laline dream

The words had been rolling through his head for what felt like forever. Joshua had become a hermit in his apartment. Weeks turned to months, and eventually he was dipping his hand into his savings as if it were a cookie jar. He needed to find another residency, but how could he when magicians just weren’t that exciting anymore? Just thinking about Richard made him want to scoff. He had no choice but to start looking for auditions, unless he wanted to be penniless. To think that he, J. Nocturne: Master of the Veil, had to audition was unbelievable. Almost embarrassing.

He had one audition. No call back.

Another audition. No call back.

Yet another. No fucking call back.

Now, he was mortified.

What could he be doing wrong? Joshua had been perfecting his act over so many years. He adapted his performance for a Twitter-centric crowd, and then the TikTok generation, making segments of his act shorter to accommodate everyone’s shorter attention spans these days. He always knew when to switch it up, to trust in his gut. So why wasn’t he being hired? Turning the dreaded 3-1 had to mean something: his glory days were over. 

He just wasn’t the magician he once was.

After a fifth audition over video chat with no response, Joshua was ready to hang up his hat. He got in his car one late Saturday afternoon, noting that the air smelled of pumpkin spice and aged wine, with the intent to visit his local coffee shop and try to pick up a part-time gig until he found something permanent. But it was when he parked that he noticed something in the distance. He stepped out of the vehicle, squinting across the street at a huge tent being set up in an abandoned field.

Was this … not a mirage? That field had been deserted for years, the grass so dead that it turned white. Some of the local high schoolers had even begun to use it for parties. It was well known in town as a dead zone. Joshua pinched himself, but the sight before him wasn’t disappearing into thin air. He ogled the large red and white tent, stained with dirt and wear, along with a slightly-torn sign that said, COME ONE, COME ALL! THE MIDNIGHT MENAGERIE.

Taking this as a good omen, Joshua immediately got back in his car and drove over. He passed the fabric sign, trying not to note how the letters were either made out of red paper or sticky paint, and stopped by a trailer situated near the main tent. There were various other canopies littered amongst the grounds, surrounded by teams of people for set up. Some were in costume, unbeknownst to him, while others looked like children, walking through the dirt with no shoes. Joshua cocked a brow, considered going back in his car, and then almost jumped out of his skin when a clown wearing yellow makeup and a tiger-striped vest breezed past him with a haunting laugh.

He turned at the right time, finding a man lingering on the steps of the trailer. He was looking at Joshua like he expected him to be here, like he had been waiting patiently for him to arrive. The brunette man was an inch or so shorter than Joshua, but his stance held command. “Are you here for the audition?” He asked suddenly, mouth lifting into a smirk.

“You’re holding auditions?” Joshua replied.

“We’re always holding auditions.” He chuckled, disappearing back into the trailer, expecting Joshua to follow.

Looking around for a moment, Joshua hesitated before venturing inside the packed trailer. The owner, which he could only guess was the man in front of him, was clearly a hoarder. He had stacks of paper and manila folders in almost every corner, posters from years past hung up on the wall, vintage animatronics that made a shiver run down Joshua’s spine once he spied them at the back of the office. He introduced himself as Seungkwan, and then asked Joshua to sit down in a chair that looked like it was made for a child.

“When did you and your crew get in town?” He asked, crossing his legs to get more comfortable. “I’ve never seen your circus here before. This land has been abandoned for years.”

Seungkwan smiled, his expression almost disoriented. “We’ve come back every year around this time.”

Joshua stared at him for a long moment. “I feel like I would’ve noticed you. Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Joshua was used to circus people being strange – I mean, he, himself, wasn’t all there. He was a magician. But Seungkwan had to be on some kind of psychedelics. He had this far-off look in his eyes, and he spoke like he was from a different time. Joshua had done psychedelics once – high school graduation night – and Seungkwan wasn’t exhibiting any other physical symptoms. So what was his deal?

“Well, uh – I don’t have any props with me, but I guess I can show you some of my videos online for the audition,” he cleared his throat. “I’ve always worked as –”

“A magician,” Seungkwan prompted, raising a brow. Joshua’s mouth dropped slightly, his eyes never leaving the owner’s, until Seungkwan slapped his knee. “I’ve seen your videos. I’m a fan.”

Relief crashed through him. Joshua laughed along with him, albeit quite awkwardly, but the tension needed to be alleviated. Seungkwan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. He studied Joshua for a moment, his eyes raking down the button-up that was just one button too low, the dark wash jeans hugging his thighs, and then hummed. “So when can you start?”

“You’re hiring me?” Joshua asked, dumbfounded. “Just like that?”

“Unless you don’t want it.”

He stammered, “No, I – I … yes, I want to. I can start setting up tomorrow.”

Seungkwan clapped. “Great!” He opened one of the many drawers on the side of his desk, which Joshua just now noticed was missing a leg. Even throughout the mess, Seungkwan was able to find the paper he wanted so easily. He slid it across the desk and placed a pen on top. “This is your contract. All I need is for you to sign on the dotted line below.”

Joshua flipped the piece of paper over, front and back. “Pretty short for a contract.”

He grinned shyly. “I’m concise.”

Skimming through it, Joshua didn’t find anything unordinary in the fine print. In fact, this almost seemed too good to be true. Just when he was down on his luck, this Midnight Menagerie seem to pop up out of nowhere with a job opening for him in mind. He didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it was just … no. If he thought about it more, he might refuse this opportunity.

Meeting Seungkwan’s eyes, Joshua set the paper down and scratched his name in ink at the bottom. He was elated, but he couldn’t help the creeping suspicion that he might’ve just sold his soul.

Next to the big event pavilion, Seungkwan handed Joshua one of the biggest tents on the premises for his act. As if it was always meant to be his. Opening night was months away, but Seungkwan explained that they liked to move locations early to give enough time for set up and to practice the performances in a new space. Joshua became accustomed to showing up everyday, gathering supplies for his stage, even called his parents to tell them the good news. (In typical fashion, all they wanted to know was if he had a girlfriend yet.)

Despite his excitement, Joshua noticed the obvious red flags about the establishment. Every circus came with them, but none had ever been this … eerie. He didn’t question the other performers who seemed like they were from a different era. He didn’t ask the owner why he was able to appear and disappear at the most unlikely of times. He ignored a plethora of other things that kept him up at night. Joshua knew that as long as he kept his head down, he’d get paid. And that was all that mattered at the end of the day. He just needed this gig to last a little longer before he retired the cloak and finally went for the corporate role his parents always dreamed for him.

He was working late one night when Seungkwan approached him. Setting up different props on stage to see what looked right, Joshua turned around to see the owner directly beside him and he fought the urge to scream. He didn’t even hear the tent flap open; Seungkwan was as silent as a ghost.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Seungkwan mused, eyes roaming around the stage. There was a dark shade of gray under his eyes. “You pegged me as a person who is scared to be out late, young Joshua.”

Joshua raised a brow. “I thought I was older than you.”

The owner paused. “Anywho,” he sighed, dragging a finger over the edge of the stage, gathering the dust. “I was thinking today … have you considered getting an assistant?”

Joshua rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never needed one before. I can draw big crowds just by myself.”

“Just a thought,” he shrugged. “You know, sex sells and what not.”

“If I hired an assistant, I wouldn’t be having sex with her,” Joshua stated.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I wasn’t suggesting that at all,” Seungkwan waved his hand. “I’m just saying … a beautiful assistant can do wonders for stage presence. Keep it in mind.” His eyes flickered to the stage once again. “And take care of the dust. It gets rather filthy in here.”

Taking his words as an order rather than a suggestion, Joshua made a post online that he was holding auditions. Clearly, Seungkwan thought that he couldn’t get by on his skills alone, but the last thing he wanted was an assistant. No, he’d hire an apprentice, someone he could train and shape, someone to take his place once this circus season ended. Instead of hanging up the cloak, it could go to someone else.

Auditions were held in his tent on the first Saturday of September. Joshua got to the circus grounds bright and early, expecting a car or two already parked, but there was … nobody. Not even any of the performers were out and about. He waited in his tent for hours, but still, no one showed up to his auditions. He was inviting people to stop by between 8 AM to 2 PM. He gave them enough time. Was he doing something wrong? Did his posts not reach enough of his audience? Joshua was biting the edge of his nail, frantically scrolling through his phone, when the flap to his tent opened.

And there you were.

You swallowed hard as you stumbled inside the tent, locking eyes with the J. Nocturne. You almost couldn’t believe it. You’d been a fan ever since you first saw his videos go viral on Youtube in college, even going to see him live whenever your local circus was in town. A couple times, you ventured outside of town to see him, just to be the first to witness his new act.

Your friends, your family – everyone thought it was strange that you idolized a circus magician. Even you couldn’t deny that your fascination with him was borderline unusual. But something about him was endearing, so charismatic, as if he could pull you under a real spell. You were just shy of 26, and he was older than you by a few years, but he seemed so much older than that. So much wiser.

When you had seen his post about auditions, you took a train, and then a bus just to get here. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have the first clue on how to be a magician’s apprentice. You weren’t missing this. You arrived close to the end of auditions, hair a mess and sweat clinging to your forehead, but you still made it. Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, your eyes roamed around the tent and saw no one else there. Perhaps most people auditioned earlier.

“Am I late?” You asked, slightly out of breath.

Joshua took in the sight of your light blue sundress, the light fabric clinging to your hips, and noticing the small coffee stain near the neckline. Just one look at you and he knew you weren’t cut out for this. He could tell you were disheveled and unorganized, nothing of use to him. And yet … he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“No, no …” He finally cleared his throat and gestured to the stage. “Right on time. The floor is yours.”

You nodded quickly, walking ahead and setting your bag down by the stage. Striding up the steps, you stopped in the middle of the stage, hands balling into fists as you met his eyes in the back row of seats. His brow shot up, one finger tracing his top lip.

“I …” You shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t exactly prepare an act.”

Joshua blinked. “Then how did you plan on auditioning?”

“I assumed my charisma and enthusiasm would land me the job.”

You couldn’t be serious. Just like he assumed: you were of no use to him. Nevertheless, something about you was pulling him in, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Your smile was contagious, and he was fighting the urge to laugh at your response.

“Do you have any experience with stage performance?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Well … no, not exactly. I was forced to do a play in middle school. It was something by Dr. Seuss, I think.” Your knuckles were turning white now, your nails digging into your palm. “Other than that … what’s the saying? ‘All the world’s a stage?’”

Joshua rubbed at his eyes for a moment. “Quoting Shakespeare is an interesting way to get the job as a magician’s apprentice.”

“Mr. Nocturne –”

“Just call me Joshua.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Finally, you let your fingers relax, your breath slowing as his hard eyes met yours. “Joshua,” you said, his name rolling off your tongue, sweet like syrup. “I know I’m not fit for this job. I did email you my resume, and my background is very clearly in cooking. I’ve worked at a few restaurants, so I know how to work through a fast place environment like this one. I’m just …” You sighed. “Admittedly, I’m a huge fan of you. It would be fun to do something like this and work alongside someone I’ve admired. Your videos got me through a lot of stressful nights in undergrad.”

Admire. That one word looped through his head, making every hair on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn’t remember the last time someone told him they admired him. But you did, and now it felt like the planet had physically stopped spinning, just so he could stare at you in this moment and appreciate the sight in front of him. 

You were what Seungkwan wanted for him. You had to be. There was something about you that was captivating. Maybe it was the softness of your smile, the nervous glint in your eyes,  the way your posture was slightly lopsided, but he … he wanted to know more.

You were untrained and not exactly talented. But you were moldable.

And Joshua knew how to mold.

Standing up from his seat, he walked forward until he was at least a foot from the stage. He tilted his head up to look at you and asked, “I can start teaching you the basics tomorrow.”

Opening night was less than two months away – October 31st, to be exact – and Joshua didn’t realize how difficult it was going to be to train a complete amateur just the foundation of magic. 

He assumed it would be easy to pick up, like riding a bike on training wheels, but boy, was he wrong. You lacked the attention span to follow his instructions, and your mind was almost always somewhere else to remember exactly what he told you. It took almost a week for you both to nail down pulling a bunny out of a hat – something most children could do. 

He was determined to make you the perfect apprentice. If there was anything about Joshua, it was that he was hell-bent, bordering on obsessive. Hopefully, in a few years, you’d be good enough to take over his act, allowing him to retire and move on. But until then … he was stuck in this tent, teaching you the difference between close-up magic and stage magic. 

This new position in life had his brain completely warped, and even you noticed. You had been watching Joshua’s routine for years, memorized it down to the second. But around him, you could hardly remember a thing. Maybe it was due to his attitude. You could tell that he never wanted to be at this backwater circus in the first place, or training an apprentice, for that matter. You heard him talking to one of the jugglers – Vernon? – and complaining about having to relearn his act all over again. He was frustrated and deeply insecure about it all – to the point you almost wished you hadn’t gotten the job – but somehow, Joshua was still … incredibly cocky.

Multiple times a day, he made you redo a routine over and over again. He got close to you because he knew that made you sweat. He belittled you and loved to remind you of your place while trying not to throw a stack of cards off the stage. After a month of training you, the only piece you had perfected because the rabbit trick, which led Joshua to calling you, Bunny.

The nickname made the hairs stand on the back of your neck. Your skin would prickle and your nails would create the deepest crescents in your palm. You would tell him to stop calling you that, and he would simply smile before ordering you to practice again. It was demeaning and rude and frankly, uncreative, but …

But.

If all those things were true … why were you up most nights repeating the way he said it in your head? You couldn’t help but close your eyes, remembering the way his lips formed as he uttered the name, while slipping a hand under your pajama pants. You would moan into your pillow to drown out your shame, fingers pumping in and out of you, wondering if his could go that much deeper, how his one gloved hand would feel better than anything you’ve ever experienced. Your apartment was so dark, so empty, but as you imagined him, it felt like all eyes were on you, watching you as you fucked yourself and thought about J. Nocturne. And then you would cum, with nothing but the memory of your boss saying, “Bunny,” echoing behind your eyelids.

How mortifying it could be to have a crush.

 Almost a couple weeks before Halloween, you began to notice a change in him too. It was unsuspecting at first. You had been so wrapped up in your daydream-infused lust to realized that maybe – just maybe – it was reciprocated. (I mean, how could you ever think that with all his belittling, with your nightly routine that left you red and embarrassed every time you thought about it?) Until the night of the costume fitting. 

You both had just wrapped up a long eight hours of practice. You had finally perfected almost half the routine, which Joshua considered a win, so he rewarded you with takeout and a surprise. Sitting in your dressing room behind the stage, grease and sauce staining your upper lip, he couldn’t help but want to watch your reaction as he set the dress bag on the rack before you. He simply gestured to it with his head before grabbing his takeout carton and slurping a noodle. (Which you tried, desperately, to ignore.) Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you asked, “What’s this?”

He shrugged casually. “Open it up and see.”

You placed your carton of fried rice on the table before standing up. With heightened anticipation, you slowly pulled down the zipper of the dress bag and … what the fuck?

“I had it made specifically for you, Bunny.”

You could hardly hear him through the ringing in your ears. Your face was turning red, either from humiliation or anger, you weren’t sure. The reason he had a tailor come earlier this week to take your measurements was because … your onstage costume was supposed to resemble a white rabbit.

“You’re joking,” you finally muttered, fingers grazing the vintage lace on the skirt. 

“What?”

You practically heard the brow raise in his voice, and when you looked over your shoulder at him – there it was. Your eyes blinked, studying his face. He was serious about this. “You expect me to wear this?” You shucked the dress bag down to unveil the costume in all it’s frilly glory. “To parade around the stage with you as your personal Playboy Bunny? I have more respect for myself than that. Sorry.”

His jaw ticked, so quick you almost didn’t notice it. 

Getting to his feet, Joshua walked over to you with his hands in the front pockets of his pants. Your eyes raised the closer he got, until he was directly in front of you, dark stare flickering from yours to the costume in your tight grip. Your nails were painted his favorite color: dark blue. You never had your nails painted, and … were you wearing makeup or were your cheeks that red right now?

“Last I checked,” he spoke calmly, as if he was preserving a deeper part of his voice, “you worked under me. You don’t exactly have a choice. Now, go try on the costume.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I’ll try it on when I want to.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, walking back over to his chair and popping another forkful of noodles into his mouth.

You waited there, stunned, as he pretended like you didn’t existed. He held the takeout in one hand, grabbing his phone with the other and beginning to scroll through his texts. After a moment, you let out a frustrated exhale. “Whatever, give me a few minutes,” you said, turning your back before you could see his triumphant grin.

You rounded the corner to the back of the dressing room, pulling the curtain to shield yourself. Meeting your eyes in the old mirror, you placed your hands on both cheeks, feeling the heat. You slapped yourself, hoping it would knock some sense into you, but the sting of pain was only a mere distraction from the inevitable. But it wasn’t time to think about that right now. You couldn’t.

It took more than a few minutes to get the costume on. This dressing room had such minimal lighting, especially behind the curtain, so you struggled with even finding the zipper. You looked at yourself in the mirror again, almost in horror. The bunny ears might be the worst part. They looked old and used, dirt staining part of the white and one ear bent down far too low, almost hitting you in the eye. The top was tight and hardly fit your chest, but you supposed you did look good. The fabric was a thick, white brocade sewn into a corset-like bodice, but with a zipper in the back and frilly lace lining the neckline. The skirt had the same lace, almost resembling a pair of bloomers, but trust that this was a skirt. And it was far too short to wear anywhere. Your behind was practically hanging out the back, or was your ass just that long? Genetics were such a bitch sometimes. 

The costume was definitely made to your measurements, but something about it was so old. Could it be the 1930s-style corset shape? Or the stains embedded into the up-cycled lace? You weren’t sure. Despite this, you couldn’t help but … admire yourself, even in this dim lighting. Although it was tight, it fit you in all the right places. You looked different. You looked sexy.

You couldn’t remember the last time you looked like this.

Yanking the curtain back, you stepped out nervously and intertwined your hands behind your back. He was already waiting there for you, patiently, leaning back in his folding chair as he regarded you with ease. Like he got exactly what he wanted. You could tell he was fighting back some kind of expression – a smile, perhaps? – as his eyes raked down your barely-clothed form. But you kept your chin held high. That was all you had in this moment, and besides … you knew you looked good.

When his eyes met yours once again, he was staring at you like a predator that had finally captured his prey. Like he wanted you. Like he needed you.

God, could pull it together until you were alone in your apartment tonight?

“Well?” You spat, attempting to ignore the immediate pulse between your legs.

But you wondered if he could sense it, if he could smell it, because he hesitated. His hand on his knee jerked slightly. 

“‘Well,’ what?”

Your sweaty hands smoothed down the frills on your skirt. “Well, what do you think? You’re the one who had me try this on in the first place.” You reached up, adjusting the ears. “The headband is a little tight.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and you noticed a change in his eyes then. Somehow, they were darker than before, a trace of smoke swirling behind that deep abyss. His stare lingered on the shape of you, how the fabric fit just right, wishing – praying – you turned slightly so he see just a hint of your ass peaking from under the hem of the skirt.

Or maybe you were imagining that part.

Because he adjusted his stance in the chair, sitting up, and turned back to his phone. He grabbed the takeout carton and sent you a small smile. “I’ve seen enough,” he said, reading through a text thread.

He didn’t meet your eyes again for the rest of the night.

Joshua found you up earlier for practice each day, spied you staying after hours memorizing the routine alone. This whole time he’d been dead set on practicing with you, but he realized observing you was much more satisfying. Some mornings, he would walk into the tent, not say a word, and simply watch you for the fourth row as you did the routine over and over again. 

He was becoming harder on you, which you guessed you should’ve expected given the fact that opening night was less than two weeks away. Every mistake was like a lashing, but somehow worse than that. You would’ve preferred his loud voice, maybe even a ruler smack. Anything other than him sitting in the back row and saying in the calmest voice possible, “Again.”

Some days it was almost too much. The days where you’d practice for over ten hours and nothing went right. When the latch on the stage trap door got stuck once again, you sunk to the floor and blew out a tired sigh. Sweat clung to your hairline. You were so hot despite the October chill in the air. You heard the rest of the performers outside the tent laughing, grilling barbecue and singing. But you were stuck inside this tent for what felt like forever and there was your boss repeating, “Again.”

“I can’t,” you breathed out, tugging you hair up into a ponytail. “We need to break for the night.”

“Opening night is a week away.” Joshua shoved his phone in his pocket and sat back in his chair. “I know that door is old and rusty, but you still haven’t been able to time the pull correctly.”

You blinked at him. He wasn’t going to let you leave. “I’m doing my best. It’s late. I’m hungry.”

Joshua tilted his head.

“Can’t we just call it tonight? I’ll be able to come at this with a fresh mind tomorrow.”

He sighed, and for a moment, you thought he was going to relent. With a shake of his head, he said, “Again.”

You surged to your feet, the adrenaline rushing through you and leaving just as quickly. Stomping down the stairs of the stage, you walked through the rows of folding chairs and muttered, “Absolutely the fuck not. I’m grabbing some barbecue from Jihoon, and then I’m going home.”

As you passed by his chair, you felt his large hand wrap around your forearm like an electric coil. Your feet stilled, despite yourself, looking down at him until he stood up and your chin was tilting upwards. You swallowed hard. His palm was like acid, hot and stinging against your goose-bumped arm. He could feel it too – you knew he could – the way your pulse was thrumming, calling out to him like a song.

