented that his cologne smelled nice. the effect it has on him is crazy because even months later he’ll have the same giddy reaction when you show up in his clothes. he loves seeing you freshly woken up, hair a mess and brain still catching up to what day it is. he just wants to squeeze you because of how his shirt hangs off of your shoulder and he won’t shut up about “how cute you look,” while smiling at you. but his personal favorite is seeing you wear his clothes when you go out because it’s like showing to people you have a piece of him everywhere. whether you have similar or completely different styles, he thinks whatever outfit you make with his clothes looks better on you than him, and insists you keep it.

⤷ ゛leehan ˎˊ˗

.⋆ ༘ - loves sending you his random thoughts. you’re just the first person he thinks to turn to when he wants to talk. and he talks about everything; a new fact he learned, hypothetical scenarios, something that made him think of you, and of course his endless rhetorical questions. it’ll be nearly 3 in the morning when your phone lights up with his contact asking if you think crabs have eyebrows… i mean, you answer him anyway but not before questioning his concerning sleep habits. however he makes for a pleasant audiobook when you’re bored. he’ll rest beside you and talk about his day, getting excited all over again when he recalls something that reminded him of you. you just adore the way his face lights up when you remember something he’s told you, it makes him feel heard. he gets upset when you’re away from each other though, if he’s across the country and can’t give you live updates because you’re probably asleep. but of course he makes the time and calls when it’s convenient for you both, setting his phone up on his bed while you go over your day with a smile.

.⋆ ༘ - prepares fruit for you two to snack on. because he’s such a light eater, leehan often opts for a bowl of fresh cut fruit throughout the day rather than larger meals. to him, it’s an act of love to prepare fruit for your lover, that alongside peeling shrimp (which he also does, of course.) and so he’s taken it upon himself to make sure your fridge is stocked with produce you’ll both enjoy, that of which is typically gone by the end of the week. he’ll take the time to feed you some pieces if he notices you haven’t eaten much that day or if he thinks you’ll enjoy a little something sweet in the moment. you’ll catch him lounging around the place with a cup of mango and it doesn’t take long for him to guide his fork to your mouth with an offering smile. plus, it’s always a sweet treat to taste the faint, sweet taste of strawberry that lingers on his lips.

.⋆ ༘ - he is always smiling around you. pupils dilated and a soft cheesy grin on his face while he stares at you. leehan is almost always the optimistic and smiley one amongst the group when you go out, but around you? he’s entirely worse. why should he have to look at anyone or anything else when all he needs is right in front of him. absolutely nothing can bring his mood down when you’re beside him. well, only when you tell him you need to go. he definitely has the “no one but my gf matters,” mentality. if he could, he’d spend his whole day just studying your face silently while he sits there smiling. sometimes you think he just wants a kiss, which he graciously accepts, but he’s just that happy to be around you. you’d think you just told him you’re an alien princess here to bless him with how he stares at you like you created the stars. this man has never had a bad day with you around and it shows.

.⋆ ༘ - his morning voice goes crazy. i mean, you already expected such considering how deep and velvety his voice normally is. but hearing him first thing in the morning as he whines about waking up is something else entirely. it’s a shock the first time you hear it. he had called you as soon as he woke up in his hotel room since he had a schedule that day. you thought your phone was tweaking but it was just… him. he questions why you went silent but you just urge him to keep talking, and the laugh he lets out when he realizes why kills you. even now, it makes you shiver when he holds you in bed to whine about how you should stay. a low drawl he presses against your ear, you can hear his pout without even needing to look at him. and he knows the effect it has on you, that’s why he uses it every morning to his advantage and smiles when it works before falling back asleep.

.⋆ ༘ - he gets sulkier than he’d like to admit. he never makes a big deal out of it and that almost hurts your heart more. it’s not a drastic change either, you notice the pout on his lips as he speaks less or the way he doesn't make eye contact and that's when you know he needs your attention. you’ll ask what’s wrong and at first he denies he was even upset. but the feeling of your hand slipping into his brings him back down to earth, back to you. you never push the truth out of him and that’s what he loves. it’s easy to coax him into letting you into his head. you tend to know how to deal with it better than his friends so they’ll call you over with an exasperated giggle. it’s known that he’s a little more sensitive than the others so he’s always grateful when you’re patient with his mood and take the time to care about him. you’ll comfort him with a smile and gently kiss the corner of his mouth, a win-win in his book; a sweet kiss and your attention.

.⋆ ༘ - likes to dry your hair for you after a shower. the bathroom could still be warm with condensation sticking to the mirror, but he thoroughly enjoys being able to help you with a small task. it’s his way of helping you de-stress, especially if he knows how much of a hassle it is for you to tire your arms. your hair products will be ready by the time you’re out and he’s ushering you to sit in front of him. he runs his fingers gently through your hair and brushes out any knots, trying his best not to snag any too hard. he doesn’t mind if your hair is thick or has a mind of its own, leehan’s patience is unmatched and will not be defeated by some hair. he also finds it adorable when you attempt to fight off your drowsiness, only to give in and rest your head against his chest because of how relaxed he’s made you. and when he’s done, he’ll press a kiss to your forehead, scoop you up, and carry you to bed, tucking you in beside him where you belong.