You tried to save face as you whispered, “Are you going to let go of me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Bunny?” He wasn’t answering your question this time. “I’m sure Jihoon really misses your company. You love a strong man, right?”

“Excuse me?” Your eyes narrowed. “You have no right to speak to me like that.”

He cocked his head. “Jihoon has become nothing but a mere distraction for you. I’ve seen you sneaking off to see him around noon, sitting with him for lunch. He’s walked you to your car every night for the past couple of weeks.”

"What are you doing? Spying on me?”

His chin jerked back, as if you caught him redhanded.

Your lips pursed, and after a moment, you muttered, “Joshua, let go of my arm.”

Slowly, gradually – Joshua’s hand unraveled and lifted from your forearm. You were almost tempted to look down, to see if his palm had burned itself into your skin, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. No matter how much you fantasized about him.

The funniest part about all of this was … Jihoon meant nothing to you. He was a friend, but nothing more than that. The fact that Joshua was seeing something you didn’t meant he had been watching you much more closely than you’d given him credit for. 

“I won’t let Jihoon, or anyone else – for that matter – become a big enough distraction and ruin our performance,” he finally replied. “If you think I would, you clearly weren’t as big of a fan as you said you were. I would sacrifice anything if it meant my show did well.”

You took in the honesty written all over his face, how deeply earnest he was about this. But it didn’t matter when he was being accusatory like this. You scoffed, turning on your heel and walking towards the exit. 

“Bunny.”

Your hand was pulling up the tent flap, but then you paused. You met his gaze over your shoulder.

His mouth was turned upward on one side, like he was teasing you. “Be ready to practice in costumes tomorrow.”

Not that fucking rabbit costume.

You sneered in his direction. “Goodnight, sir.”

Maybe he had been right, in some way, about you not knowing him. Not being as big of a fan. He was the magician you idolized; the man you watched on YouTube religiously, even when your college roommate made fun of you. But now … he was your boss, and you had to treat him as such. You were simply an apprentice, an assistant in a white bunny costume on opening night.

Regardless, Joshua was learning that when his apprentice didn’t want to do something, you were absolutely not doing it. It didn’t matter if he was your boss or just a guy at a bar. You were a stubborn piece of work.

“What are you wearing?” He asked, adjusting his favorite cape on one of his shoulders. Afternoon sunlight casted through a hole in the roof of the tent, and you tried to keep your eyes away from where he was pulling at the white gloves on his hands.

You placed your hands on your hips and looked down. An old thermal henley clung to your torso while you wore a pair of sweatpants dangerously low on your hips. When your head popped back up, you asked, “What? You thought I was actually going to wear that rabbit costume today?”

“That is what I asked for.” His brow shot up high. “Have you never heard of a dress rehearsal?”

You glared at him. “I’m not wearing the costume.”

A quick tick in his jaw, and Joshua was slowly walking over to your end of the stage. You were tempted to step back, but then you’d be falling off the edge. Maybe that was what he wanted. Your heart rate only increased the closer he got. When his feet were practically touching yours, he adjusted his right glove and said, “I thought you wanted to become my apprentice to surpass me.”

“And you think the key to surpassing you is prancing around stage in a white bunny costume?”

He couldn’t help but smile a little. You got him there. “Always got a comeback. Right.” He shook his head and turned on the heel of his loafer, striding back to his stool at center stage. In the most casual tone possible, he asked, “Would Jihoon be able to get you in that outfit?”

Your brow knitted together. “What?” You could feel your rage bubbling beneath the surface, and he could see it. He knew he’d already won. “What is your issue with Jihoon?”

“No issue.” He shrugged. “Just a question.”

You didn’t respond, only crossed your arms over your chest.

Joshua’s eyes flitted down, just for a moment, ogling your neckline so quickly you didn’t even notice it, before his gaze connected with yours again. That wisp of a smile appearing once more. “I just figured … since you were laughing with him so much at lunch today …” His shoulders sagged up and down.

You stomped over, wagging your finger in this face. “If you paid enough attention, then you’d very clearly see that Jihoon is just my fucking friend –”

“And also a distraction, seeing as we’re still talking about him and you’re on the defense,” he quipped, looking down as if you were a kid. Like he had you right where he wanted.

Your persistence was waning, crumbling like a stack of bricks. “I don’t want to put it on –”

“I’m your boss,” he rebuked, and your mouth immediately sealed shut. A brutal loss. “At least, put on the damn ears. Sound good, Bunny?”

Minutes later, you were standing in the middle of that stage, performing dress rehearsal as one of your rabbit ears kept flopping into your eye. All the while, Ringmaster Seungkwan watched from the tent entrance. Your boss – your biggest admiration – had become the source of your humiliation, but the pull he had on you was relentless. You’d give in eventually.

What could be even more embarrassing? Touching yourself that night while thinking about those goddamn white gloves, how jealous he got over Jihoon. Guess you couldn’t be that mad about it after all.

It was October 31st. As soon as the sun set, the spotlight in front of the circus switched on. The Midnight Menagerie was open and bustling with life. Performers stood outside the rusty gate, waving to every vehicle that passed. Cars, motorcycles, even children on bicycles made their way inside the circus, heads almost doing a 360 as they took in the hypnotizing lights on display. Seungkwan’s voice boomed from the big tent, inviting one and all to witness what was in store at the menagerie.

Joshua had been running around his own tent the whole day, making sure every piece of the set was perfect. He did run throughs with the teenagers hired for lights at least twenty times. Scolded you over the phone when you didn’t arrive for rehearsal at the exact time he asked. Had you do over one trick when you made the tiniest mistake. But still, he was having a good day. At least that’s what he told himself so his head wouldn’t blow up. 

He almost couldn’t bear to look outside the curtain once he knew the gates had been open. Too scared of failure, too anxious to see that all this had been for nothing. But when he finally stuck his head from the side of the velvet divider, he was shocked to see that his tent was packed already. Almost every seat was filled. The crowd seemed stiff though, almost translucent like ghosts, and he wondered how they managed to file in without making a sound. He needed this to go well; he couldn’t dwell on the status of his audience.

All that matter was that he had an audience.

But then he turned his head, watching you walk out of the dressing room. 

And not in the white rabbit costume.

You’re still wearing those ears – thank god, because the seamstress wasn’t cheap – pushing back your hair, which was styled in soft ringlets. The blazer you were wearing was tight and he wasn’t sure if there was anything underneath, but he didn’t seem to care all that much when your chest looked that good, that inviting, and it was a shame that you weren’t dressed just for him. His eyes dragged down to the matching shorts, paired with frilly white socks that went up to your knees and heels in the same color. He swallowed hard, tempted to ask you to change, and yet … he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He feared drool would seep out of his mouth if he even opened it.

This wasn’t what he asked for at all … but dear god, if you didn’t look good than he’d be a liar.

The curtain opened, and the night would’ve gotten off without a hitch, if your nerves didn’t get the best of you. Only two tricks in, you were making mistakes. You didn’t stack his deck correctly before the show, leading his card trick to falter in front of someone he picked in the audience. The person hardly noticed though, staring at him as if he could see right through Joshua, and the magician simply kept the show going. But then, like clockwork, you damn near forgot to pull the trap door at the right time, almost ruining his disappearing act for the tenth time this week. And the crowd was still hardly reacting, as if this routine was stale, as if they’d seen someone do it over the past 100 years or so.

The worst offense was during the handcuffing act – one of the last pieces of the performance. There was no room to get it wrong, and they only way they wouldn’t notice was if they were dead. The trick had started off perfect: he twirled you around so your back faced the audience, clicking the handcuffs in place. His eyes lingered, only for a moment, on how your shorts fit perfectly to the curve of your ass, that hint of a cheek underneath the hem. He couldn’t get distracted – that was how a trick failed – but he was already feeling his cock stir in his trousers. He swallowed hard and resumed the act, showing the ghostly audience the handcuffs, and you pretended like you were trapped. 

If he wasn’t hard then, Jesus Christ –

No distractions.

You realized you had failed to set the gimmick handcuffs correctly, twisting them a certain way on your wrist so you couldn’t reach the shim quickly. When it came time for you to escape, Joshua snapped his hands and you panicked. You glanced at him from over your shoulder with this nervous look in your eyes that shouldn’t have been arousing, but it seemed in this position, he found everything you did a little suggestive. 

He had to come up with a solution quick, one that would distract the audience for enough time while he released the cuffs. The last thing you expected was for him to suggest a kiss.

A fucking kiss.

But you agreed to it immediately, and you weren’t sure if it was to escape his wrath later or maybe – just maybe – you kind of wanted him to. Like you’d been imagining this almost every night while you touched yourself. He was leaning in now, his breath fanning your face, and for a mere instant, you thought you were going to get everything you wanted. His mouth ghosted over yours, hardly pressing his lips to yours, but just enough for the audience to believe. Even you forgot about them, because it felt like time had stopped and Joshua was going to kiss you. Really kiss you. 

It was a farce though. Of course. In that split second he had you pinned, your head twisted over your shoulder with his top lip grazing your bottom, he was able to lift his hand slightly to get to the shim, press down, and the cuffs fell to the floor as a puff of smoke exploded from below the stage. He leaned back, and your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips.

You were freed, and this was the first time during the entire act that the crowd showed any emotion. But you couldn’t stop wishing that you had been trapped just a little bit longer, just enough to taste him.

After the show ended and the crowd filed out, you two were finally alone, left to pick up all the props that were thrown around like confetti. The menagerie was still teeming, even though it was nearly midnight. Children were laughing. Parents could be heard running after them. Teenagers were screaming after one of Seokmin’s jump scares. But all of that seemed so subdued as you cleaned up the tent for tomorrow’s show.

Joshua kept to himself, throwing all the props in a bin and setting up the furniture in the marked areas for tomorrow. You expected to get a mouthful from him for messing up almost half the performance, but he seemed … changed. Especially after the kiss, or whatever you wanted to call it.

Setting your gloves on the stage table, you ran a hand through the ends of your hair and muttered, “If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna head home. Beauty sleep and all that jazz.”

He turned, opening his mouth to agree, but then he lifted his finger to point at you. “Actually …”

Your eyes lifted to his as you spun on the tip of your heel. 

“We should go through that handcuff act again.”

You raised a brow suspiciously.

Joshua lifted his hands in surrender, a smile playing at his lips. The kind you had never seen on him before. “Not a punishment, Bunny.”

Your teeth clicked, and then you said, “Okay,” so nonchalantly he almost didn’t recognize you. The stubbornness faded, replaced with a softer side. You picked up the gimmick cuffs and walked over to him, holding them out. That smile of his hadn’t faltered, not even when he said, “I think we should try something different. I want to show you how I do it for next time.”

Before you could question him, he was pulling out a folding chair to the middle of the stage. He sat down, put his hands behind his back, and then looked at you watching in silence. “Well?” He said expectantly. “Are you just going to stand there and look pretty, or are you going to handcuff me?”

Just that one sentence made you so horny that you almost didn’t hear him call you pretty.

Stop being such a pervert, your conscience chided. Focus on the trick.

You nodded, getting closer and sinking to your knees behind the chair. The power switch was jarring, making you fumble with the cuffs as you slipped them on. Your hands were sweaty, and his wrists were hairier than you assumed. You wondered where else he was hairy – nope. Your head shook, concentrating on the task at hand, and locked the other cuff in place.

“Do you see where the shim is?” He asked, peeking just over his shoulder at you. “That should be twisted more towards the inner wrist, so your thumb can get to it.”

You did as he said, and then added, “It sometimes gets stuck though. Even you said that these cuffs are old.”

“I should invest in a new pair,” he muttered under his breath, flicking the shim. “Yeah, you’re right. I think there might be some rust here too that’s making it stick.”

You sat there, staring off into space, as his thumb swiped at the metal wedge from different directions. There shouldn’t be anything arousing about this, and yet …

“Got it,” he smirked as his thumb caught on the shim, but then your hand closed around his wrist. You felt his pulse jump as you twisted the cuff back around where he couldn’t reach the release.

“Wait,” you murmured, your own heartbeat thrumming as you circled around him, stopping in front. He looked up at you, his irises dark and eclipsed by his pupils. His back was slumped against the chair, his legs spread, and when your eyes finally flicked down, you gulped at the sight of the prominent bulge in his pristine black pants.

“I …” You stumbled over your words, your mouth suddenly feeling too dry. Your hands balled into fists and you fought the urge to just release him, to be on your way and head back home to your apartment. But he was looking at you like you held his life in your hands, and maybe you actually did. “Why did … why did you almost kiss me?”

His brow raised so high that his forehead wrinkled. “That’s what you want to know? You could’ve asked anything right now.” He exhaled, his casualness infuriating you even more. “If you help unlock the cuffs, I’ll tell you. How’s that, Bunny?”

“Absolutely not. You won’t answer me then.”

That ghost of a smile appeared on his lips again. “Okay, you know me too well now.” Joshua shook his head, adjusting his posture in hopes that would relieve some tension in his groin, but to no avail. He huffed in annoyance, and you weren’t sure if that lewd gesture made the candles flicker on or if he was made of magic himself. His gaze locked onto yours, noticing the droplet of sweat running down the side of your neck. “Because I wanted to. Because I needed to distract the crowd. Because I was so pissed off at you for ruining the act that the only way I could let out my frustration was through that, even though I held myself back.”

His words hit you like a train, like a car crash – sudden and beautiful, unable to turn away. It took you too long before you felt the sweat; your hand smacking onto your neck to wipe it away, hard enough to leave a mark. You knew it, he knew it, and it made him want to see what marks he could give you. Enough for people to know who you belonged to, who you had admired for so long, who’s cock your throat had molded to.

Your chin lifted as that fire returned to your eyes. “That’s a surprise. I can’t see you ever holding back.”

Joshua grinned, fingers twitching as he cornered you right where he wanted you. He was the one cuffed right now, but you were suddenly trapped. He shrugged indifferently. “Get these off and I’ll show you more, Bunny.”

Everything in your body was telling you, NO. This was a bad idea. You didn’t need to see more. You needed to uncuff him and go home to your warm bed and vibrator hiding under your pillow. But your hands unfurled and you were moving towards him, transfixed. He couldn’t be hypnotizing you, right? He didn’t have his signature pocket watch out; you’d studied his performances more than your own homework all those years ago. So why were you striding behind him, unlocking the cuffs, as if you didn’t have a mind of your own?

You stood as he did, swallowing hard and feeling the heat of the candles flicker around you. His height was overwhelming, veiling you, and you let him place his hands on your shoulders before shuffling you over to the table where the remnants of his costume lay. His old top hat with the rips in the fabric, the coat stained from years of wear – he shoved them off the surface as he sat you on the edge of the table, back straight.

His hand was slow, reverent, while pulling both your wrists behind your back. You felt your breath quicken when he locked the cuffs, trying to feel for the wedge, but – surprise, he duped you too. 

You were acutely aware that this wasn’t just practice anymore.

Gaze towards the empty seats, you whispered, “You’ve been looking at me differently since the costume fitting.”

“Have I?”

Your brow furrowed, and you felt his warm breath near your neck. “You talk to me like I’m this little bunny for you to play with. I’m your apprentice and I just want you to teach me.” You turned your head slightly when you felt his fingertips slightly brushing your shoulder, leaving goosebumps. “But I feel like having me in this situation with my hands cuffed behind my back is all you’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

His shoes clicked as he rounded the table, sending you a smirk. “Am I really that transparent, Bunny?”

He was in front of you now, bracing his hands on the edge of the table, bending down to be at your eye level. Your gaze didn’t waver from his, not even when he slowly slid a hand between your legs, opening them a little bit more. You swallowed, and he noticed. His palm moved further, gliding up your inner thigh, and then he felt it. The heat emanating from your core, so hot that he could feel it through your shorts. Your chest heaved and sweat slipped down your neck and into the deep, exposed neckline. There really was nothing underneath that blazer except skin you were practically begging him to touch.

His eyes flickered up to yours. “Something tells me you’ve been thinking about this too.”

You held your chin up high.

“I’ve been thinking about more than just this,” he confessed, tilting his head to the side. “Will you let me show you?”

A beat of hesitation passed. The silence felt thick and heavy. For a moment, he thought you were going to push him away, call him a creep despite how clearly wet you were, how dilated your pupils were.

But then you started to slowly nod your head, unable to think about anything besides the wet spot forming in your panties.

He confirmed with a curt nod of his head, and then walked towards his bin of props, pulling out a red, satin sash. Once he was in front of you again, he held it out, indicating that he was going to blindfold you. Bile rose in your throat, but your swallowed it down, feeling your core pulse between your legs. You nodded, and he methodically wrapped the satin around your head, obstructing your vision. 

Everything was dark, but you felt him … everywhere. He laid you back down on the table, your spine hitting the velvet runner. He pushed the rest of the props off the surface before his hands were on your thighs again, opening you up to him. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breasts practically straining against the fabric. You felt his thumb flick at one of the buttons on your blazer that was just barely holding it together.

“I’m going to take these off now,” he said, as if he were conducting something much more serious. His thumb popped another button open and revealed more of you. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Anything to get these stupid ears off.”

His hand paused, and suddenly you felt his mouth at your ear. Your hands twitched in the cuffs. “Who said anything about the ears?”

Her breath stilled at his words. He opened the front of the blazer, taking in the sight of your exposed chest. The cold air hit your nipples just right, turning them to pebbles and you squirmed. You had the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen – soft and warm. It felt like a crime if he didn’t palm one, just to feel the weight in his hand, to watch you gasp at the sudden touch. He threw off your heels, hesitated, and then decided to keep those knee-high socks on you. After unbuttoning your shorts, he slid them down, leaving you in nothing but your soiled panties and white rabbit ears. You had worn a lacy pair – blue, his favorite color – your wetness soaking through the thin fabric. 

You were completely exposed to him, to the world. Your eyes were completely blindfolded but it felt like you were being watched by more than just him. And somehow … the possibility of that made you even more aroused.

Joshua had to fight the urge to fuck you right there. To have you like this … bare and laid out before him like a feast … it felt like a dream come true. He could do whatever he wanted to you. Have you however he pleased. He could fuck you without waiting for you to cum and tell you to be on your merry way.

He could have all of that, and yet …

Joshua inhaled the scent of your arousal. No, he needed to make you fall apart before you got to feel even an inch of his cock.

He leaned over you, one hand gripping the edge of the table, while the other slipped in between your legs again. Pushing your panties to the side, he skimmed two fingers down your slit, feeling the slick gather. He moved his head down, licking a stripe up your torso, from your belly button to the valley between your breasts. “So fucking wet already,” he clicked his tongue, fingers pushing open your folds, playing you like an instrument. “How long have you been thinking about this, Bunny?” He asked before swirling his tongue around one nipple.

All you could do was let out a whine. Your back arched, pushing your breast more into his mouth, and he smiled. 

“Seems like a while,” he chuckled, fingers finding your clit and rubbing calculated circles. “What? Have you been going home after each practice and touching yourself? You act so tough, getting all angry when I call you, Bunny. Bet you masturbate while thinking about me saying that, huh?”

You sighed, nodding. Shame had vanished from your vocabulary. With his fingers playing with you like this, you’d tell him whatever he wanted to know. 

The cuffs on your wrists were starting to feel like a punishment. You could go without sight, but not being able to feel him, to rake your fingers through his carefully styled hair … that was pure torture. Your hands flexed, wanting to touch, but he wasn’t going to relent. This was part of the trick, after all.

He shoved two fingers inside you without warning, and your hips bucked. You felt him laugh against your skin. The hair on your arms stood up, and then his lips were at your ear again, fingers pumping in and out of you. “I’ve been thinking about doing this to you on stage for weeks,” he confessed, nipping at your earlobe. You moaned, finally understanding just how far those long fingers of his could reach. “Every time I saw you in this costume, every time you rebelled … it just made me want this more.”

His fingers pulled out of you, and you whined with desperation. You couldn’t see it, but you could hear him lapping at his fingers – loudly. “Perfect fucking pussy,” he muttered under his breath before plunging those fingers back inside you, now wet with his saliva. You mewled, so desperate for more – moremoremore. He pressed down on your clit and it felt like a dam was about to break. The cuffs were your enemy now, preventing you from clinging onto him as he finger fucked you into oblivion.

You moaned, “Joshua –”

“Call me Nocturne,” he interrupted. “That’s an order.”

“Nocturne.”

You sounded utterly pornographic, making him ache even more in his pants. He wanted to at least take his cock out, anything to relieve the tension, but he was dedicated to seeing the way you broke for him, the way your mouth formed when you came. 

Joshua added a third finger, stretching you more, and he felt your walls clamp down on him. He swirled his tongue around both nipples again and tasted the sweat on your skin. You were writhing now, needing to touch him, but this was all part of rehearsal. If you both didn’t follow the rules, you would learn nothing. And all he wanted to do was teach you … well, everything. He could turn you into the best magician possible. He could teach you everything about pleasure, make you cum like no one else ever had. He could show you a world you never thought possible. He wanted to be the one you looked to for every piece of guidance, no matter what it was.

All you needed to do in return was obey.

Your voice was hardly distinguishable as you whined, “Josh – Nocturne, I’m gonna –”

He pressed down on your clit. Hard. “Did I tell you that you could cum, Bunny?”

“I – no –”

“Then you can’t yet.” He punctuated his point by fucking those three fingers back inside of you, curling them in a way that made your hips jump. You were so wet that he could probably just slide in if he wanted to. “We’re practicing. You don’t want to make a mistake and have me start over, right?”

You choked out, “Nocturne –”

“Right?”

“Yes.”

You hardly recognized your own voice anymore. 

“Good girl,” he said, hand coming up to suddenly cradle your chin. His fingers were were slick and sloppy, filling the tent with the most lewd sounds he’d ever heard. “If you stop fighting against the cuffs, I’ll let you cum. Sound good, Bunny?”

You nodded in defeat. Your arms went limp, attempting to stay still as his thumb flicked your clit, his digits moving so fast that you thought almost wet yourself. God, you thought, please don’t let the first time I squirt be in this moment. You felt him lick up your neck before nipping at your jaw, his fingers reaching so deep inside. He put heavy pressure on your g-spot, so hard that you had no excuse but to cum. His laugh was breathy and obscene as he said, “C’mon now, Bunny.”

All you could do was break.

Your whole body shuddered, feeling a rush of liquid, cumming for what felt like forever. Whimpering his name, Joshua couldn’t help but grind his aching erection against your thigh, wring the most desperate noises from you. A puddle was forming underneath your ass and staining the velvet throw on the table. Your release was warm and explosive, coating his entire hand. It felt like letting go of a burden, of the tension that you held back from him for so long. The release was volatile, sticky, and only for Joshua to taste.

He yanked his fingers from your dripping heat, and that’s when you both realized.

Joshua lapped at his fingers, noting how it was a mixture of sweet and salty, before bending down to your mouth. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself.  The way he kissed you was greedy. Almost possessive. His tongue practically mimicked what his fingers had just done to you moments ago, and your hand twitched in the cuffs again, desperate to feel him, anything. His mouth was hot and you were surprised at the taste, how sweet you were between your legs. You felt the puddle beneath you already drying up, and your whole body froze.

He leaned back and took in your flushed cheeks. “I think I should’ve kissed you like that much earlier,” he muttered, flicking away the string of spit connecting your mouths. “Has anyone made you squirt like that before?”

“Oh, my god,” you exclaimed, doing your best to sit up. “This is so fucking embarrassing. I’ve never – not before –”

Joshua’s palm pushed you back down on the table. “You can’t run away now, Bunny,” he chuckled. “I haven’t had my fill yet.”

You swallowed, your skin prickling with panic. Even so … you couldn’t deny that this was making you wet all over again. Arousal gathered, mixing with your intense release. The way he smiled was almost evil as he took in the sight of your puffy lips, the panties still clinging and soaked through.

He flipped you over, bending you over the table now, before you could even blink. Your arms burned as he yanked you over the edge by your handcuffs. They were still so out of reach. You couldn’t get out of this even if you tried, but it wasn’t like you actually wanted that. The rabbit ears started to make a soft throb emerge in your temples. Gradually, he peeled your panties down, stuffing them in his back pocket as a souvenir. His fingers brushed down your spine, the way your ass arched over the table edge, and you shivered.

“Tell me,” he said, his lips at your ear and causing you to gasp, “do you want to be bred like a rabbit too?”

Your head swung behind you, as if that could help you see him with the blindfold still over your eyes. His fingers played with your swollen lips between your legs, leaning over you and whispering in your other ear, “Do you want this pretty pussy stuffed full of my cock?”

Head falling, you pressed your cheek against the table when you felt him slide two fingers inside your tight channel again. You pushed back on his hand, begging for more. Moans slipped past your lips like a unintelligible babble. 

“Use your words, Bunny.”

You breathed out, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He crooked his fingers inside you.

“Yes, I want to be bred like a rabbit.”

His digits slipped out of you so easily before he slapped your pussy, and your hips jumped. “Good girl.”

You heard the clink of his belt, the way his slacks fell straight to the floor of the stage. Your legs parted more, presenting yourself on full display. Your pussy was like magic – all consuming and addictive – and he watched the slick run down your thighs as he pumped his cock a few times. Aligning himself at your entrance, he paused to run a finger along the edge of your cuffs.

“Nocturne,” you practically pleaded, “when are you going to –”

He plunged inside of you, tugging at the chain between your cuffs as leverage. You felt the burn of him stretching you almost immediately. No amount of lubrication could prepare you for this. He was deep – painfully deep – and you realized then that he was stalling to allow your pussy to mold to the shape of his cock, big and long and intense. 

“That what you wanted, Bunny?” He asked, mouth at your ear again.

You nodded, cheek rubbing against the table. “Y–Yes,” you swallowed, “Nocturne.”

His chuckle vibrated against your neck, his breath boiling hot. He pulled all the way out, watching your essence still cling to him, and he muttered, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

He slammed back inside, making you cry out. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.” Another thrust. “Until you forget your own name.” And another thrust. “Until you never get a trick wrong again.”

When he shoved himself back inside this time, the sound was lewd and wet, like the loudest squelch you ever heard. You were so wet that his shaft was practically coated in you. You were more than full of him; you were fucking stuffed with his cock. He jerked on those cuffs again, making your head lift from the table. “Would you like that, Bunny?” He nibbled on your ear, and you huffed at the fullness inside of you. “You want to be fucked so hard that no one will compare to way your favorite magician fucks you?”

“Yes,” your voice was unrecognizable, almost a scream of desperation. “Please, Nocturne.”

Joshua wrapped an arm around your middle, pulling you almost flush against his chest. He fucked into you even harder this time, even faster, making sure every inch was buried deep inside you with each thrust. Sweat dribbled down his collarbone and into his shirt. His breath fanned the back of your neck, his balls slapping against your ass. You weren’t sure when, but his thrusts were so harsh that your rabbit ears clattered onto the ground. It didn’t matter to him, not when he was balls deep inside you and you were gripping him like a fucking vice.

He felt the world close in on him as your walls clamped down on his cock. The mewl you let out told him that he found your g-spot, and he ground against it like it was his job. Candles flickered in and out, and Joshua was almost certain that he felt a million eyes on him in that moment. No one was there besides you two, but he sensed them, heard them. Was that Seungkwan’s voice, or just a myriad of voices that sounded so similar to his?

He needed to focus – he was so close and so were you – but he felt spirits surrounding him. Possessing him. The voices mingled with your shared moans, mocking both of you while telling him that if he could claim you, he’d never have to worry about making ends meet. He’d have a forever home at the Midnight Menagerie. His home was here, with you, inside you, wherever you wanted him. He could have it all and more, as long as he claimed his sweet rabbit apprentice. 

Was it possible that he sold his soul after all?

His balls drew up as his hand on your stomach snaked down, slipping between your legs and rubbing rough circles on your clit. You broke almost immediately, somehow harder than before. Your legs shook and you cried out his name like an incantation, your orgasm brutal and nearly violent. You pushed back on him, letting him sheath himself so far that he had no choice but to spill his load inside you. He groaned, biting into your shoulder, as the spirits cheered him on. It felt like they were plunging into his heart, reminding him he could never leave. He was with them forever. He was with you forever.

His apprentice. His white rabbit.

As he collapsed and heaved against your neck, he almost considered never pulling out. If he pulled out, he’d never lose this warmth, his home. But he did it anyways, adjusting his posture and watching the mix of your releases ooze down your thighs. It was almost hypnotic. He wondered if he could bottle it, use it on stage for one of his tricks. He liked the idea of having a constant reminder of what you two created. How he was going to claim you every night for years to come. And that brought a smile to his lips.

Joshua pulled you up, sitting you on the edge of the table. The velvet runner was stained and halfway off the surface. Your rabbit ears had fallen somewhere on the stage. The gimmick handcuffs were twisted enough where you probably could’ve gotten out of them if you tried, but you didn’t. He removed them easily before untying the blindfold from your face, and you blinked at the bright spotlight shining down on you. Your eyes adjusted, and Joshua pulled up his trousers, tucking his soft cock back in his boxers. His button-up was stained and wrinkled, but his satisfied expression told you that he didn’t care.

And then, out of nowhere, you blurted, “I promise to never get the act wrong again.” Your gaze went to your fidgeting hands, where you traced the faint indent on your wrist from the cuffs, and you lifted your head again. “Are … are there any other tricks you want to show me?”

Joshua smirked, knowing he had you right where he always wanted you. 

Forever, said the spirits.

“Seriously?” His voice was low, but the irritation in it wasn’t directed at you, it was at himself. He pressed his forehead against the wood, letting out a breath that fogged the surface briefly before disappearing into the dark. “You locked me out?” He asked it as if he expected a response, but deep down, he already knew he wouldn’t get one.

Inside, you sat cross-legged on the bed, your body stiff, every nerve buzzing with the sound of his voice coming through the door. You heard the disbelief in his tone, the faint humorless scoff he tried to cover up. It almost made you roll your eyes, but instead, you just hugged your knees tighter to your chest. You didn’t want to face him, not tonight. Not after all the rude words, the way he kept snapping at you while Hyunjin was around, like it was your fault for smiling at someone else.

On the other side, Seungmin lifted his hand and knocked lightly three soft taps, hesitant, almost shy. “Where am I supposed to sleep then?” he asked, half teasing, half genuine. He tried to sound casual, as if it were a small problem, as if your locking the door wasn’t a bigger reflection of how far apart the two of you still were.

You pressed your lips together, determined not to answer. Part of you wanted to throw back something sharp, like, “You can sleep on the couch if you’re going to act like that.” But your voice stayed trapped in your throat. Instead, silence filled the room. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the nightstand.

Seungmin’s shoulders slumped when you didn’t respond. He let out another sigh, one that carried frustration, guilt, and exhaustion all at once. He knocked again, this time leaning closer, his tone softer. “Hey… I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out like stones heavy, awkward, but true. He closed his eyes as he spoke them. “I was an asshole. I know. I didn’t mean to be, but I was. I just—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together as he struggled to find the right words. Words that didn’t sound like excuses.

Inside, you froze. Your heart skipped, not because of the apology itself, you weren’t sure you were ready to forgive him, but because of how fragile his voice sounded through the wood. Like he hated himself for what he said, hated himself for pushing you so far away. You tightened your grip on your knees and shook your head as if to physically push away the part of you that wanted to soften.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not yet.

When the silence dragged, Seungmin’s chest tightened. He had hoped, just for a moment that you’d answer. That maybe you’d unlock the door. That maybe you’d give him something, even anger, because at least anger meant you were still engaging with him. But the silence pressed back against him harder than any harsh word could. He let his hand fall from the door. “Alright,” he murmured, voice almost too quiet to carry.

He lingered there for another moment, staring at the thin line between the door and the frame as if he could will it to open. But eventually, with shoulders heavy and head bowed, he turned and walked back down the hall. Each step away felt like defeat.

You heard him leave. You heard the creak of the floorboards grow fainter, then the groan of the couch springs as he dropped onto it. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, collapsing back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Why does he make it so hard? you thought bitterly. He had spent the whole day being rude, picking at you with little comments while Hyunjin was there. Every look felt like disapproval, every word like a jab meant to sting. And then, when the night came he wanted to just apologize and expect it to fix everything?

But even as you tried to hold onto your anger, your chest ached at the sound of his voice replaying in your mind. The way he had said I’m sorry. The way he sounded tired. The way he knocked softly, not demanding, not angry, just… regretful.

Still, you rolled over and pulled the blanket over your head. You weren’t going to give in tonight. Not when you were still this raw.

On the couch, Seungmin lay on his side, staring at the dark ceiling. The cushions were too small for his frame, his feet dangling off the edge. The armrest dug into his shoulder, and the pillow he had grabbed felt too thin to provide any real comfort. He shifted once, twice, three times, but no position felt right. The discomfort wasn’t just physical, it was in his chest, gnawing at him like something sharp and merciless.

He replayed the day in his head. The way you smiled at Hyunjin. The way you laughed so freely, like the walls you always built up around Seungmin weren’t there with him. The way you blushed when Hyunjin teased you. Each memory twisted inside him, jealousy flaring hot and ugly. He had hated himself for every rude word he threw out, but at the time, he couldn’t stop them from spilling out. It was childish, he knew that, but watching you light up for someone else while shutting him out made him feel… invisible.

And then Hyunjin’s words echoed again, sharp and cruel: No wonder she hasn’t fallen for you. You act like a middle school boy with a crush, mean and cold because you don’t know what else to do.

Seungmin winced at the memory, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. He hated that Hyunjin was right. He hated that he could never bring himself to just say what he felt, to just let you know why he acted the way he did. Instead, all he ever managed was pushing you further away.

He rolled over again, burying his face into the pillow, muffling the groan that escaped him. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight. Not with guilt clawing at him. Not with the thought of you on the other side of the wall, hurt because of him.

In the bedroom, you tossed and turned as well. The bed felt too big, too quiet. The space that was supposed to be divided between the two of you now felt like it swallowed you whole. You pressed your hand against the spot on the mattress where Seungmin’s belongings had been neatly folded earlier. It was empty now, and the absence felt louder than his presence ever did.

You hated that your mind wouldn’t shut up. Every mean thing he said replayed in your head, but so did every small act of care. The breakfast he made for you. The apology he offered after the fight before Lotte World. The way he tried to include you, even if clumsily. It made you groan softly into your pillow, frustrated with yourself for even considering those things after how he treated you today.

Still, when your eyes finally fluttered closed, the last thing you remembered was the sound of his voice at the door, quiet and remorseful, asking for forgiveness you weren’t ready to give.

And in the living room, Seungmin finally drifted into a restless sleep, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on his chest.

The first trace of dawn crept softly through the curtains, thin rays of pale light breaking into the shared house. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint shifting of wood as the house adjusted to the cool morning air. For most people, this would be the quietest, calmest part of the day. But for you, it was suffocating.

You had barely slept. Your eyes burned from the restless tossing, your mind cycling through every harsh word, every little glance from the day before. You could still hear his voice as clearly as if he were beside you: cold, clipped, rude. An inconvenience. The word replayed on loop, cutting deeper each time. No matter how many times you shifted under the blanket, no matter how many times you closed your eyes and begged sleep to take you, the ache wouldn’t fade.

By the time the first strip of gray light seeped into the room, you knew you couldn’t stay here. Not another second. Not in this room that smelled faintly like his shampoo, not on this bed where your thoughts wouldn’t quiet down. You needed air. You needed space. You needed to step outside, away from cameras, away from him, away from the gnawing guilt of caring too much about what he thought of you.

You slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to make a sound, though part of you already knew he wouldn’t hear. You assumed Seungmin was still asleep on the couch. After all, he looked exhausted last night. You had heard the springs squeak as he tried to settle, heard him shift endlessly like the cushions couldn’t hold him. And you told yourself he must have passed out eventually, weighed down by guilt, by everything left unsaid.

Padding to the dresser, you pulled on a hoodie over your shirt, tugged the zipper up until the collar brushed your chin. You slipped on your sneakers with practiced ease, barely letting the laces scrape the wood floor as you tied them tight. Your phone went into the front pocket of your hoodie, your earbuds tangled around your fingers. It wasn’t much of a plan, you didn’t know where you were heading, but the idea of music in your ears and cool air in your lungs was enough.

The doorknob was cold under your hand. You twisted it slowly, holding your breath to avoid the creak. Just a little further, just a little push..

“Where are you going?”

The voice, groggy and low, froze you in place.

You turned your head sharply toward the couch. Seungmin was sitting up, hair a disheveled mess, eyes heavy with sleep. He stretched slowly, and as he did, his bones cracked audibly, the sound echoing in the stillness. He winced faintly, rubbing at his shoulder as if the couch had punished him for daring to use it as a bed.

Of course he hadn’t slept well either.

You swallowed hard, suddenly more aware of the tightness in your throat. “Out,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the floor instead of him. You didn’t owe him an explanation, not after everything.

He blinked at you, still fighting through the haze of waking up. “Out? This early?” His voice was hoarse, a rasp from lack of sleep. He swung his legs off the couch, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “I’ll go with you.”

The words made your stomach twist. You shook your head quickly, hand tightening on the doorknob. “No. I want to be alone.”

Something in your tone must have hit him, because Seungmin froze mid-motion. His lips pressed together as if holding back whatever he had been about to argue. His eyes softened, a trace of something vulnerable flickering in them. And then, quietly, he said, “I’m sorry. For yesterday.”

Your hand stilled on the doorknob, but you didn’t turn to face him. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to risk letting those words weaken your resolve. You shook your head once, hard. “You should be.”

He flinched at your tone, but still pressed on. “I was wrong. I was a complete asshole to you. I know that.” His voice cracked slightly, like it hurt to force the confession out. “I shouldn’t have said half the things I did. I was just—” He broke off, biting down on the inside of his cheek before he could let the truth slip out.

Finally, you turned toward him, anger simmering just beneath the surface of your words. “I did nothing. And you still called me an inconvenience. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

The words came sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. They had been sitting on your tongue since yesterday, heavy and bitter, and now they spilled out without restraint. “I thought… after Lotte, maybe we’d figured something out. Maybe we’d opened up a little. I thought we could actually be friends.” Your voice wavered despite your best efforts, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill. “But you ruined it. All of it.”

Seungmin’s chest tightened painfully at your words. He had prepared himself for anger, had even braced himself for insults, but he wasn’t ready for the sight of you blinking rapidly against tears. The way your voice cracked under the weight of disappointment. That cut deeper than anything else.

“I—” He reached for you without realizing it, his hand lifting in the space between you as if he could bridge the gap with a single touch. But you stepped back instantly, putting distance between the two of you like his hand burned. The rejection made his throat close. He pulled his hand back slowly, fingers curling into a fist at his side.

You didn’t say anything more. You couldn’t. The tears were too close now, and you refused to let him see you cry. So you turned sharply, muttered the only thing you could manage “I want to be alone” and yanked the door open before storming out.

The sound of the door slamming behind you echoed through the small house, louder than it should have been at this hour.

Seungmin stood frozen in place, staring at the empty space you had left behind. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat echoing your words back at him. You ruined it.

He pressed a hand over his face, dragging it down slowly, the weight of guilt sinking heavier with every second.

-

The air outside was sharper than you expected, brisk enough to sting your cheeks and make your eyes water in a way that almost disguised the tears you’d been fighting since you left the house. The street was quiet, still heavy with the lingering fog of dawn, the kind of emptiness that only existed in the earliest hours of the morning. A few birds trilled faintly in the distance, their voices cutting through the hush as if they were the only living things awake.

You shoved your hands into the kangaroo pocket of your hoodie, shoulders hunched against the chill. The music pouring into your ears felt almost too soft, the words of the song blurring into white noise. No matter how high you turned the volume, it couldn’t drown out his voice.

An inconvenience.

The phrase rolled through your mind again, raw and jagged, catching on everything it touched. Of all the things Seungmin could have said, of all the ways he could have brushed you off or gotten under your skin, he had chosen that. An inconvenience.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been sharp with you. You’d come to expect his little barbs, his clipped tone, the way he always seemed just a bit colder with you than with anyone else. But this time… this time had been different. This time, you had thought things were changing.

Your chest tightened painfully as the memory replayed: the day at Lotte. The way you laughed until your cheeks hurt on the rides, the way you teased him for screaming on the roller coaster, the way he had finally cracked a smile that felt real. For a moment, you had thought maybe you were starting to break through the wall he always kept up. Maybe he was starting to see you not as some nuisance thrown into his world by the show, but as someone he could actually tolerate.

Maybe even… someone he could like.

The thought made your stomach knot. You hated admitting it, even to yourself, but that was what made his words sting the most. You cared. You cared about what Seungmin thought of you, more than you wanted to, more than you had any right to. That was why his coldness cut deeper than if it came from anyone else. If it had been Hyunjin, you would’ve rolled your eyes and laughed it off. But Seungmin? With him, every word felt personal.

You blinked hard, trying to clear the blurriness creeping at the edges of your vision. A car rolled lazily down the street, its headlights washing over you before disappearing around the corner. You realized your feet had carried you further than you intended, the house already blocks behind you.

You slowed your pace, but your thoughts didn’t stop spiraling.

Part of you wanted to believe him. He had apologized. He had said he was wrong, admitted he had been an asshole. That wasn’t easy for him, you could tell. But apologies only went so far. What was the point of words if he’d just hurt you again tomorrow?

Another part of you hated yourself for missing him already. For replaying the way his voice had cracked slightly when he admitted fault, the way his eyes had softened when he reached out for you. For wondering if maybe, maybe, there was something real behind it.

But you couldn’t afford to give him another chance just because you wanted to believe in something that might not exist. Not again. Not if it meant tearing yourself apart every time he decided to push you away.

You tugged your hood tighter over your head, muttering under your breath as though it might steady you: “You don’t care. You don’t care.”

But deep down, you knew you did. And that was the real problem.

-

Inside the house, silence weighed heavier than before. Seungmin sat frozen on the couch, the echo of the slammed door still ringing in his ears like a punishment. His body slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair as though he could physically hold his thoughts still. But they kept racing, over and over, every word you had thrown at him replaying in a relentless loop.

I thought we could be friends. But you ruined it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenching tight enough to ache. He hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to hear that. He knew he had been cruel, too cruel, sometimes but part of him always assumed you’d brush it off, that you’d snap back with one of your sharp retorts and carry on like it didn’t matter. He never thought he’d actually see you start to cry because of him.

And the worst part? He knew exactly why he did it.

He had spent days, weeks even, pretending that his irritation toward you was just that, irritation. That you were someone forced into his space, someone who disrupted the rhythm of his life, someone he couldn’t stand to be around. It was easier to tell himself that than to admit the truth. That every time you smiled, his chest tightened. That every time you teased him, he had to bite his tongue to stop from smiling back. That every time you looked at him like you actually wanted to understand him, something inside him wanted to let you.