⤷ ゛woonhak ˎˊ˗

.⋆ ༘ - gives you the best princess treatment while you’re on your period. while he doesn’t always have your cycle fully memorized, he definitely recognizes the signs when that time is coming. he knows when to run to the store to restock on pain killers and grab your favorite snacks to surprise you with, the kind gesture easing your pain for a moment. is it because he’s a little scared of you when you’re snappy? maybe, but it’s not like he needs a reason to spoil you. his heart melts at the sight of you when he walks into your room as he comes back from the store. seeing you curled up in the corner of your bed just makes him want to help you feel better. he’ll refill your emotional support water bottle without asking and order the takeout you’ve been craving because it’s your comfort meal. he lets you order him around like your own personal assistant and he’s happy to do it. and sometimes, woonhak gets a little carried away with trying to do things for you that he forgets all you really need is a long nap (and some ibuprofen) to help it go by easier.

.⋆ ༘ - is obsessed with your scent. the smell of your shampoo, your body wash lingering on your skin, and especially your perfume. he caught a whiff of it on your first date and had been obsessed ever since, even restocking it for you when you run out. he’ll smell it off of the hoodie of his you had worn to bed the night before and tuck his face into his sleeve while he works. his members noticed something was up almost immediately because he refused to take his hoodie off in the middle of practice despite it being the middle of summer. he’s also used your shampoo on more than one occasion so he can keep a piece of you with him throughout his day. it’s cute, you think, to find a small travel sized bottle of it sitting in his bag before he travels. and once he comes home, all woonhak wants to do is melt into your embrace and drown in the sweet scent of your perfume that lingers on your skin. and now his favorite part of his bedtime routine is burying his face in your neck and letting your shampoo and body wash flood his senses and lull him to sleep.

.⋆ ༘ - prides himself on being someone you can be yourself around. woonhak has never given you a fake version of himself because he’s never had a reason to, so why should you? he’ll always love every little quirk of yours, no matter how weird or silly you may think it is, because it’s just another thing to admire. he won’t judge you for acting childish because why limit your youth? he won’t look down on you when your emotions get the best of you and you end up crying out of frustration, instead he opens up to let you know he’s a shoulder to cry on. he’s never made you feel weird or out of place for your hobbies/interests because he loves the look in your eyes when you get excited. woonhak will match your energy no matter the situation and you two grow closer each time because of it. he wants you to know he’s someone you can lean on and know there’s no pressure for you to be someone you’re not.

.⋆ ༘ - he still gets shy around you. you could be months, maybe even years into your relationship, and he’s still hiding behind his hands and smiling when you look at him with a warm expression. you’ll tilt your head in confusion and ask why he’s acting like that and all he does is shake his head and claim “it’s not fair you’re looking at me with those eyes” (his words btw), and doesn’t elaborate any further after that. it’s a handful of things, really; how your hair frames your face or the quick twinkle in your eyes when your gaze meets his. even when someone mentions your name, he feels himself getting nervous just thinking about you. his members can tease him all they want because, at the end of the day, he gets you all to himself. he ends up thinking about it way too hard, therefore causing a blush to crawl up his neck quicker than he realizes. he’ll just pull you in close and tuck your face into his shoulder while he composes himself.

.⋆ ༘ - the most over dramatic baby when he’s sick. i’m talking whiny, needy, and congested. normally, woonhak is very independent and always claims he doesn’t need to be babied. but when he’s sick? that man is down for the count and begging you to take care of him. never in the demanding way, though, more so in a dramatic “take me to the garden one final time,” like a victorian child kind of way. the medicine you give him tastes too bitter and he’s embarrassed at how he’s practically losing his voice. he’s sprawled out on the bed under two blankets but complains he’s still hot. says he’s starving but then loses his appetite. but he’s always super grateful when you take the time to nurse him to good health (maybe even gets a little emotional that you care so much.)

.⋆ ༘ - takes up the ENTIRETY of your bed in the mornings. you’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms the night prior, peaceful and comfortable underneath the moonlight. it’s foolish for you to think the morning would be the same, because then you wake up to half of your body dangling off the edge of your bed and woonhak’s leg over yours. the only reason you didn’t end up on the floor is because his hand is still holding yours, a habit he claims only occurs when he’s asleep, but he really can’t sleep well without it. “i can’t help what my body does when i’m asleep!!” is his excuse, and you can’t really stay mad at him when he’s so apologetic. however, this little habit of his does seem to mellow out for a few days once you threaten to make him sleep on the couch…

.⋆ ༘ + mini bonus for iphone users - sends game pigeon games and takes them way too seriously. definitely a pro at basketball, obviously, and hates how good you are at the word games. he may be on a 5 game losing streak on 8 ball but it’s just because he’s going easy on you, he swears!!

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