It was ridiculous. Childish. Like Hyunjin said, he acted like a middle schooler with a crush, too scared to show it, so he shoved you away instead.

But yesterday, when he had seen you laughing with Hyunjin, the way you leaned in, the way your eyes sparkled, he’d felt something ugly curl in his stomach. Something hot and sharp. Jealousy. And it had made him snap, made him lash out at you like it was your fault for not giving him your attention.

He dragged his hands down his face, groaning quietly into the empty room. He hated himself for it. Hated the way he had let his insecurities get the better of him. Hated that you were out there now, walking alone, probably replaying every cruel thing he’d said.

He couldn’t let it end like this.

Seungmin sat up straighter, forcing himself to breathe through the knot in his chest. He had two options: he could keep pretending, keep hiding behind his coldness until the month was over and you went back to being someone else’s problem. Or he could finally be honest, for once in his life and try to make things right.

The thought of the first option made his stomach sink. The idea of you leaving this show thinking he truly hated you, thinking he had never cared, made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t stand.

So it had to be the second.

He didn’t know how yet. He didn’t know what words could erase the hurt, or what actions could prove he meant more than his stupid temper. But he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he wasn’t going to let you walk away from him. Not like this.

Not when he liked you too much to let go.

-

The rhythm of your footsteps was the only steady thing in the mess of your thoughts. The pavement under your sneakers scuffed faintly with each step, a quiet scrape that almost matched the beat of your music. Almost. Your playlist had shuffled itself into a string of slow songs, and you let them play even though they didn’t soothe you, they just seemed to echo the heaviness in your chest.

You kicked at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, watching it skitter ahead of you before it rolled into a crack.

Why did it hurt so much? Why did it matter what Seungmin thought of you? You weren’t supposed to care. You weren’t supposed to want his approval, his attention. You weren’t supposed to notice the way his voice dipped low when he was tired, or the way his hands moved when he was absentmindedly fidgeting with something, or the way his laughter sounded when he forgot to hold it back.

But you did. You noticed all of it. And that was why the word, inconvenience felt like it had lodged itself right under your ribs, a shard you couldn’t pull out. Because no matter how much you wanted to tell yourself you didn’t care, you did. And deep down, some fragile part of you had wanted him to care too.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, the morning chill clinging to your skin. The street ahead was quiet, empty except for a woman walking her dog on the opposite sidewalk. She nodded politely when your eyes met, and you gave a small, tight smile back before looking away.

Maybe you were being dramatic. Maybe you were too sensitive, reading too much into everything. Maybe Seungmin didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He had apologized after all, actually admitted he was wrong, admitted he’d been an asshole. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

But apologies were just words. And words couldn’t erase the sting of everything that came before.

You sighed, your breath fogging slightly in the crisp air, and tugged your hood lower. The sky was beginning to shift from dull gray to a pale blue, the first hints of sunlight peeking between the rooftops. You realized you’d been walking for nearly half an hour without noticing how far you’d gone.

And despite how badly you wanted space, you felt yourself slowly turning back toward the house. As much as you wanted to run from it, the thought of leaving things like this with him on the couch, you locked in the room, the air thick with everything unsaid, sat heavier on your chest than your anger.

Your steps quickened.

By the time the house came back into view, you’d almost talked yourself into being calm again. You weren’t going to forgive him, not right away, but you weren’t going to let this spiral into something worse. You owed yourself that much.

You opened the door quietly. For once, the house felt like it actually belonged to the two of you.

The living room was dim, curtains still drawn. And there he was, Seungmin curled uncomfortably on the couch, his long legs awkwardly bent, one arm slung over his face like he’d tried to block out the morning light that hadn’t even arrived yet. He looked stiff, like even in sleep he couldn’t let go of tension.

You froze, torn between wanting to tiptoe past him and not wanting to seem like you were avoiding him. But before you could decide, he stirred, a soft groan slipping out as he shifted. His hand dropped away from his face, and his eyes blinked open tired, unfocused at first, until they landed on you.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he sat up, wincing as his back cracked, and rubbed a hand down his face. “You’re back,” he said, voice hoarse from sleep.

You nodded stiffly, pulling your hood down. “Yeah.”

Silence. The kind that stretched too long.

He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I… I meant what I said earlier. About being sorry.” His voice was quieter now, stripped of the sharpness it usually carried. “I was wrong. Completely wrong. And I hurt you when you didn’t deserve it.”

You shifted your weight, your gaze dropping to the floor. “You think saying sorry just fixes everything?”

“No,” he admitted quickly. His eyes met yours, earnest in a way that made your chest ache. “I know it doesn’t. I don’t expect you to just forgive me right now. I just… I needed you to know I regret it. Every word.”

Something in his tone caught you off guard, it wasn’t defensive, it wasn’t dismissive. It was raw. Honest.

He stood slowly, almost cautiously, like he didn’t want to startle you. “I don’t want you to think I actually see you that way. Because I don’t. You’re not… you’re not an inconvenience. You never were.” His voice faltered slightly, but he pushed through. “I just didn’t know how else to deal with…” He trailed off, shaking his head, frustrated with himself. “With everything.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, unsure if you wanted to push him to explain or spare yourself the risk of hearing something you didn’t want to.

But then he stepped closer, close enough that you could see the way exhaustion clung under his eyes, the way his usual composure had cracked. “Let me make it up to you,” he said softly. “Not with words. With actions. Just… let me try.”

The weight of his gaze was almost unbearable, heavy with something you weren’t ready to name. Your chest tightened, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t want to look away.

You shook your head slowly, your arms crossed tightly around your chest as though they could hold the weight of everything pressing down on you. His apology still hung in the air between you, trembling like fragile glass about to shatter.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t sharp, wasn’t cruel, it was worse than that. It was honest. Honest enough that his chest visibly caved in, his shoulders sinking as though you’d knocked the air from his lungs.

His breath hitched, but he didn’t speak right away. You took that chance to step back, needing space, needing distance, needing anything that wasn’t the unbearable closeness of him looking at you like that. You turned toward the hallway, already moving, already trying to escape before your heart could betray you and soften too quickly.

“I like you.”

The words tore out of him, raw and unpolished, almost desperate. You froze mid-step, the floor creaking faintly under your heel.

His voice wavered, but he pressed on, louder this time, steadier. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a very long time.”

Slowly, almost mechanically, you turned back. He was standing there, his hands clenched at his sides, his face tense but his eyes locked on yours with a force that rooted you to the ground.

He sighed heavily, his chest rising and falling like he’d just dropped the heaviest burden he’d been carrying for years. “I’m not lying. I really do like you. Maybe… maybe a little too much.” He laughed bitterly under his breath, but it wasn’t light, it was broken, like he hated himself for admitting it out loud.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. He didn’t wait for them.

“I’ve been drawn to you since before you said you properly introduced yourself to me,” he said, the confession tumbling out of him in uneven waves, sometimes rushed, sometimes halting “I was such an asshole.” His jaw clenched hard, like the memory physically hurt him.

Your heart thudded painfully, the sharp memory of that exact moment surfacing in your mind. How small you’d felt. How stupid, for thinking he’d even care.

But then he looked up, and his next words knocked the air from your chest.

“I secretly supported you,” he admitted, voice quiet but sure. “Behind the scenes. I streamed your music. I watched your videos. Like a fan. Always careful, always quiet, because I didn’t want anyone to notice. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see you. I wanted to know what you were doing, how you were growing, even if I wasn’t part of it.”

Your breath caught.

He kept going, the dam inside him broken. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being an asshole to your face while secretly admiring you like that. It was selfish. Hypocritical. And then Hyunjin—” He cut himself off, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, but forced himself to continue.

“I was jealous,” he said, finally spitting out the word like it tasted bitter. “And I know how stupid that sounds. But when I saw how easily you clicked with him… how you laughed with him the way I’d always wanted you to laugh with me… I hated it. I hated him. I hated myself. Because that’s how I wanted to be with you. But instead, I messed it all up.”

Your throat tightened, your arms uncrossing without you realizing.

His eyes flickered, guilt carved into every line of his face. “I’ve acted cold, mean, childish for so long, just because I didn’t know how to handle it. It’s pathetic. But it’s the truth.”

He hesitated then, shifting his weight, his voice dropping even lower. “Do you want to know why I even joined this show?”

Your brows furrowed. You stayed silent, but your stillness was answer enough.

“Because Hyunjin was supposed to be here,” Seungmin admitted, each word slow, deliberate, heavy. “He was the one they chose first. But when I found out you were going to be the female lead… I asked my company to put me here instead. I begged them.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze falling to the floor before he forced himself to meet your eyes again. “Because I thought this would finally be my chance. My chance to really know you. To be close to you. To fix what I ruined years ago before it even started.”

Your stomach dropped.

“And when it seemed like you hated even being here, hated being stuck with me—I thought…” He trailed off, voice faltering for the first time, his composure fracturing. “I thought maybe you still hated me for how I treated you back then. So I gave back the same energy. Cold for cold. Distance for distance. And that’s on me. That’s my fault.”

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, the motion almost frantic. “But it wasn’t what I wanted. Not even close. What I wanted was the opposite. I just didn’t know how to get there without ruining it even more.”

The room was silent except for the sound of his uneven breathing. You were frozen in place, every word of his confession still crashing inside you like aftershocks.

“I…” You swallowed hard, your voice coming out unsteady. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His head jerked up, alarm flashing across his face, but you weren’t angry. You were what? Shocked? Hurt? Overwhelmed? All of it, tangled together.

“All this time?” you whispered. “You could’ve just said something. Anything. And instead, you chose to treat me like I was nothing?”

He flinched, like the words physically hit him, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, slowly, miserably. “Yes. And it’s the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

Your chest rose and fell, too quickly, too heavily. Your mind was still catching up, still trying to wrap itself around the whiplash of everything you’d just heard. He liked you. He had always liked you. He had watched from afar. He had pushed Hyunjin out of the way to be here, with you. He had been jealous. He had been cruel because of it.

And he was standing here now, admitting all of it, raw and vulnerable in a way you had never seen from him before. You didn’t know whether to scream, to cry, to laugh, to run, or to reach for him. Instead, you just stood there, staring at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.

Seungmin’s lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves.

He stood there frozen, the silence between you more suffocating than any shout, any sharp rejection could have been. Because silence meant you were thinking. Silence meant you were weighing every cruel, selfish thing he’d admitted against the tiny, fragile chance that you might still see something worth forgiving in him.

And Seungmin… he was terrified of your verdict.

His hands shook where they hung at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, desperate for something to hold, something to ground himself. He tried not to stare at you too hard, but his eyes kept betraying him, tracking every twitch of your brows, every flicker of your lips, every unsteady rise and fall of your chest.

The worst part wasn’t even imagining you rejecting him. The worst part was imagining that his confession might have hurt you more than his cruelty ever did. That admitting all the hidden pieces his secret support, his jealousy, his manipulations, the way he had shoved Hyunjin out of the picture just to be near you, might have been the final proof you needed that he wasn’t worth your time, your trust, your forgiveness.

His throat felt raw. His heart slammed so hard it echoed in his ears.

He wanted to say more to beg, to plead but he forced himself still. Because he knew this wasn’t the moment to talk. This was the moment where everything lay in your hands. And that terrified him most of all. The silence between you stretched long and heavy, each second dragging like hours. You could feel his gaze burning into you, desperate, pleading, but you couldn’t look back at him yet. If you did, you might crumble, and you weren’t ready for that. So instead, you turned inward. Why did his words hurt so much?

You’d asked yourself that yesterday, when his sharp voice had cut into you during the argument, when he’d called you an inconvenience, when his irritation had made you feel so small you had locked him out of the room. And the answer had been painfully clear even then: his words hurt because they mattered. Because he mattered.

If it had been anyone else, just another guy, just another idol, just another person, you would have brushed it off. You would have shrugged, maybe snapped back, maybe rolled your eyes and moved on. But Seungmin’s words? They had sunk into you like barbs. Because beneath all the coldness, beneath all the irritation, you had wanted something different from him.

You had wanted him to care.

And now, hearing him confess that he had cared all along, that his cruelty had been a mask for jealousy, for fear, for feelings he hadn’t known how to handle, you didn’t know whether to feel relieved, or furious, or broken all over again.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them together in front of you, trying to still them.

He liked you. He had liked you for a long time.

But instead of letting you see that, he had hidden it. Twisted it. Let it fester into coldness and sharp words. And you naïve, hopeful, patient you had tried so hard to bridge that gap, to smile at him, to talk to him, to treat him like someone you could maybe trust. Only to be pushed back again and again. You thought about the way he had sat at the table, watching you laugh with Hyunjin, his expression tight, his words cutting. You thought about the way he had brushed you off the very first time you introduced yourself, years ago.

And yet, you also thought about the way he had carried your bag without asking, that day you went to Lotte. The way he had looked at you when you were laughing in the arcade, like he couldn’t quite hide the softness in his eyes. The way he had, in rare unguarded moments, made you feel like maybe, just maybe there was something more beneath the walls he built so stubbornly high.

Your chest ached.

Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him it wasn’t fair. That he didn’t get to treat you badly for years, then confess his feelings and expect forgiveness. That you weren’t some toy he could push away and pull back whenever it suited him.

But another part of you… wanted to believe him.

Wanted to believe that this raw, trembling version of Seungmin standing in front of you, stripped of sarcasm and coldness was the real one. The one he had hidden for too long.

Your throat tightened.

Why did your heart still beat faster for him, even now? Why did his pain look like yours?

You bit your lip hard, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing yourself not to let the silence crush you both. He was waiting. You could feel his terror radiating across the room, heavy, suffocating, as if he thought any second now you’d tell him it was too late. And maybe it was. But maybe… it wasn’t.

You finally lifted your eyes to his.

He looked wrecked. His gaze was raw, red-rimmed, his lips parted like he was holding back more words, more pleas, but too afraid to push them out. His whole body was tense, like he was bracing for impact. You swallowed hard.

“I…” Your voice cracked, and you had to stop, had to press your lips together before trying again. “I don’t know what to say to you right now.”

His shoulders fell slightly, like the ground had given way beneath him. But you weren’t done.

“Everything you just told me… it’s a lot,” you whispered. “It doesn’t erase how you treated me. It doesn’t erase the hurt. It doesn’t erase yesterday, or last week, or the first time you ever looked at me like I was nothing.” Your words shook, but you forced them out. “And I don’t know if I can forgive you for all of that. Not yet.”

His breath hitched audibly, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t interrupt.

You took a step closer, your eyes locked on his, unwilling to let him look away. “But… I believe you.”

His head jerked up, shock flickering across his face.

“I believe you liked me. I believe you were jealous. I believe you were scared. And maybe that’s why it hurts so much—because if you didn’t care at all, if you had just hated me from the beginning, it would’ve been easier.” Your voice broke slightly, but you pushed through. “But you did care. And you still treated me that way.”

The words hung between you, heavy, unflinching.

You waited for him to speak. He didn’t.

And for a long moment, neither did you.

The silence after your words was unbearable.

It pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, almost louder than if he had shouted. You stood there, your heart thundering so hard it hurt, your arms wrapped around yourself as if you could shield your chest from the ache that had been clawing its way out since yesterday.

You had told him you believed him. That you believed his confession was real, not just some desperate excuse. And you did. Against all logic, against every instinct telling you to guard yourself, you believed him.

But believing him didn’t mean trusting him.

And that was the part that tangled itself into your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Because if you admitted to yourself that you wanted to trust him, if you admitted that you wanted to believe there was still something worth saving between you then you had to admit something else too. That you cared. That his words had power over you because he had power over you.

You had spent so long trying to deny it. To tell yourself that you didn’t care how he looked at you, or how his voice could so easily cut. That you didn’t notice the rare moments when he softened, when his eyes lingered on you just a second too long, when his laughter slipped past his walls and made something warm flicker inside you.

But you did notice. You always noticed. And that was why this hurt so damn much.

Your nails dug into your arms, your throat tight. You wanted to scream at him, to ask why he thought it was okay to keep you at arm’s length with one hand while secretly holding on with the other. You wanted to demand why he had waited until now, until you were already bruised by his coldness, to finally show you what he really felt.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stood there, staring at him in silence.

And in that silence, you saw him. Really saw him.

Seungmin looked wrecked. His posture was stiff, his jaw clenched, but his eyes… his eyes were raw. Wide and desperate, glassy in the corners like he was one breath away from breaking apart. His lips were parted like he was holding words back, afraid to push them out and afraid to keep them in.

It hit you then, how much courage it must have taken him to say what he said.

Because Seungmin was not the type to bare himself so easily. He hid behind sarcasm, behind indifference, behind that sharp tongue and those walls so carefully built. And yet here he was, stripped down to something fragile, trembling, so unguarded you barely recognized him.

It should have made it easier. But it didn’t.

Because even if his confession was genuine, even if he had been carrying this weight for longer than you knew, it didn’t erase the sting of every word he had used against you. It didn’t erase the way he had made you feel small, unwanted, inconvenient.

And so, you stood there caught in the middle of two truths. You believed him. But you weren’t ready to forgive him.

Seconds dragged into what felt like hours, your chest tightening with every passing moment. You almost wished he would say something, anything, just to shatter the stillness pressing down on you both. But at the same time, you dreaded what he might say. Because whatever it was, it could change everything. Your gaze flickered away, just for a moment. To the floor. To the window. Anywhere but his eyes. Because if you kept looking at him, you were afraid he would see too much. The hesitation, the ache, the tiny dangerous spark of hope you were still trying to smother.

You told yourself you should walk away. End this here. Save yourself the pain of believing that maybe, he could be different. But your feet stayed planted.

Your heart, traitorous thing that it was, wouldn’t let you go.

Finally, after what felt like forever, his voice cracked the silence.

It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold.

It was small. Careful. Breaking.

“…How do I fix this?”

Your head jerked up, eyes meeting his again. His expression was almost unbearable to look at like someone holding his breath at the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if the ground beneath him would crumble.

“If I hurt you that badly,” he continued, his voice rough, “then tell me what I need to do to make it right. Tell me how to undo it. Tell me how to prove that I mean what I said. I’ll do it.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Just… tell me you’ll give me a chance. One chance. To make things right. To show you I’m not—” his voice broke for real this time, low and raw “not just the asshole I’ve been to you.”

Your chest squeezed so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe. This was the part you had dreaded. Because now the choice wasn’t abstract anymore. It wasn’t just about his confession, or your hurt, or the messy, tangled history between you. It was about this moment. About whether you could put your heart back into his hands after everything. And you didn’t know if you were ready, but part of you wanted to be.

You stared at him like you couldn’t quite believe the words had left his mouth.

How do I fix this? Tell me how to make it right. Tell me you’ll give me a chance.

They looped in your head over and over, louder with every echo, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

Because for all the vulnerability in his voice, for all the desperation written into his posture, there was still the echo of yesterday ringing in your ears. The words he had spit at you so carelessly. The cold way he had brushed you off, like your existence was nothing but an inconvenience.

And that contradiction, his harshness and his softness colliding all at once was what left you standing there frozen, torn in two.

Your chest ached, not just with anger but with exhaustion. You were tired of feeling like this, tired of being twisted in knots by him. Tired of wanting to trust him and being let down every time.

But then again, wasn’t that proof of something too?

If you didn’t care, if you truly didn’t want anything to do with him, his words wouldn’t have left scars in the first place. His indifference wouldn’t have mattered. His apology wouldn’t have mattered. He wouldn’t have mattered.

And yet here you were, staring at him like he had your heart pinned between his palms, waiting to see whether he would crush it or cradle it.

You let out a slow, shaky breath. Your arms dropped from where you had been hugging yourself, and you rubbed at your wrists nervously, trying to find the right words.

“You want to fix this?” Your voice came out quieter than you intended. Almost trembling.

He nodded immediately, too quickly, like he was afraid you’d take the question back if he hesitated even for a second. His eyes locked onto you, unblinking, desperate.

“Then you need to understand something,” you said, your voice firmer now, though your throat still burned. “It’s not about one grand gesture. It’s not about suddenly deciding you like me and expecting that to erase everything else. You can’t just… flip a switch and undo how you’ve treated me.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but you held up a hand and he stopped.

“You hurt me, Seungmin,” you continued, your chest tightening as you said it out loud. “And not just once. You’ve been hurting me since the very beginning. With your words, with your coldness, with the way you acted like I didn’t matter. Like I was just… some burden you were stuck with. Do you know how exhausting that is? To show up every day and be treated like I’m unwanted?”

His face twisted, like every syllable was another knife in his chest. But you didn’t let yourself stop. Not this time.

“So if you want to fix this, you don’t get to do it in one night. You don’t get to win me back with one apology. You have to prove it. Every day. With your actions. With how you speak to me. With how you treat me when you think no one’s watching.”

He swallowed hard, nodding, his eyes never leaving yours.

“And it can’t just be because you want me to like you back,” you added, your voice tightening. “It has to be because you actually respect me. Because you actually care enough to change. Otherwise it doesn’t mean anything.”

The silence that followed was deafening, but this time it wasn’t suffocating. It was heavy, yes, but in a different way like the weight of truth finally being set down between you.

You searched his face, waiting for the defensiveness, the sarcasm, the sharpness you had come to expect from him. But it didn’t come.

Instead, he looked… wrecked. But not because he was angry. Because he understood.

Finally, he breathed out, shaky and quiet. “Anything.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Anything to make it right,” he repeated, his voice breaking halfway through. “I’ll do it. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. You set the rules, I’ll follow them. You set the pace, I’ll keep it. If it means proving to you that I’m not the same asshole I’ve been—” his voice faltered, but he pushed through, “then I’ll prove it. Every day. However I can. Just… don’t give up on me. Not yet.”

Your throat closed up, your heart twisting painfully.

Still, as you stood there, watching him break himself open in front of you, you realized something important: this was the first time you had ever seen him fight for you.

Not with sharp words, not with defensive pride. But with his heart in his hands.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to give him a chance.

You drew in a slow breath, steadying yourself, before finally speaking.

“Then start by showing me.” Your voice was quiet but steady. “Don’t tell me anymore, show me. Show me I matter to you. Show me you can treat me like more than an inconvenience. Show me you’re not just saying what you think I want to hear. If you can do that…” You hesitated, your chest tight. “Then maybe I’ll give you the chance you’re asking for.”

The relief that washed over his face was immediate, raw, and overwhelming. His shoulders sagged like you had just pulled him back from the edge of a cliff, his breath escaping in a trembling rush.

“Okay,” he whispered, nodding quickly, fiercely. “Okay. I can do that. I will do that. Anything.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you almost believed him.

When you excused yourself, your voice low and soft but steady, Seungmin nodded instantly. He didn’t fight it. He didn’t beg you to stay, didn’t try to push himself into the moment anymore. He only stood there and watched as you turned, your footsteps quiet against the floor, until the door clicked shut behind you.

The silence hit him.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that followed an argument, filled with tension and leftover anger. It was different this time. Heavy, yes, but not hopeless. Because this time, you hadn’t shut him out completely.

He leaned back against the wall and let out a long, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chest was tight, his hands clammy, but his heart was hammering with something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Hope.

It wasn’t much. It was fragile and small, like a flame that could die with the slightest breeze. But it was there. You hadn’t said no. You hadn’t walked away forever. You had told him how to fix it, told him what you needed, and for the first time since this mess began, he had a direction.

Show me. Don’t tell me, show me.

The words replayed in his head over and over, like they’d been carved into his skin.

Seungmin dragged a hand over his face, exhaling loudly, before shoving his hair back with restless fingers. He wasn’t used to this, this feeling of needing to prove himself, of needing to put his heart on display and hope someone would believe it. Usually, he avoided this exact kind of vulnerability. He hid behind sarcasm, blunt words, quiet walls no one could climb. But now?

Now he wanted nothing more than to rip down every single wall he’d built if it meant you’d let him stay.

He dropped onto the couch, the same too-small couch he’d half-slept on last night and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor for a long while, his mind buzzing but blank at the same time.

What do I do? How do I even start?

His instinct was to overthink it, to map out some perfect plan that would fix everything in one go. But he knew that wasn’t what you asked for. You hadn’t asked him for grand gestures or confessions or promises. You had asked him for proof. For consistency. For actions.

He sighed, his lips pressing into a thin line.

I don’t even know where to begin.

But then, slowly, almost timidly, another thought surfaced.

It didn’t have to be something complicated. It didn’t have to be extravagant. Maybe it could be something small. Something that showed he actually cared about your happiness. Something that reminded you he was listening.

A walk. A meal. A day somewhere that wasn’t suffocating with cameras and expectations.

Not a date, not yet. He couldn’t call it that. That word felt too heavy, too dangerous to put between you right now. But something like a… shared outing. Just the two of you. Something light. Fun. Something that would let you laugh without feeling guilty about it.

The idea lingered in his chest, fragile but comforting.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, already sifting through possibilities in his head. He could plan a day somewhere quiet, somewhere where you didn’t have to feel like the world was watching. A place where you could both exist without the pressure of forced closeness.

But where?

That’s where he got stuck. His mind jumped from idea to idea, none of them feeling quite right. The zoo? Too crowded. A café? Too stiff. The park? Too simple. Maybe a movie at the cinema? But would you even like that? What if you didn’t? What if you thought he was trying too hard?

He groaned, tipping his head back against the couch cushion.

It was frustrating, not having an easy answer. Not being able to just snap his fingers and know the right thing to do. But then he remembered the way your voice had sounded when you told him you didn’t want words, only actions.

Maybe it wasn’t about finding the perfect plan.

Maybe it was about trying.

Trying, and trying again, until you saw that he meant it. Until you saw that he was serious about putting in the effort.

That thought made something in his chest loosen, just slightly.

So he sat there for a long while, scribbling ideas down in his mind, dismissing most, but holding onto one or two. A quiet sigh escaped him as his shoulders finally eased a little. He didn’t know exactly what he would do tomorrow, or the day after. But he knew this much:

You had given him a chance.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

Even if it took every ounce of patience he had, even if it took fumbling through awkward attempts and endless trial and error, he’d keep going. He’d keep showing you until there was no doubt left in your mind.

He leaned forward again, clasping his hands tightly together as if to seal the vow in his own bones.

I won’t let you down again. Not this time.

The next morning, you woke up with the same heaviness still pressing on your chest. You hadn’t slept well. Your dreams had been restless, pulling you between fragments of the argument, the memory of his words that cut too deep, and the lingering shock of his confession. His face swam behind your eyes when you blinked awake.

For a moment, you just stayed there, curled under the covers, staring at the ceiling. You almost expected to hear him snoring softly on the too-small couch again, but the silence outside the room was different. Alive. You could faintly hear the sound of movement the floor creaking, something being set down on the counter, the fridge door closing.

It took you a second to realize. Seungmin was already awake.

You sat up slowly, pressing a hand over your eyes. You debated staying hidden in the room for a while longer. Avoiding him, like you had yesterday, seemed easier than facing the jumble of emotions he stirred up in you. But the faint smell of something warm and buttery drifted through the air, and curiosity got the better of you.

You padded to the door, cracked it open, and peeked out.

Seungmin was in the kitchen.

And, well if you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought you’d stepped into some alternate universe.

He was standing over the stove, carefully flipping pancakes. Actual pancakes. The kitchen counter looked like it had been raided for supplies: bowls stacked awkwardly, flour dusted in a faint trail like snow, a carton of eggs abandoned half-open. And on the table, he’d already set out two plates, two glasses of juice, even napkins folded in a neat little triangle.

You blinked, stunned.

He must have heard you, because he looked up suddenly, eyes locking with yours. His shoulders tensed, like he hadn’t expected you to catch him in the middle of his attempt. Then, awkwardly, he cleared his throat.

“Uh. Morning.”

You didn’t answer right away. You stepped out fully, watching him as if you weren’t entirely convinced this wasn’t some trick. “You’re… cooking?”

Seungmin shifted, fumbling slightly with the spatula. “Yeah. I figured… you shouldn’t start the day with just coffee. So.” He gestured vaguely at the pan, as if that explained everything. “Breakfast.”

You stared at him.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral. Because the truth was, he looked ridiculous. He was trying too hard, you could see it in the stiff way he moved, in the way he kept glancing at you for a reaction and then quickly looking away. His usual calm and effortless demeanor had been replaced with this… almost nervous energy. You didn’t call him out on it.

Instead, you walked slowly to the table, your voice quiet. “That’s… nice of you.”

His shoulders eased, just slightly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I am surprised,” you admitted, sliding into the chair he’d obviously set for you. “Very.”

He gave a small huff, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t catch, before carefully sliding a pancake onto your plate. It was a little misshapen, maybe even slightly burnt around the edges, but the effort was undeniable.

You picked up your fork, cut off a small piece, and took a bite. It wasn’t bad. Not amazing, but not bad.

When you looked up, Seungmin was watching you, eyes sharp and expectant like the entire success of his plan depended on your verdict. You swallowed, setting your fork down with exaggerated slowness.

“It’s edible.”

For a split second, you swore his face fell. But then, you saw it the tiny twitch of his lips as he caught the sarcasm in your tone. “Edible? Wow. High praise. Remind me to write that down.”

You almost smiled, despite yourself.

The two of you ate quietly, the silence less heavy than it had been yesterday. Still tense, yes, but lighter like he was trying to clear away the storm he had created.

When the plates were nearly empty, Seungmin cleared his throat again. “So. I, uh… was thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, sipping the juice he’d poured for you. “That sounds dangerous.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t snap back like he usually would. Instead, he said, “Maybe we could… go out. Later. Just us.”

You tilted your head. “Out where?”

He shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that he didn’t have a solid plan yet. “I don’t know. Somewhere. Doesn’t matter where. Just… somewhere that’s not here. I’ll figure it out.”

You studied him for a moment. He looked genuinely uncertain, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his napkin. This wasn’t the cool, aloof Seungmin you had known at the start. This was someone fumbling, trying, stumbling over his own determination because he wanted so badly not to screw this up again.

You didn’t tell him you could see right through it.

Instead, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

His eyes lifted instantly, a flicker of something relief? passing through them. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Seungmin let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Not a full one, not carefree, but something small and real. And though you still weren’t sure what this meant, or how much weight to give his efforts, you found yourself thinking. Maybe.

-

By the time you finished breakfast and cleaned up, the silence between you and Seungmin felt different. It wasn’t heavy anymore, not like last night. The edge was gone, replaced by something tentative, like the two of you were tiptoeing across a bridge you weren’t sure could hold both of you at once.

You weren’t sure what to expect when Seungmin said he’d plan “something fun.” Knowing him, you half-expected him to bail halfway through, muttering something about how dumb it was. But when he finally told you to grab your things because “we’re going out,” there was a flicker of determination in his voice that you hadn’t heard before.

You followed him down to the car. The day was warm, sunny, with the faintest hint of breeze cutting through the summer air. It should’ve felt like any ordinary outing, but your chest was tight the whole ride there. You stared out the window, earbuds tucked in, music low enough to drown out the silence. Every so often, you felt his eyes flick toward you from the driver’s seat, quick, cautious, like he was testing the waters just by looking at you.

When the car finally slowed, you blinked and pulled an earbud out. The Han River stretched out in front of you, glinting under the sun, calm and wide. Families strolled along the paved paths, kids ran with kites, couples leaned against the railings talking quietly. It looked peaceful.

You turned your head toward Seungmin, and for the first time all day, he looked almost excited.

“Okay,” he began as soon as you both stepped out of the car, locking it behind him. “So. Here’s the plan.”

You arched an eyebrow at his sudden burst of energy. “Plan?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding once, slipping easily into explanation mode like this was something he’d rehearsed. “First, we rent bikes. Then we ride around the river for a bit—don’t roll your eyes, it’s fun. After that, we get ramen. Then we walk, maybe watch the water for a while. And finally…” He paused dramatically. “…dessert.”

You blinked at him, then burst into laughter. The kind of laughter you didn’t mean to let out, but couldn’t stop. His serious tone mixed with the way he listed everything like a camp counselor trying to wrangle kids, it was too much.

He gave you a look, somewhere between offended and shy. “What? What’s so funny?”

“You,” you said, still laughing as you adjusted your bag strap. “You sound like a teacher giving a field trip itinerary.”

“I’m trying to be organized,” he muttered, walking ahead just a step.

“Yeah? Then tell me the order again.”

He opened his mouth, then froze. His face shifted, and you watched realization dawn as he realized he’d already forgotten his own “itinerary.”

You couldn’t help it, you bent forward a little, laughing again. “See? You forgot!”

“I didn’t forget,” he said defensively.

“You totally forgot,” you grinned, stepping closer to him. “It was bikes, ramen, walk, dessert. In that order.”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Right. Exactly what I was going to say.”

“Sure.”

He shook his head, but the laugh he let out was soft, unguarded, real.

By the time you reached the bicycle rental station, your laughter had faded, but your nerves had started to creep in. You slowed down, staring at the rows of shiny bikes lined up neatly. The sound of bells and the occasional whoosh of cyclists passing by filled the air.

Seungmin was already pulling out his wallet when he noticed your hesitation. He turned, squinting at you. “What’s with that face?”

“What face?” you asked quickly, standing straighter.

“That face.” He gestured vaguely at your expression. “You look nervous. Don’t tell me… you don’t know how to ride a bike?”

Your lips pressed together, and instead of answering, you reached out and gave him a light smack on the arm. “Of course I know how to ride a bike. I just… haven’t in a long time. Like… years.”

He blinked. Then, slowly, a laugh bubbled up from his chest. “Wait—you’re telling me you forgot how to ride a bike?”

Heat flushed your cheeks. “I didn’t forget. I just might be… rusty.”

“Oh my god,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. “This is better than I thought.”

“Better?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

“Yeah,” he said simply, smirking as he handed over money for two rentals. “Now I get to reteach you. Lucky me.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips as he wheeled the bikes out to you. He held one out, the seat adjusted lower than his own, and you stared at it like it was a test you hadn’t studied for.

The first attempt was… humiliating.

You swung one leg over, tried to push forward, and immediately wobbled so hard you nearly toppled over sideways.

“Whoa—!” Seungmin darted forward, steadying the handlebars with one hand and your elbow with the other. “You weren’t kidding.”

You groaned, gripping the handles tighter. “This is harder than I remember, okay?!”

“You’re literally moving at, like, one kilometer an hour,” he said, laughing openly now. “And you’re still tipping over.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, biting down on your bottom lip as you tried again. You pushed off, pedaled once, and then wobbled again, nearly veering right into him.

His bike, the one he’d rented for himself was completely forgotten, leaning uselessly against the wall. His focus was entirely on you. He hovered just close enough that every time you started to tip, his hand shot out to steady you, his voice ringing out with a mix of instructions and teasing.

“Keep your eyes forward, not at your feet.”

“I am keeping them forward!”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to crash into that tree?”

“I’m not—” You swerved suddenly. “Okay maybe I am—!”

He laughed so hard he had to jog beside you, holding onto the seat to keep you from toppling over completely. “Unbelievable. I didn’t think anyone could be this bad.”

You shot him a glare, but your cheeks hurt from suppressing your own laughter. “You’re supposed to be helping, not making fun of me!”

“This is helping,” he grinned, steadying you again.

Little by little, with his hand hovering on the back of the seat, you managed to stay upright a little longer each time. Your legs felt shaky, your palms sweaty against the handlebars, but every time you faltered, he was there right there, steadying, catching, not letting you fall.

And in those fleeting moments, his laugh echoing beside you, his hand brushing yours when he adjusted your grip, the way his eyes softened when you finally managed two full turns of the pedals without wobbling, you realized something.

This was Seungmin trying. Not just with words, not just with awkward apologies. With effort. With patience. With something that felt frighteningly close to care.

Your knuckles had gone pale, your shoulders stiff, and your jaw ached from how tightly you were clenching it. Seungmin jogged beside you, one hand on the back of the seat, the other ready to catch you if you so much as leaned the wrong way.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, his voice frustratingly calm. “Just… pedal. Don’t fight it. Let it balance itself out.”

“Easy for you to say!” you snapped, wobbling again.

“Not my fault you’re—whoa—” He steadied you as you lurched left. “—this bad.”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I mean, yeah.” His grin was wide, unguarded, teasing but soft in the corners. “It’s kind of hilarious watching you almost crash every five seconds.”

You groaned, but when you tried again, something felt different. Your legs found a rhythm, awkward at first but steadying. You kept your gaze forward, just like he said, and for the first time, the wobble eased. The wind hit your face, light and cool, and your chest expanded with the tiniest flicker of pride.

Seungmin noticed immediately. His jog slowed to a walk, his hand barely brushing the seat now. “There you go,” he murmured. “That’s it. Keep going. Don’t look down.”

Your heart pounded, but you did as he said. Pedal, pedal, push.

Without you realizing, his hand slipped away.

He stood still in the middle of the path, watching you. His lips curved into something softer than a smile, his eyes following you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For once, you weren’t wobbling. You weren’t crashing into trees or threatening to take him down with you. You were just… riding. He let you go.

And for about ten glorious seconds, you didn’t even notice.

Until the front wheel clipped a crack in the pavement.

The jolt rattled up your arms, and before you could even process it, your balance tipped. The world tilted violently sideways.

“Wait—!” you gasped, pedaling uselessly before gravity yanked you down.

You hit the ground with a dull thud and a groan, your knees scraping against the concrete. The bike clattered down beside you, one handlebar digging into the grass.

“Y/N!”

Seungmin’s voice was sharp, panicked. He sprinted the distance between you, dropping down to his knees so fast you barely had time to sit up.

“Oh my god—are you okay?!” His hands hovered everywhere, frantic, not sure where to land. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let go, that was stupid, I thought you had it—shit, where does it hurt?”

You groaned dramatically, letting your head drop back onto the grass for a second. “Ow…”

“Tell me—your arm? Your knee? Are you dizzy? Do you need—”

With a breathless laugh, you reached out and smacked his chest with the heel of your hand. “Why would you let me go when I wasn’t ready?!”

His eyes widened, guilt flooding his face. “I—because—you looked ready! You were fine for like, ten seconds, I swear—”

“Ten seconds,” you repeated flatly, though your lips were already twitching.

“Yeah!” he said desperately. “You had it—until—until you didn’t—”

And that was it. You broke. The laughter bubbled up, unstoppable, spilling past your lips until your stomach ached. You bent forward, pressing a hand to your side, laughing harder with every second.

Seungmin blinked at you, still kneeling there like you’d just been in a car crash. “You’re—laughing?”

“Y-yeah,” you managed between gasps. “Because—your face—oh my god—you looked like you just saw me die—”

“I thought you were dying!” he shot back, but his relief was obvious now, his shoulders sagging as the panic drained away.

You shook your head, still grinning. “I’m fine. Seriously. If I was really hurt, you’d know. And besides, I was wearing the helmet.”

At that, his gaze dropped to your knee. The laughter caught in your throat when you followed his eyes. A scrape, red and raw, glistened against your skin. Tiny beads of blood were already forming.

Seungmin’s jaw clenched. “That doesn’t look fine to me.”

“It’s just a scrape,” you said quickly, though your knee did sting more now that you were actually looking at it.

He exhaled hard through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Forget the bikes. We’re skipping straight to ramen and finding you antiseptic cream before anything else.”

You tilted your head at him, amused despite the sting in your knee. “Wow. Look at you, all responsible.”

He gave you a look. “Don’t push it.” But the corner of his mouth betrayed him, curving upward just slightly.

When he finally stood, offering you his hand, you took it. His grip was steady, warm, careful as he pulled you to your feet like you were made of glass.

-

The bike ride was officially over. Seungmin had declared it no protests, no negotiations. You barely had time to protest anyway; he was already taking the bikes back to the rental stand, muttering under his breath about how reckless he’d been. His hand never left the small of your back as you walked toward the riverside food stalls, guiding you as though you might collapse at any second.

You wanted to roll your eyes at how seriously he was taking this, but secretly… a small part of you didn’t mind.

The scent of broth hit you first. Rich, savory, and steaming from the row of small shops lined up under bright red awnings. Vendors called out to passing couples and cyclists, their voices cheerful, mixing with the hum of chatter and the sound of the river lapping against the embankment.

Seungmin’s pace quickened when he spotted a stall with a small seating area, half hidden by plastic dividers to shield customers from the breeze. He led you over, hand still gently guiding your elbow until you were seated on a low wooden bench.

“Stay,” he ordered softly, eyes flicking down to your scraped knee.

You arched a brow. “I’m not a dog.”

His lips twitched. “Then don’t act like one. You’re sitting until I say otherwise.”

“Bossy,” you muttered, but you didn’t move.

He shot you a look half fond, half exasperated before ducking into the stall. From where you sat, you could see him through the open window, sleeves rolled up as he spoke to the older lady at the counter. The woman smiled warmly at him, clearly charmed by his polite tone, and handed him two steaming bowls of instant ramen with extra toppings.

You propped your chin on your hand, watching as he carefully grabbed utensils and carried everything over on a small plastic tray. He looked like he was trying way too hard not to spill, brow furrowed in concentration, lips pursed. The sight made you bite back a laugh.

“Don’t laugh,” he warned the second he set the tray down, catching your expression.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I can hear it.” He slid one of the bowls toward you.

You glanced down. Perfectly cooked noodles, a golden slice of egg, fish cakes, chopped scallions, and because it was Seungmin, an absurd amount of toppings, like he couldn’t help but go overboard.

He slid into the seat across from you and picked up his chopsticks. But just as you reached for yours, he froze, setting them back down.

“Wait. The knee first.”

You groaned. “Seungmin, I’m starving—”

“Five minutes.” His tone left no room for argument. “Then you can eat. You’re not touching that ramen until I know you’re not going to get an infection.”

You blinked at him. “Are you seriously blackmailing me with food?”

His mouth curved into the smallest smirk. “If it works, yeah.”

You threw your head back in mock despair, but your heart thudded a little too hard when he pulled a small first aid kit out of the paper bag he’d also set on the table. Antiseptic spray, cotton pads, band-aids he had actually thought ahead.

“Where did you even get that?” you asked, watching him lay everything out neatly.

“Convenience store on the way back,” he said simply. “Did you think I wasn’t going to?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how matter-of-fact he sounded, like it had been the most obvious thing in the world to him. Like of course he’d make sure you were taken care of.

He gestured. “Leg. Up.”

You hesitated, heat crawling up your neck. The two of you weren’t strangers anymore, but still the idea of him tending to your scraped knee like some kind of old-fashioned caretaker made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to admit.

Still, you shifted, propping your leg so your knee was closer to him.

Seungmin leaned forward, all business now. He sprayed the antiseptic before you could brace yourself.

“Ah—!” You hissed, jerking a little.

His brows pinched. “Sorry, sorry.” His voice was low, soothing. “Almost done. Just don’t move.”

You grit your teeth, watching him dab at the scrape with a cotton pad. His touch was gentle, careful, like he was afraid of hurting you more. And for once, he wasn’t teasing. His face was set in quiet concentration, lips pressed together, eyes focused solely on your wound.

“You’re really taking this seriously,” you said after a moment, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

“Of course I am.” He glanced up, meeting your eyes briefly before looking back down. “You got hurt. Because of me.”

You tilted your head. “You didn’t push me off the bike.”

“Still,” he muttered, securing the band-aid carefully over your skin. “I should’ve been more careful. I let go too soon.”

You studied him for a long moment. The boy who had been so cold to you before, who always masked everything with sarcasm or indifference, here he was, fussing over a scrape like it was life or death.

The warmth in your chest spread, slow and steady.

When he finally leaned back, satisfied, you looked down at the neatly placed band-aid and smiled. “Not bad. Maybe you should quit music and become a nurse.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right. I’d be fired on my first day.”

“Why? You did fine.”

“I’d get annoyed with my patients,” he deadpanned. “‘Stop crying, it’s just a scrape,’ that kind of thing.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm,” he hummed, finally picking up his chopsticks again. “But you’re laughing, so I can’t be that bad.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard again. He said it so casually, but it landed heavier than it should have.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… quiet. Warm. The kind of silence that filled itself in with the sounds of slurping noodles from the table beside you, the sizzling from the stall, the hum of voices carried by the river breeze.

For the first time in what felt like days, you let yourself relax.

And maybe, just maybe, you let yourself enjoy the fact that Seungmin had done all this, not for the cameras, not because he had to, but because he wanted to make things right with you.

-

The first few bites of ramen were heavenly. Warm broth, chewy noodles, and the quiet sound of Seungmin slurping across from you. The bandage on your knee still stung a little, but sitting there in that riverside food stall with him, the whole scrape already felt like a silly memory.

You broke the silence first. “You’re eating like you haven’t seen food in days.”

Seungmin paused mid-slurp, noodles hanging from his mouth. His eyes narrowed at you before he deliberately slurped louder, obnoxiously, just to make a point.

You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach. “You’re impossible.”

He chewed, swallowed, then leaned back with a smug little tilt of his head. “You said that already.”

“Because it’s true.” You shook your head, still giggling. “Seriously, where does all that food go? You eat like this and you still look like… that.”

“Like what?” His tone sharpened with curiosity.

You blinked, realizing what you’d implied. Heat crept up your neck. “I just mean—like, you don’t—”

His smirk was instant. “So you do think I look good.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m never talking again.”

He laughed, low and amused, and for once it wasn’t at your expense. It was genuine, warm, a sound that made your chest flutter.

“Relax,” he said, reaching for his broth. “I’ll take the compliment. It’s rare with you.”

You peeked through your fingers, giving him a mock glare. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he shot back.

The conversation flowed easier after that. Little jabs here and there, but nothing that cut too deep. Just playful banter layered over slurps of ramen, the occasional splash of broth, the sound of your laughter mixing with his.

When you set your empty bowl aside with a satisfied sigh, you leaned back. “Okay, now I’m ready for that walk.”

“No way.” His response was immediate.

You frowned. “What do you mean, ‘no way’? That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“You’re hurt,” he said simply, nodding at your knee. “We’re not walking anywhere.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seungmin, I’m fine. It’s a scrape, not a broken leg.”

“I don’t care.” His tone was stubborn, final. “You’re not walking around on that.”

You sat up straighter. “So what, we’re just… going home?”

“Exactly.” He set his chopsticks down with finality. “Trip’s over.”

You squinted at him. “You don’t actually want to go for a walk, do you?”

There was the slightest pause before he answered, “...No.”

You gasped, half-offended, half-amused. “So this whole thing about my knee was just an excuse?”

“Maybe.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a guilty smile.

You threw your hands up. “Unbelievable. You’re ditching me because you’re tired.”

“I didn’t say that.” His eyes glinted mischievously as he pushed his chair back. “Just… wait here.”

“Wait, what?”

But he was already jogging off toward the row of stalls again, leaving you staring after him in confusion.

Minutes ticked by. One, then two. Then five. You drummed your fingers against the table, the night breeze teasing the hem of your shirt. By the time ten full minutes passed, you were debating whether to call him or just walk off to prove a point.

“Ta-da.”

Seungmin reappeared, slightly out of breath, holding up a small paper bag that smelled suspiciously sweet.

Your eyes widened. “Is that…?”

“Bungeoppang,” he said, his grin smug but boyish, like he was proud of himself. “Figured if we’re skipping the walk, at least we don’t skip dessert.”

Your stomach flipped. Not at the pastry, but at him standing there, triumphant, holding warm fish-shaped bread like it was a bouquet of flowers.

You didn’t waste a second. You grabbed one from the bag, tearing it open and taking a huge bite. The sweet red bean filling was still warm, oozing just enough to make you hum in satisfaction.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled around your mouthful. “This is so good.”

Seungmin sat back down, watching you with quiet amusement. “You look way too happy right now.”

“Because this is happiness,” you said, holding up the pastry like it was sacred. “Forget walks, forget bikes—this is the perfect date.”

He arched a brow. “Date, huh?”

You froze, mid-bite, realizing what you’d said. “I—didn’t mean—”

But he only smirked, biting into his own piece. “Too late. I’ll take the compliment.”

You groaned, covering your face again, but your laughter slipped out anyway.

And then, slowly, the conversation shifted.

Maybe it was the sugar, maybe it was the warmth of the bungeoppang in your hands, but suddenly you found yourself leaning forward, asking, “So… what would you be doing if you weren’t an idol?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“I mean,” you continued, “like, if music wasn’t in the picture. What else do you care about?”

For a moment, he was quiet, chewing thoughtfully. Then he leaned back, gaze flicking up toward the night sky as though he needed to think about it.

“I’d probably… write,” he said finally. “Not lyrics, just… stories. Or maybe be a vet. I like animals.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “That actually makes sense. You’re surprisingly gentle when you’re not being an ass.”

He snorted. “Gee, thanks.”

“What about you?” he asked, turning the question back on you.

You hesitated. Nobody really asked you that. Not seriously. “I think… maybe teaching. Or producing. Something where I could still create but also help people. Music was always the dream, but… sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to live quietly.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You wouldn’t last.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You’d get bored,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’d miss the stage too much.”

You wanted to argue, but the truth of it settled in your chest. Maybe he was right.

The conversation flowed on like that, easy and surprisingly honest. About hobbies, about favorite books, about the shows you secretly binge. It was the first time you weren’t talking as idols, or cast members, or reluctant roommates, but just as two people, sharing food by the river.

For once, it didn’t feel complicated.

It felt… right.

-

The bungeoppang was long gone, just crumbs left at the bottom of the paper bag, but the warmth lingered, not just in your hands, but in the space between you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you and Seungmin weren’t circling around sharp words or apologies. You were just sitting there, talking, laughing, breathing.

And yet, as you set your last bite of pastry down, you couldn’t help the itch in your legs.

“I still want to walk,” you said, tilting your head toward the riverside path, the glow of the streetlamps already flickering on.

Seungmin gave you a flat look. “We talked about this. You’re hurt.”

You glanced down at your bandaged knee and then back up at him. “It’s a scrape. Barely even hurts anymore.”

“That’s what people say before making it worse.” He folded his arms, his tone smug like he’d already won the argument.

You leaned forward on your elbows. “What are you, my mom?”

His brows shot up. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Your mom sounds smart.”

You groaned dramatically, tossing your head back. “You’re so—ugh, fine. Then I guess I’ll just walk by myself.”

You stood up, brushing crumbs from your lap, and took a few slow, exaggerated steps toward the path.

“Y/N.”

You didn’t turn around, just hummed like you hadn’t heard him properly.

“Don’t test me.”

You hid your smile, taking another step.

There was a heavy pause, then the sound of his hurried footsteps, and suddenly he was beside you, glaring like you’d dragged him out of bed at dawn.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

You grinned, triumphant. “But you’re walking with me.”

His sigh was loud enough to be theatrical, but he didn’t turn back. His hands went into his pockets, his long stride slowing just enough for you to keep up.

And just like that, the walk began.

At first, the conversation was light, small comments about the couples you passed, the dogs tugging excitedly on their leashes, the way the river glimmered beneath the fading light.

But the more steps you took, the quieter it became. Not an uncomfortable silence, but one that left room for something heavier to emerge.

It happened when you nudged him gently with your shoulder and asked, “Do you ever… feel like people don’t really know you?”

His eyes flicked toward you, cautious. “Why?”

You shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “Because I feel like you act like you don’t care about things, or people, but… I don’t buy it. Not really.”

His jaw tightened. You thought for a second he wouldn’t answer, that he’d just shut down like he usually did. But then he exhaled slowly, eyes on the path.

“I care,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual. “Too much, probably.”

You tilted your head, surprised by the admission.

“That’s why I don’t always show it,” he continued. “Because when I do… it feels like people expect me to care about everything, all the time. And I can’t.”

Your chest ached at his honesty. “So you pretend not to?”

He nodded slightly. “It’s easier.”

You let that settle between you for a few steps, the sound of the river filling the space.

“And your family?” you asked softly.

That question made something shift in his expression, a tiny crack in the cool mask he wore.

“They’re everything,” he said, no hesitation this time. His voice warmed in a way you hadn’t heard before. “My parents worked so hard for me to even have this chance. And my sister… she’s like my best friend. Even if she annoys me half the time.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “That’s sweet.”

He glanced at you, brow raised. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re teasing me.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just… like hearing you talk about them. You sound… different.”

“Different?”

“Lighter,” you admitted. “Like you don’t have to pretend.”

He didn’t respond right away, just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. But you noticed the faintest curve of his lips, like he was trying not to smile.

The sky deepened into indigo as the two of you kept walking, the buzz of the city fading into the background. You talked about little things, books he liked, shows you used to sneak-watch as kids, the first concert you’d ever been to. Piece by piece, Seungmin unfolded himself in front of you, not in one grand reveal, but in small offerings.

He told you about the way he used to record songs in secret, too embarrassed to let his family hear. How his sister was the only one he’d let in on it, and how she still teased him about his old lyrics. How he still gets nervous before performing, no matter how many times he does it.

And for every confession he gave, you shared one of your own, the way you used to write your feelings in song lyrics you never showed anyone, how you kept ticket stubs from every concert you’d ever been to, how you sometimes wished you could just exist without cameras or expectations for a single day.

By the time you noticed the goosebumps prickling along your arms, the sky had gone completely dark, the lamps casting a golden glow over the path. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing at your skin for warmth.

Seungmin noticed instantly.

“You’re cold.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but your shiver betrayed you.

Without a word, he shrugged off the jacket he was wearing and held it out to you.

“I’m fine,” you tried. “You’ll get cold.”

“I’m not asking,” he said firmly.

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes left no room for argument. Slowly, you slipped your arms into the jacket, the fabric still warm from his body heat. The scent of his cologne lingered faintly on it, comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded, too soft to tease. “...Yeah. Better.”

For a few more steps, silence hung between you again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was full. Full of everything he’d told you, everything you’d shared, everything unspoken that had passed between you.

You glanced up at him, his expression calm but focused on the path ahead, and thought for the first time, that maybe you were starting to see the real Seungmin.

Not the one who pretended not to care. Not the one who pushed you away. But the one who cared so much it scared him.

-

The jacket still clung to you like a hug, its warmth seeping into your skin as you pulled it tighter around yourself. The walk had quieted into something softer now, like the world had slowed for just the two of you. The hum of the city was muted by the wide stretch of the river, the only sounds the crunch of gravel under your shoes and the occasional laughter of other late-night wanderers passing by.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t necessary. The silence wasn’t heavy, it was the kind that held unspoken words, steady and comfortable. Every few steps, Seungmin’s shoulder brushed yours, not intentional, just the result of walking close. Still, each graze sent a flicker of awareness through you.

He glanced at you once, then again, like he was making sure the jacket really was enough. The faint crease in his brow told you he still thought you might be cold. That quiet concern tugged at something inside you, something you weren’t ready to name just yet.

The two of you were approaching a busier section of the path, a small food stall glowing under a red-and-white awning, drawing in late-night couples and cyclists. The smell of roasting chestnuts carried through the air, and for a brief moment, you let yourself breathe it in, grounding yourself in the ordinary peace of it.

That’s when you heard it.

“Y/N?”

Your steps faltered. The voice was hesitant, young and when you turned, your breath caught.

A girl stood there, maybe sixteen, clutching a phone in both hands like it was her lifeline. Her eyes were wide, nervous but sparkling. Behind her, two friends lingered, whispering and nudging each other excitedly.

For a second, you froze. You hadn’t expected anyone to recognize you like this, no makeup, hair slightly messy from the wind, drowning in Seungmin’s oversized jacket. Vulnerability prickled at your skin.

But the girl took a careful step forward. “I’m sorry, I just — I didn’t want to bother you. I just… I’m such a huge fan.” She bit her lip, then blurted, “Could I please get a picture? And maybe a signature?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, you felt a shift beside you.

Seungmin.

He had moved without hesitation, positioning himself just slightly closer to you, angled in a way that was subtle but protective. His expression wasn’t unkind in fact, it was neutral, calm but the message was clear. He was watching, ready.

You shot him a quick glance, half in surprise, half in gratitude, before turning back to the fan.

“Of course,” you said gently, offering a small smile. “What’s your name?”

“Jiwoo,” she breathed, eyes shining.

“That’s a pretty name,” you told her, reaching for her phone. “Come on, let’s take a picture.”

You leaned in, smiling at the camera as she snapped a quick selfie, her hands trembling just enough to make you want to steady her. Afterward, she pulled out a tiny notebook from her bag, flipping it open with shaking fingers.

Your heart softened. You took it, scrawling your signature and a quick message before handing it back. “Thank you, Jiwoo. Really. For supporting me.”

Her face lit up, and she bowed deeply before hurrying back to her friends, who immediately squealed and crowded around the notebook like it was treasure.

As soon as they disappeared into the growing crowd by the food stall, you exhaled, shoulders loosening.

“That was unexpected,” you muttered.

“You handled it well,” Seungmin said quietly.

You looked at him then, really looked. His posture had relaxed again, but you could tell he was still alert, eyes sweeping the area once more like he was making sure no one else would approach.

“Were you—” you tilted your head at him, “—guarding me?”

He scoffed, but the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “Don’t make it sound weird. I just didn’t want anyone to push you around.”

A small laugh slipped from you. “That was very… manager-like of you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You grinned, nudging his arm. “Thanks, though. Really. I… felt a little caught off guard.”

“I know.” His voice softened, so much so you almost missed it under the sound of distant chatter. “That’s why I was there.”

Your chest tightened. The words weren’t dramatic, not laced with grand promises, but they carried weight, the kind that made your heart thud harder than you wanted to admit.

“Seungmin,” you said softly.

“Hm?”

You hesitated, searching his expression, the calm way he met your eyes like he wasn’t afraid of what he might find there. “You really are trying, huh?”

He shrugged, gaze flicking back to the path. “I told you. I’ll do anything to make it right.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it buzzed, alive with the unspoken things you both felt but hadn’t yet said.

You kept walking. The crowd thinned again, and the air grew cooler, crisper. You hugged his jacket closer around you, stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye.

And every time you did, you caught the same thing: the quiet determination in his gaze, the way he stayed close without crowding you, the subtle awareness of every step you took.

Protective. Gentle. Present.

It was so unlike the Seungmin you’d known before the sharp, cold, dismissive boy who pushed you away with words meant to sting. This version of him, the one walking beside you now, was soft where you expected hard edges. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t pretending.

And for the first time, you let yourself wonder what it might mean, not just to forgive him, but to let him in.

You pulled Seungmin’s jacket tighter around yourself and stifled a yawn, the kind that crept up on you suddenly, stretching your jaw and making your eyes water.

The sound didn’t escape him.

Seungmin glanced sideways, the corner of his mouth tugging in something between a smile and concern. “You’re tired.”

You shook your head lightly. “I’m fine.”

But another yawn betrayed you.

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Right. Totally fine.” Then, more gently: “We should head back.”

This time, you didn’t argue. “Yeah. Okay.”

The walk back to the car felt quieter, the conversation fading into something softer, both of you content just to move side by side. By the time you reached the driveway of the house, the windows glowed dimly against the night, the kind of glow that made everything feel strangely intimate like returning to a shared space after an unspoken shift.

Inside, the silence stretched again. You slipped off your shoes, tugged the sleeves of his jacket down as though reluctant to give it back, then draped it carefully over the coat rack. Seungmin lingered in the living room, shoulders heavy, hands tugging at the hem of his hoodie as if bracing himself.

It wasn’t until you saw him gathering the extra blanket from the back of the couch that your chest tightened.

He was going to sleep there again.

The couch was small, too small for someone with his frame. It wasn’t right. And though part of you knew he was doing it out of respect, out of guilt maybe, you also knew he’d keep forcing himself onto that couch night after night if you didn’t say anything.

“Seungmin,” you said softly.

He looked up, a little startled at your tone.

“You don’t have to sleep there again.”

For a moment, he just blinked at you, his brows knitting. “I… I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t.” You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “But I do.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

You stepped closer, tucking your arms around yourself like a shield. “Last night was different. I was upset, and I didn’t want to be near you because of everything that happened.” You swallowed, the words tasting heavier than you expected. “But… today made up for a lot of that. Not all of it, I’m still hurt, but enough that I don’t want to make you sleep out here again.”

His expression softened, eyes widening just slightly like the weight of your words hit him harder than you realized. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he nodded.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You managed a small smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Just… come on.”

The two of you padded quietly into the bedroom, the floor creaking faintly under your steps. The routine was strangely unceremonious, no dramatics, no lingering hesitation just two people brushing teeth side by side, avoiding eye contact every time your reflections met in the mirror.

When Seungmin slipped into bed, you told yourself it was no different than before, just two people sharing a mattress, nothing more. But the absence of the pillow barrier changed everything.

The room was wrapped in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the heating vent and the rustle of sheets as you shifted to your side. You kept your eyes trained on the wall, as if refusing to acknowledge the solid weight of him just inches behind you. But you felt it, the way the mattress dipped where his body settled, the warmth radiating slowly across the sheets, a reminder that he was there.

You tugged the blanket a little higher, more for something to do with your hands than because you were cold. Your heart thudded unreasonably loud, as though your body hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be nothing. Just sleep.

But then… you heard his breathing.

Steady. Deep. Not quite asleep, but calm enough to make you realize he was listening too. You wondered if his chest felt as tight as yours did, if he was just as hyper-aware of the small distance separating you.

At some point, you shifted again, not because you wanted to, but because you couldn’t get comfortable. And that’s when your hand brushed his arm.

Just the barest graze. Just fabric against skin.

You froze.

So did he.

The air grew heavier, the space charged with an energy you didn’t dare move against. You could almost feel him holding his breath, waiting, debating whether to say something. But neither of you did.

Instead, you pulled your hand back quickly, muttering a soft, “Sorry,” even though it had barely been anything.

His response came quiet, low, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip out.
“It’s okay.”

And it lingered, those two words, like he meant more than just that’s fine. Like he meant you’re fine. We’re fine.

You stared at the wall a little longer, willing your heartbeat to calm, before finally closing your eyes. The warmth of him seeped closer through the sheets, and little by little, exhaustion took over.

-

When you woke again, the light was soft, filtered through the curtains in pale stripes. You blinked slowly, disoriented at first, until the faint weight against your side reminded you where you were.

Seungmin.

Your breath caught.

Somewhere in the night, the careful space you’d left between you had vanished. His arm rested just shy of your waist, close enough that the heat of it seeped through your shirt. Your legs had shifted too, tangled enough that with one more unconscious move, you’d practically be wrapped around each other.

And his face..He was close. Too close. The kind of close where you could make out the curve of his lashes, the faint part in his lips, the subtle crease between his brows even in sleep.

You didn’t move at first. You just stared, your chest tight, your pulse thundering with the realization of how natural it felt. How easy it would be to close the tiny gap between you.

Then the awareness slammed into you, what this must look like, what it meant.

You jerked back slightly, just enough to put distance between your bodies. Careful not to wake him, you slipped a little further toward the edge of the bed, untangling your legs and tucking your hands under the blanket as though retreating into yourself.

Your heart wouldn’t calm down.

Even with the space restored, the memory of that closeness burned against your skin.

And as you sat there silently, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, you realized one thing with startling clarity:

You weren’t upset anymore. You were scared.

Scared of how much this had started to mean.

You’d been staring at the ceiling for a few long minutes, trying to steady the noise in your chest, when the mattress dipped beside you.

A low hum, groggy and heavy, rumbled from Seungmin’s throat as he stretched under the blanket. His arm brushed yours in the motion, and you flinched not visibly, you hoped, but enough that your breath caught.

He shifted, turning onto his back, blinking slowly into the soft spill of morning light. For a second, his gaze was unfocused, still swimming somewhere between dream and waking. Then it landed on you.

And it stayed.

There was a flicker, the faintest widening of his eyes, like he’d registered the missing distance, like he could feel where your body had been pressed against his only minutes ago. His lips parted as though he might say something, but then he shut them quickly, swallowed, and dragged a hand over his face to hide whatever expression had slipped through.

“...Morning,” he muttered, voice hoarse with sleep.

You managed a small, “Morning,” in return, your own voice quieter than you meant it to be.

He propped himself up on one elbow, hair messy and sticking up in directions you didn’t think possible. The sight should’ve been funny, but it only made the knot in your chest twist tighter. He cleared his throat like he needed to fill the silence.

“Uh… sleep okay?” His words came rushed, clumsy, as if he already knew the answer but needed to say something.

You nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. You?”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes flickering away almost immediately, like it was dangerous to keep them on you for too long.

It was awkward, painfully so, the kind of awkward that had weight behind it, not because there was nothing to say, but because there was too much.

He must’ve sensed it too, because after a beat he shifted again, tugging at the blanket like it gave him something to do with his hands. Then, in a softer tone that barely rose above the quiet of the room, he added:

“I didn’t mean to… take over the bed.” A pause. His jaw worked, like he wasn’t sure if he should stop there or keep going. “…Hope I didn’t bother you.”

The words were casual enough, but the edge of hesitation betrayed him. He wasn’t just worried about hogging the blanket or crossing an invisible line in sleep, he was worried about what you might have felt, about whether you’d let that closeness ruin everything he was trying so hard to fix.

You swallowed, your chest tightening at the gentleness tucked inside his fumbling.

“No. You didn’t,” you said finally, your voice steady even though your heart wasn’t.

Relief flickered across his face so fast you almost missed it. He nodded once, slow, and pulled himself upright fully, swinging his legs off the side of the bed with a half-hearted stretch.

“Good. Then…” He rubbed the back of his neck, messy hair falling into his eyes, before flashing you a crooked little smile awkward, but softened at the edges. “…guess I’ll let you have the blanket next time.”

The tease was weak, but it worked. It broke the silence just enough for you to breathe again, just enough to see the corners of his mouth curve like he was glad you hadn’t pushed him away entirely.

The silence in the room stretched on longer than either of you seemed ready to handle. You still sat tucked halfway under the blanket, watching Seungmin rake a hand through his hair with a sheepish sigh.

It was awkward, not the sharp, bristling kind you’d grown used to with him, but a fragile, uncertain one. The kind that felt like it could tip in any direction, either into discomfort or something softer if either of you nudged it.

Seungmin, to your surprise, was the one who nudged first.

“Want me to make coffee?” he asked suddenly, his voice a little too casual, like he was pretending the last five minutes of quiet hadn’t happened.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, before nodding. “...Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay.” He pushed himself up, stretching with a groan as his shirt bunched at his side. Then, glancing at you, he added, almost under his breath, “I owe you that much anyway.”

It wasn’t really an apology, but it was close.

You followed him a few minutes later, bare feet padding softly across the floor. In the kitchen, he was already moving pulling mugs down, fiddling with the coffee machine like it had suddenly become the most important task in the world. The air between you was still a little awkward, but quieter now, less sharp-edged.

You sat at the counter, chin propped on your hand, watching him. And the longer you watched, the more you realized how strange it felt, not strange in a bad way, but in a way that made your chest tighten.

He wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t tossing some sarcastic comment over his shoulder just to rile you up. He was just… trying. In his own quiet, clumsy way, he was trying.

When he finally slid your mug across the counter, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

“Mm,” he hummed, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal, but his ears burned faintly pink.

You both sipped in silence for a while, and little by little, the stiffness melted. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t even deliberate. It just happened. The morning light spilling through the curtains softened everything the air, the quiet, the way he leaned lazily against the counter next to you.

It was almost too easy to forget that you’d once sworn you couldn’t stand him.

And then your phone buzzed on the counter.

You glanced down, lifting it lazily, only for your chest to jolt when you saw the name lighting up your screen. Yubin.

You swiped the notification open.

Yubin: Hello?? Why haven’t you texted me??
Yubin: Did you kill him already??
Yubin: Be honest. If you did I’ll… try to help. But don’t expect me to hide a body. I love you but not THAT much.

You snorted before you could stop yourself, clapping a hand over your mouth. Seungmin’s head tilted, brows furrowing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, but he raised an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You hesitated, then sighed, turning your phone so he could see. His lips twitched, trying and failing to hold back a laugh as he read the messages.

“She thinks you killed me?” he deadpanned.

“She knows you’re annoying enough for me to want to,” you shot back automatically, but your smile betrayed the sharpness of the words.

For a moment, he just looked at you, really looked. And then, with the faintest shake of his head, he muttered, “Guess I should be glad you didn’t.”

The air stilled again, but not with awkwardness this time. With something softer. Something that settled warm in your chest.

And as you sat there, coffee mug warm between your hands, it hit you like a quiet revelation: somewhere between the fights, the irritation, and the arguments, you had stopped being against this. Against him. Against being here at all.

You hadn’t even noticed the shift happening until now.

But it was there.

And the worst part or maybe the best was that you didn’t feel like fighting it anymore.

//

masterlist.

a/n: i tried to fit everything in this part but couldn’t. i hope to finish the final part soon.

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @euphysia @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon @geni-627 @enhacolor @lunaspov @jisuperboard @hyujim @alondra6011 lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

You sat slouched in one of the small living room chairs while a couple of crew members moved around like quiet shadows, replacing cameras, adjusting wires, testing angles. The faint click of a new lens locking into place made you wince. It wasn’t just the sound, it was the reminder that every second of your life in this house was being watched, dissected, and judged for entertainment value.

You rubbed at your temple, feeling the faint throbbing of an early headache, when Yubin appeared in front of you. She was holding a folder, her brow furrowed, and her mouth set in that tight, managerial smile she only used when she was about to tell you something you wouldn’t like.

“Your first week has been… a fail,” she said, voice measured, almost too calm.

You let out a long, annoyed sigh and tipped your head back, staring at the ceiling. “Gee, thanks for the encouragement.”

“I’m serious,” she pressed, stepping closer so her voice wouldn’t carry too much over the low hum of conversation from the crew. “The producers went through the footage from this week.”

You glanced at her lazily, not even pretending to care, but she didn’t let it slide. Yubin crouched down so you’d have to look her in the eyes. “Listen, I know you don’t like Seungmin. For whatever reason—”

You cut her a look that very much said, Oh, I could list those reasons, but she kept going.

“—but you need to put that aside for just a few more weeks.”

The “few” landed like a rock in your stomach. A few was still too many. You rolled your eyes, leaning your head against the couch cushion, letting her words slide right past your ears.

She caught it. “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” she scolded, tapping the folder against her knee. “Do you know how much usable footage they got from the entire week?”

You raised a brow. “I don’t know. Five hours?”

“One hour.”

Your face didn’t change. You let the silence hang between you.

“That’s not good,” she added, like maybe you hadn’t grasped the seriousness of it.

She just looked at you for a moment, like she was trying to read if you were being stubborn on purpose or if you genuinely didn’t understand what was at stake.

“You’re not giving them anything,” she finally said. “No moments, no chemistry, no banter. You can’t keep sitting in separate rooms or answering with one-word replies. This is reality TV, not a hostage documentary.”

That earned her a faint smirk from you, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

Over her shoulder, you could see Seungmin across the room, sitting on the couch with his manager. His posture was relaxed, one arm draped casually over the backrest as he listened to whatever his manager was saying. Then, out of nowhere, he laughed. A full, unguarded laugh shoulders shaking, teeth showing.

It was infuriating.

Not because he was laughing, but because you knew that laugh had never been aimed in your direction, not once during the entire week. Around you, he was composed, careful, always holding himself at a distance. And yet, with his manager? He was warm. Animated.

Yubin followed your gaze, her lips tightening slightly. “He’s probably getting the same talk from his side,” she murmured. “So use that to your advantage. You both know the producers want more. Maybe he’ll start putting in effort too.”

You hummed noncommittally, dragging your eyes away from him and back to Yubin. She continued, straightening her folder. “Don’t make me have to come back here next week and tell you the same thing.”

You gave a slow shrug, but your gaze flicked once more toward Seungmin, who was still smiling faintly at whatever his manager had said.

Yubin followed your gaze for a second, then looked back at you. Her voice softened just a notch. “You have to put your differences aside for a few more weeks. That’s all I’m asking. Think of your debut. Think of the opportunity. Think of—” She cut herself off when she realized you weren’t exactly brimming with enthusiasm.

You leaned back into the couch cushions, arms crossed loosely, eyes fixed on the slow movements of one of the tech staff as they adjusted a camera above the bookshelf.

“One hour…” Yubin repeated under her breath like she couldn’t quite believe it. “Out of one hundred and sixty-eight hours.”

You didn’t reply. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t make her sigh even harder.

Instead, you stole one more glance toward Seungmin. He was still laughing, still entirely at ease. And for some reason, that irritated you more than the blender incident.

Yubin didn’t leave right away.

Even after she’d given you the little “do better” talk, she lingered, settling herself in the corner of the couch while scrolling through her phone. You appreciated it, not that you’d admit it out loud. Having her presence there was like a thin layer of protection against the suffocating awkwardness that filled this place whenever it was just you and Seungmin.

The producers were still moving about, swapping lenses and testing the angles of new cameras. Every so often, one of them would stop to jot down notes, their murmurs low but constant.

When one of them finally came over to the center of the room, mic packs in hand, you already knew what was coming.

“Alright,” he said, in that upbeat, production-voice tone. “We’re done with the setup. From this point, the cameras will be rolling continuously. For now, we need staff to clear the space so we can keep the environment as natural as possible.”

Natural. You almost laughed. As if anything about this was natural.

Yubin gave you a look, one that said I’ll text you later, before standing. She touched your shoulder briefly in a quiet show of support, then followed the crew out. You hated the way the air seemed to change the moment the last staff member walked through that door thicker, heavier, more loaded.

You were still standing near the armrest of the couch when Seungmin moved toward you. His expression was unreadable, calm but not exactly friendly.

“I think we should at least try to be civil,” he said finally, his tone even. Then he extended a hand toward you, palm open in a silent invitation to shake on it.

You didn’t take it.

Instead, you let your gaze drop to his hand for a few seconds, then lifted your eyes to meet his. “Why don’t you like me?”

The question slipped out sharper than you’d expected, your curiosity and frustration mixing into something you couldn’t quite reel back in.

Seungmin blinked, glancing to the side as if checking whether you were really talking to him. “What are you talking about?” he said, voice light, almost amused.

That little laugh quiet, dismissive set your teeth on edge. You could practically feel the cameras on you, recording every flicker of your expression.

You scoffed, the sound quick and bitter. “Right. You’re going to deny it because the cameras are here.” You rolled your eyes and waved it off. “Forget it.”

But instead of letting it drop, his brow furrowed slightly, and his voice took on a different edge. “You’re the one who’s been rude, arrogant, and stuck up since day one.”

That stopped you cold.

“What?” you asked, genuine confusion twisting your features.

He didn’t back down. “Yeah. You walk around here acting like you’re too good to even talk to me.”

Your laugh was humorless. “Me? That’s you. That’s been you from the very beginning.”

His gaze hardened slightly, but you didn’t stop. “Backstage at a music show, during my debut stage? I came over to introduce myself, literally bowed and you barely even looked at me before walking away. Don’t try to rewrite it now.”

You hadn’t realized your voice had been climbing in volume until you heard it echo faintly in the space.

“That never happened,” he said flatly, shaking his head.

“Oh, it happened,” you snapped back. “And I’ve got my members to back me up on it.”

He rolled his eyes in return, the gesture so dismissive it made your blood spike hotter.

The argument spiraled quickly, your voices overlapping, both of you throwing the same accusations back and forth. Rude. Arrogant. Too full of yourself. No self-awareness. It was petty, childish even, but you couldn’t stop.

Then, in the middle of it, his lips quirked, not quite a smile, more of a smirk and he said, “Maybe that attitude is why you’re not even the most popular in your group.”

The words landed like a slap.

For a heartbeat, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You weren’t even sure your expression changed, but inside, something caved in.

You brushed past him without a word, your shoulder bumping his arm harder than necessary. The door to your room was only a few steps away, and you didn’t hesitate. You turned the knob, stepped inside, and locked it behind you.

Seungmin stayed where he was, the lingering ghost of a smirk still on his face, until he realized you weren’t coming back out to throw another insult at him.

The silence that followed made his stomach sink, the taste of that last comment souring in his mouth.

-

The moment your bedroom door shut, you leaned back against it, letting the lock click into place like it was the only thing keeping you together.

You didn’t slam it, not because you didn’t want to, but because you refused to give the cameras the satisfaction of catching you in some over-the-top meltdown. Still, your pulse was loud in your ears, the sting of his words refusing to fade.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t heard comments like that before. You were well aware of where you stood in FLWR’s popularity rankings. You’d made peace with it or at least, you thought you had. But hearing it from him… someone who had already spent years brushing you off… that cut in a way you hadn’t been ready for.

You dropped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment before grabbing your phone. Maybe a distraction would help.

First, you put in your earbuds and queued up a playlist, songs you knew by heart, ones that usually put you at ease. The melodies filled the room, but the words still replayed underneath the music like a stubborn echo.

“Maybe that attitude is why you’re not even the most popular in your group.”

You shut your eyes tighter, switching to a different playlist louder, faster, something to drown it out. No luck. You tried napping, but your brain wouldn’t stop circling back to the argument. You flipped onto your side. Then your stomach. Then your back again. You opened a movie on your phone. Ten minutes in, you realized you hadn’t even been following the plot, too busy hearing that stupid sentence over and over. Fine. Social media, then. You scrolled, liked, commented, but every now and then you’d see a fan post about FLWR, photos of your members smiling, fancams with thousands of likes and you’d think, Yeah… maybe he’s right.

By the time the sun shifted low enough to cast warm, slanted light through your window, you’d cycled through every distraction you could think of. None of them worked.

You were lying sideways across the bed, phone abandoned beside you, when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Hey,” Seungmin’s voice called, muffled by the wood. “My manager dropped off some snacks earlier. Do you… want some?”

Your eyes rolled automatically. Not dramatically, just enough to yourself to register your irritation. You stayed silent, staring at the wall.

After a pause, he tried again. “I could, uh… put them outside the door if you want.”

Still nothing from you.

You heard him shift his weight, the faint squeak of a floorboard. You wondered if he knew the cameras could probably hear him apologizing in disguise like this.

A beat later, there was another knock, slightly lighter this time. “Or we could… go out for a bit? Shopping, maybe. Get some air.”

That one made you almost laugh out loud. Shopping. Together. As if wandering through aisles with him for an hour would fix anything.

You didn’t answer.

From the other side of the door, there was a quiet sigh long, resigned. The kind you let out when you’ve run out of ideas. You heard his footsteps retreat, slow at first, then fading entirely down the hall. The room fell silent again.

You exhaled and let yourself sink deeper into the bed. Even with him gone, the weight of earlier still clung to you, stubborn as ever.

You avoided Seungmin like the plague for nearly a week. Whenever the cameras were rolling, you kept your distance, staying as far away as possible without being obvious. If you had to speak, it was polite brief and impersonal.

You were angry. At him. At the situation. At yourself for letting his words dig under your skin when you usually prided yourself on being tough. You knew the show was expecting more, that the staff had likely written off the second week as a failure already, but the truth was, you just didn’t want to deal with it.

You’d rather keep your head down and avoid him until everything blew over, pretending like nothing had happened.

Saturday morning, however, something felt different. You woke up, and the first thing you noticed was how empty your stomach felt. You hadn’t had much of an appetite since the argument, but today, you were starving. Your brain was foggy, but the hunger gnawing at your gut was enough to get you out of bed.

You pulled on a hoodie, half asleep, still not fully processing the day ahead and trudged to the kitchen.

As you walked in, you froze in the doorway. There was Seungmin, standing over the stove with a look of concentration on his face. The kitchen counter was filled with a spread of toast, eggs, fruit, bacon, and freshly squeezed juice. The smell of everything being freshly made filled the air.

His back was turned to you, but he must’ve heard your footsteps because he turned around, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Good morning, I was just about to go wake you.” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I, uh, woke up early to make breakfast. I thought… well, I figured you’d be hungry.”

You stood there, staring at the spread. Your stomach growled, but the sight of him looking awkward and overly eager, like a puppy trying to win you back, made you hesitate.

He bit his lip, watching you closely. “I know I’ve been an idiot. What I said was… mean, uncalled for, and not true. I should never have said it. I’m really sorry.” His voice was sincere, softer than you’d ever heard it.

Your eyes moved from the food to him, and for a moment, you couldn’t say anything.

He cleared his throat. “I made breakfast to, uh, make up for it. I don’t know what else I can do, but I really do mean it. I’m sorry.”

Still, you didn’t respond. You just stared at him, feeling the weight of everything unsaid.

He noticed the hesitation in your expression, but instead of pushing, he gave you space. “Please, at least eat something. I… really want you to have a good day today.”

Something about the genuine way he was speaking, the sincerity in his eyes, made it hard to stay upset with him. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been starving for more than just food, it felt like you’d been starving for an apology, for him to own up to the way he’d made you feel.

Finally, you sighed. “Fine. I’ll eat.”

You sat down at the table, still avoiding his gaze, but the breakfast smelled so good that it was impossible to pretend you weren’t excited about it. As you dug into the toast and eggs, Seungmin slid into the seat across from you. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The silence hung between you two as you ate, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d made this effort. The food wasn’t just a peace offering, it was his way of showing you that he cared. That was something, wasn’t it?

Finally, Seungmin spoke, his voice quieter, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d even care to hear it.

“It’s not true, you know.”

You looked up at him, confused.

“The stuff I said last week. About you not being popular. That was wrong. And I don’t know what I was thinking. You have so many fans who love you, who are rooting for you. And honestly, look at everything you’ve accomplished. Your solo career is just getting started, and you’ve got an entire group of people who support you. I mean, you’re FLWR, you’re more than just some idol in the background. You’re someone everyone looks up to, and you should be proud of yourself.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, a lump forming in your throat. You looked down at your plate for a second, blinking back the surprise of hearing those words.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know the facts hell, you knew you’d had a successful group and built a following. But hearing someone who’d been so dismissive toward you in the past say, it felt different.

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "I appreciate that," you said quietly, finally meeting his eyes. A small, soft smile tugged at your lips. "Thank you."

Seungmin smiled back, but there was still something vulnerable in his expression, like he was unsure if that apology would be enough to change everything.

You sat there for a moment, the awkwardness starting to fade. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to feel like you could breathe again.

“Does this mean we’re… good?” Seungmin asked carefully, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, the smile on your lips softening. “Yeah. We’re good.”

The air between you two seemed to lighten, as if a weight had finally been lifted. The tension of the past week started to dissolve with every bite of food, every shared glance.

Then, Seungmin, in his typical Seungmin way, tried to lighten the mood with a suggestion.

"Alright, then," he said, a little more upbeat now. "To make up for everything, I was thinking we could go to Lotte World today. It’s on me. Get out of here for a bit, enjoy the day."

You blinked at him, surprised. “Lotte World?”

He grinned. “Yeah. We both could use a little fun, don’t you think?”

The thought of the amusement park bright lights, roller coasters, a day away from cameras, actually made you feel a flicker of excitement. For a second, it almost felt like a normal day.

“Alright,” you said, feeling your mood shift. “I’m in.”

Seungmin’s face lit up, as if he’d just won some unspoken victory. “Great! Hurry up and finish eating, then. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can enjoy it.”

You rolled your eyes at his enthusiasm, but it felt nice to see him genuinely trying. It had been a rough week, but maybe, just maybe, things were starting to change between you two.

As you continued eating your breakfast, you realized that for the first time in a while, you were looking forward to something other than the usual stress and routine of the show. You were looking forward to having a real moment of fun. Together.

And maybe that was the first step toward finally letting go of the weight Seungmin had put on your shoulders.

The car ride to Lotte World felt like a strange mix of discomfort and forced lightheartedness. Seungmin had been in a surprisingly good mood, something you weren’t used to seeing from him, but it didn’t stop the air from feeling thick with awkward tension. He had brought a hand held camera, and you had yours, but for some reason, Seungmin ended up filming you more than you filmed him. He seemed intent on capturing moments for the show, his eyes flicking between the lens and you, trying to get the right angle. You smiled along, doing your best to humor him, but there was an unspoken barrier you both hadn’t fully crossed yet.

Every now and then, you’d catch him looking at you for a little longer than normal, but you quickly turned your attention back to the window. The silence in the car was punctuated only by his occasional voice directing you to smile or look this way, making everything feel more like a performance than a real outing. Still, you had to admit, there was something oddly comforting about how Seungmin seemed to try so hard to make things less uncomfortable.

When you arrived at the park, the atmosphere was bustling with energy families, friends, couples, and a sea of excited voices. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been anticipating the day until you were actually there, the feeling of being out of the house, out of the cameras, and just present in the moment.

Seungmin led the way toward the entrance of the gift shop. He had already begun filming again, his camera trained on you as you walked through the aisles, looking at all the quirky, plush items. The shelves were stocked with headbands, hats, stuffed animals, and all sorts of novelty items.

“Alright, we need a headband for you,” Seungmin said with a smile, holding his camera up to capture your reaction.

You raised an eyebrow, half-expecting him to pick out something ridiculous, but when you saw him eyeing the shelves with genuine interest, you found yourself playing along. He was trying, at least.

As you scanned the options, you found a set of pink bunny ears on the top shelf. They were fluffy, exaggerated, and probably the least subtle thing in the store. You pulled them down and tried them on, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

"Well?" you asked, turning to Seungmin, hoping for a comment.

Seungmin paused, and you could see him freeze for a moment. His eyes widened, just slightly, and you swore you saw a flicker of something in his gaze, something that made his cheeks flush a soft pink. But as quickly as the moment passed, he cleared his throat and looked away, focusing back on the camera instead of meeting your eyes.

“They’re... nice,” he said, his voice slightly strained as he fiddled with the camera settings, avoiding your gaze.

You didn’t catch on to the sudden shift in his demeanor. You just smiled and kept the bunny ears on, feeling a little embarrassed at how cute you felt in them. “I like them,” you said, admiring yourself in the mirror. But before you could finish thinking about it, your eyes landed on another set of ears a pair of puppy ears, just as fluffy but much cuter, with little velvety tips.

Without hesitation, you snuck up behind Seungmin, your hands suddenly finding the headband and placing it on your head. "Look! These are even cuter," you said, a grin creeping onto your face.

Seungmin, still focused on the camera, made a small noise of approval. "They’re cute," he said distractedly.

You knew he wasn’t paying full attention, so you took the opportunity to pull him into the moment. “Now you’re going to wear one too,” you told him sternly, crossing your arms.

Seungmin immediately recoiled. "What? No, I don’t like these kinds of things," he protested, shaking his head and backing away, but you weren’t having any of it.

"Nope," you said firmly. "You’re going to wear one. It’s part of the deal. You can’t leave until you’re as cute as I am."

He laughed, albeit reluctantly. "You’re seriously making me do this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

"Yes," you said. "You’re wearing it." You weren’t sure where the sudden confidence was coming from, but you were determined to see it through.

Seungmin rolled his eyes, but you could see a small chuckle escape from him as he reluctantly grabbed the puppy ears and placed them on his head. His expression was one of exaggerated annoyance, but the playful glint in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"Happy now?" he asked, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow.

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a little lighter now. "Much better," you said, giving him a thumbs up. "Look at us, the cutest duo in Lotte World."

Seungmin tried to keep a straight face but failed, his lips twitching into a smile.

You made your way to the register to pay, still laughing under your breath. You reached into your bag to grab your wallet, planning to pay for both of the headbands, but before you could get your cash, Seungmin had already slid his card across the counter.

You blinked, surprised. "Hey! I was going to pay for mine."

Seungmin waved it off. "Consider it a peace offering. And... an apology."

You narrowed your eyes slightly but let it go, your shoulders relaxing a little. “Thanks,” you muttered, trying to suppress the smile that was threatening to break through.

Seungmin grinned, turning back to you with a satisfied look on his face. "Let’s go. The real fun’s about to begin."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but there was a genuine warmth behind your expression now, one that you hadn’t felt in days.

As you stepped out of the gift shop, you felt the weight of the past week starting to lift. Maybe today wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

The moment you stepped out of the gift shop, bunny ears still perched perfectly on your head, you scanned the park like a general surveying a battlefield, plotting your next move. The sight of the carousel caught your attention immediately. It wasn’t the biggest or flashiest ride in Lotte World, but the golden poles, colorful horses, and old-fashioned charm pulled you in like a magnet.

You turned to Seungmin, eyes lighting up. “We’re going on that next.”

He followed your gaze and nearly recoiled. “No way,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not getting on a carousel.”

“Too late,” you replied, already marching toward it. “There’s no line.”

You didn’t give him time to argue. The ride was practically empty except for a couple of kids and their parents, so you walked right up and claimed the first horse you saw, a glossy white one with a blue saddle and golden bridle. Seungmin, ever the reluctant participant, stood next to you like a stubborn bodyguard, holding his camera.

“Uh-uh,” you said, pointing to the horse beside yours. “You’re getting on, too.”

“I can just stand here,” he muttered, glancing around as if looking for an escape route.

Before you could respond, the carousel operator, an older man with a strict expression, stepped over and told him bluntly, “You need to get on a horse or get off the ride.”

Your grin widened. “See? Even he says so.”

Seungmin shot you a mildly annoyed look but let out a resigned sigh. With the grace of someone accepting defeat, he climbed onto the horse next to yours, a dark brown one with a red saddle. He adjusted himself awkwardly, clearly unfamiliar with the idea of riding a fake horse.

The carousel jolted gently before beginning its slow, melodic rotation. The old-fashioned music filled the air, and almost instantly, your mood soared. You laughed a bright, genuine laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep. The wind from the ride lifted your hair slightly, and the bunny ears bounced in rhythm as the horse moved up and down.

Seungmin, despite his earlier complaints, found himself instinctively raising his camera again. He started filming you, trying to capture the way you looked in that moment eyes crinkled, cheeks lifted, completely immersed in the simple joy of the ride. You looked carefree, almost childlike, and for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

He kept telling himself it was just for the show, just good footage, but the truth was… he was mesmerized. Something about you laughing like that, without any guarded expressions or irritation in your eyes, felt different from every other moment he’d spent with you so far.

When the carousel finally slowed to a stop, you hopped off your horse easily, but Seungmin stayed still for a beat too long, camera still in hand, eyes fixed on you.

“Seungmin?” you called, tilting your head. “You okay?”

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought he’d been lost in. “Yeah,” he said quickly, nodding as if to shake off the moment. “I’m fine.”

You gave him a curious look but didn’t press.

Seungmin stepped forward, offering you his hand to help you down from the platform, which you took without thinking. Once your feet hit the ground, he let go quickly, turning his attention to the bustling park around you.

“So,” he said, slipping the camera strap over his neck again, “where do you want to go next?”

You glanced around, pretending to consider your options, but part of you was still wondering what had been going through his head on that carousel. Whatever it was, you could tell it wasn’t nothing.

-

By the time the afternoon sun dipped low enough to cast long golden streaks across Lotte World, you and Seungmin had already hit what felt like every major ride in the park. The energy between you had shifted, there were still sarcastic remarks, still the occasional eye roll, but they were softer now, tinged with amusement instead of tension.

Eventually, you found yourselves standing at the base of the park’s biggest roller coaster. Its towering steel frame wound high into the sky before plunging into sharp drops and stomach-churning loops. The shrill sound of riders screaming echoed across the park, followed by the mechanical hiss of the ride braking back into the station.

“This is it,” you said confidently, arms crossed. “The big one.”

You glanced up at the massive coaster and then back at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not scared?”

“Fearless,” Seungmin declared, smirking.

That was all it took for you to snort, an actual laugh escaping you. “Fearless? Sure. We’ll see.”

Minutes later, you were both strapped into the very front row, the world stretching out ahead of you. The slow, ominous climb began, each click of the chain lift echoing in your chest. You were grinning, eyes on the view as the park spread beneath you like a miniature model.

And then the drop came.

The coaster roared forward, and Seungmin, who had been so smug, screamed. A sharp, startled, undeniably un-idol-like scream. Midway through the first loop, his hand shot out toward yours, fingers tightening instinctively.

You burst out laughing, the wind whipping your hair into your face, making your bunny ears tilt dangerously to one side. “Fearless, huh?” you shouted over the rushing air.

He didn’t answer, too busy clinging to the safety bar with his other hand.

When the ride screeched to a stop, you both stumbled out, trying to catch your breath. Your legs wobbled as you found your footing, and you noticed his headband, the puppy ears, had slid halfway down his forehead. Yours was just as crooked, but you didn’t care.

“You screamed like a little boy,” you teased, your grin wide.

“I did not,” he said immediately, straightening his headband and walking ahead as if putting distance between you would erase the evidence.

“Did too,” you said, jogging to catch up.

You spotted the food court ahead and nudged his arm. “Ooh, churros. Let’s get one.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh, but didn’t protest as you veered toward the smell of fried dough and cinnamon sugar. Halfway there, he pulled the camera from around his neck, turning it toward himself. He spoke a little for the viewers, some commentary about the rides, about you dragging him to “the scariest things possible” before panning the lens to you. You were smiling without realizing it, the kind of smile that came from the combination of adrenaline and sugar cravings.

When you reached the churro stall, you stepped up to the counter, greeting the worker politely before ordering for both of you. Seungmin stood slightly behind, filming you as you spoke, a faint trace of amusement tugging at his mouth.

Moments later, you were munching on your churro, walking slowly through the park as the sky shifted into a warmer glow. “Today hasn’t been that bad,” you admitted between bites.

“Agreed,” he said, dusting sugar from his fingers. “So… do you accept my apology now?”

You chewed thoughtfully before nodding. “Fine. I’m okay with putting everything behind us—” you paused and looked at him with a smirk “—as long as you admit you were stuck up the first time we met. Years ago. When I introduced myself.”

He groaned, tilting his head back. “I barely even remember that.”

“Oh, I do,” you shot back. “Clear as day. You were doing comeback promotions at the time.”

He frowned slightly, as if digging through old memories. “Honestly, I really don’t remember. But… if I did act like that—” his voice softened “—I apologize. Sincerely. I was probably just having a bad day.”

You stared at him for a moment, searching for any sign of sarcasm, but his tone felt genuine. Finally, you gave a small nod and went back to your churro, deciding, for now, to let it go.

The two of you returned to the house just as the sun had completely set, the sky outside a deep navy dotted with faint stars. The adrenaline from the rides at Lotte had long worn off, replaced by the heavy ache in your legs and the kind of tiredness that made you want to collapse face-first onto your bed. Seungmin seemed just as drained, though he was still scrolling on his phone, probably to find somewhere that delivered late at night after mentioning he was hungry.

“I’ll order something for both of us,” he said, kicking off his shoes and setting his bag down by the couch.

“Okay,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes. “I’m gonna get changed first.”

He nodded without looking up from his phone, already muttering something about fried chicken and tteokbokki. You padded down the hall toward your room, already imagining the comfort of your oversized hoodie and loose sweatpants.

But the second you opened your door, you froze.

Your room, your sanctuary for the past two weeks was completely empty. Not just “tidied up” empty. Empty-empty. The bed was gone. Your blanket, your pillows, everything stripped bare. Your suitcase wasn’t in its usual spot. Even the little decorative plant the producers had put there was missing. It was just four bare walls and a carpet that suddenly felt colder than it should.

Your heart jumped into your throat, and before you could even think, you let out a sharp, instinctive scream.

From the kitchen, you heard a loud thunk, the unmistakable sound of Seungmin dropping his phone mid-order followed by the pounding of hurried footsteps. “What happened?!” His voice was laced with urgency as he appeared in the doorway, eyes scanning the room like he was expecting to see an intruder.

When his gaze landed on the emptiness, his expression shifted instantly from alarm to sheer confusion. “What the… where’s all your stuff?”

“That’s what I’d like to know!” you shot back, your voice still edged with shock. “Should I call the police.. Yubin.. the producers?”

Without answering, Seungmin turned on his heel and strode quickly toward his own room. Curiosity and frustration tangled in your chest as you followed him down the hall.

The second you stepped into his room, you spotted your suitcase, propped up neatly in the corner and the sight made you halt mid-step. Your clothes were stacked in an oddly careful pile on top of it. But your attention was immediately drawn to the massive king-sized bed in the middle of his room, where a plain white envelope sat perfectly centered against the dark blanket.

Seungmin picked it up, his brow furrowed, and unfolded the paper inside. His eyes scanned the words before reading aloud:

“Since you were gone for the day, we took the opportunity to… spice things up a little. From now on, you’ll be sharing a room like a real couple. Enjoy the next week and don’t worry, we won’t be back tomorrow. While you were out, we replaced the cameras. Have fun.”

At the bottom, there was a little flourish, signed by the show’s production team, complete with a tiny heart doodle.

You gasped so hard it almost hurt your ribs. “Absolutely no way.”

Seungmin blinked at the letter, then looked around as if he might find hidden evidence of how the staff had pulled this off without either of you noticing. “How did they even…? We were only gone for a few hours…”

“I don’t care how,” you cut in, marching over to grab your suitcase handle. “I’ll just take my stuff and sleep on the floor of the other room.”

He caught your wrist lightly before you could haul the suitcase out. “Stop being stubborn,” he said flatly. “You need to rest properly. You’ve been complaining about your back since the first week. The floor’s not gonna help.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested you run another marathon after the day you’d had. Words hovered on your tongue, but none of them seemed strong enough to fully convey the sheer no you were feeling.

“It won’t be that bad,” he added quickly, as if trying to reassure you before you exploded. “We’ll just put pillows in the middle or something. You won’t even notice I’m there.”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face in exaggerated annoyance. “This is actually ridiculous,” you muttered, heading for your suitcase anyway not to leave the room this time, but to dig out your hoodie and sweatpants.

Seungmin turned away, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. Just… get changed. I’ll—uh—wait outside.”

He slipped out the door before you could tell him to, but not before you noticed the faint pink on his ears. Outside, you could hear the subtle thud of his back hitting the door as he leaned against it. His quiet sigh drifted through the wood.

In that moment, neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew the truth: the next two weeks had just gotten a lot longer.

-

When you finally emerged from the room, freshly changed into your hoodie and sweatpants, Seungmin was standing by the island with his phone in hand. He looked up as soon as you stepped out, straightening a little.

“I just ordered chicken for us,” he said casually, as if this entire room situation hadn’t just been dumped on both of you like some twisted reality show prank.

You paused mid-step. “Thanks,” you murmured, though your eyes were already flicking toward the living room. “You know, I could most definitely sleep on the couch. Problem solved.”

He shook his head almost immediately. “That couch is tiny. You’d fall off before the night’s over.”

“I can make it work,” you said stubbornly, picturing yourself curling up with every spare blanket you could find.

Seungmin gave you a flat look, the kind that clearly said he didn’t buy it for a second. Then, after a beat, he shrugged and said, “If you really mind sharing a bed that much, I can just take the floor.”

The way he said it, matter-of-fact, without complaint, made you pause. You knew the floor wouldn’t exactly be comfortable, especially after the long day you’d had walking, standing in ride lines, and being tossed around on roller coasters. You weren’t exactly best friends, but you weren’t heartless either.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said reluctantly. “It’s fine. Just… put pillows in the middle or something. Make it obvious which side is yours and which is mine.”

“Deal,” he replied quickly, almost like he’d been hoping you’d say that.

The food arrived a few minutes later, and you sat together at the small dining table. The air was still a little tense, but not in the sharp, uncomfortable way it had been earlier in the week. You busied yourself with opening the containers while he grabbed napkins and drinks.

As you dug into your chicken, you decided to lay out some ground rules before things got awkward or worse, misunderstood. “Alright, since the producers think they’re hilarious, we’re gonna need to make some things clear.”

He raised a brow but kept eating. “Go ahead.”

“First,” you said, gesturing toward the room with your chopsticks, “one side of the room is completely mine. The other side is completely yours. No crossing over unless invited.”

“That’s fair,” he said with a small nod.

“Second, if either of us ever needs privacy or just wants to be left alone we say so, and the other person respects that. No questions asked.”

“Also fair,” he agreed without hesitation.

You gave him a look, just to make sure he wasn’t humoring you. “And no messing with each other’s stuff. At all.”

“Obviously,” he said, holding out his hand across the table. “Shake on it?”

You eyed his hand for a second before finally reaching out to shake it, sealing the deal. His grip was warm but light, and you both pulled back quickly, going back to your food like nothing had just happened.

At least now, you thought, you had a plan… even if you weren’t entirely convinced it would save you from whatever the next week had in store.

After dinner, the quiet settled in again, not tense this time just… there. You carried the empty containers to the trash while Seungmin wiped down the table, both of you moving around each other like you’d already been living together for weeks.

When you headed toward the shared room, you stopped at the doorway, taking in the size of the bed again. It didn’t seem that big when you first saw it, but now, with the knowledge that you’d be sharing it, it suddenly felt much smaller.

Seungmin came in behind you, carrying a stack of pillows like he’d been preparing for a fortress. “Alright,” he said, walking past you to the bed. “Middle line. No trespassing.”

You crossed your arms and watched as he arranged the pillows between your halves with almost obsessive precision, making sure there was no chance of an accidental crossover in the middle of the night.

“Wow,” you said dryly. “Very official.”

He glanced up at you with a faint smirk. “What? You’re the one who wanted boundaries.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the corner of your mouth twitching up. Still, you went to your side and began unpacking just enough to have your essentials within arm’s reach, a phone charger, your water bottle, your night cream.

While you were settling in, Seungmin was fussing with his own side. You caught him glancing toward your half a couple of times, like he was checking to see if you were comfortable but didn’t want to outright ask.

Eventually, you both ended up sitting on your respective halves of the bed, scrolling on your phones in a weird kind of synchronized silence. Every so often, you could hear him shifting, the sound of fabric rustling against the sheets.

“Do you always make this much noise when you get ready for bed?” you asked without looking up.

“I’m barely makin’ noise,” he said flatly, though you could hear the faintest laugh in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, unconvinced.

After a few minutes, he set his phone down. “You know, for someone who swore this was the worst idea ever, you’re taking it pretty well.”

You looked at him over the pillow barrier. “I’m tolerating it. Big difference.”

“Right,” he said with a small smile before turning off his bedside lamp.

You mirrored him, plunging the room into a soft darkness, and for the first time since the producers pulled their little stunt, you realized… this might not actually be the worst week of your life.

The first night started out fine silent, still, almost too still.
You lay on your side facing away from the pillow wall, staring at the faint red glow of the standby light from one of the cameras across the room. Even though you couldn’t see the lens clearly in the dark, you could feel it, that constant reminder that nothing in here was truly private.

From the other side of the pillow barricade, you heard Seungmin shift again, his sheets rustling as he got comfortable. For a few minutes, the only sound was the low hum of the air conditioner.

Thump.

You frowned. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he asked, his voice low, groggy.

“That noise. Did you drop something?”

“No. I moved my foot.”

You rolled your eyes into the darkness. “Your foot doesn’t make a thump unless you’re kicking something.”

“Maybe I did,” he muttered, clearly not in the mood for interrogation.

You sighed, pulling the blanket up to your chin, determined to sleep.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. You were just starting to drift off when you felt the faintest dip in the mattress near your side. You froze, blinking into the dark.

“…Was that you?” you asked quietly.

A beat of silence, then: “Pillow fell.”

You peeked over the pillow wall and sure enough, one of the middle pillows had slid down between you two. He hadn’t crossed the line, but it was enough to make you suspicious.

“You’re not cheating the pillow system, are you?” you asked.

“I’m not a cheater,” he said, a little offended. “You think I want to wake up with you accusing me of invading your space?”

You snorted. “If you did, I’d throw you off the bed.”

He chuckled lowly, then turned onto his other side so his back was to you. “Noted.”

It was quieter after that. Eventually, you started to relax again, your breathing evening out, eyelids heavy. The soft sounds of Seungmin shifting now and then faded into background noise.

By the time you finally fell asleep, the pillow wall was still standing strong, but you had this nagging feeling that the producers were going to eat this setup alive when the footage aired.

-

The morning light slipped in through the half-drawn curtains, bright enough to make you squint but not quite enough to make you want to move. You stretched under the covers, still a little groggy, when the faint sound of movement caught your ear fabric shifting, zippers sliding open, the dull clink of something being set on the desk.

You cracked one eye open. Seungmin was already dressed and crouched over his bag, neatly sorting through what looked like his toiletries and clothes. His expression was unreadable, but his movements were precise like he’d been awake for a while.

Pushing yourself up, you yawned. “I’m gonna get cleaned up. Shower’s calling my name.”

He didn’t look up, just gave a short nod.

You slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. The cool tiles under your feet jolted you awake a little more. You’d just started turning on the water when his voice carried through the door.

“I’m gonna step out for a minute,” he called. “Get some coffee for us. You want anything special?”

That made you pause mid-movement. A small smile tugged at your lips. Coffee from Seungmin was… unexpected. “Yeah,” you replied, giving him your most overly specific coffee order, complete with the milk ratio, sugar level, and exact temperature.

There was a pause on the other side. No words, just silence long enough for you to imagine his face blank stare, processing the absurdity, probably debating whether he should’ve even asked. You could practically hear him mentally cursing you out.

“…Okay,” he finally said, flat but accepting, and then you heard the front door open and close.

You showered leisurely, letting the warm water clear away the stiffness from the previous night. Once you were dressed, you padded back to your now-shared room, towel drying your hair.

That’s when you froze.

On your side of the room, neatly folded and stacked with the kind of precision only someone annoyingly tidy could manage, sat a small pile of Seungmin’s clothes. T-shirts. Hoodies. Even a pair of his sweatpants.

You stared at them for a beat, then sighed, a deep, irritated huff. Rules were rules, and you’d been very clear about sides of the room.

Without thinking twice, you marched over, grabbed the top shirt from the pile, and stormed toward the kitchen where you heard faint movement. The smell of coffee lingered in the air.

“Hey, we talked about this!” you said, voice firm. In one swift motion, you lobbed the folded shirt at the back of his head. It hit with a soft thump.

“Ow—”

The voice wasn’t his. You blinked.

The figure in front of you turned around slowly, an almost comical mix of surprise and confusion on his face. Not Seungmin.

Hwang Hyunjin.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, rushing forward, your hands half-raised in panic. “I’m so sorry—I thought you were Seungmin—seriously, I thought—”

Hyunjin caught the shirt mid-fall, eyebrows lifting as his lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “I can see that,” he said lightly, his tone far too calm for your level of embarrassment.

You kept babbling apologies, each one faster than the last, as your mind scrambled to process why he was standing in your kitchen holding coffee instead of Seungmin.

You felt your face turn hot as you continued to apologize, stammering as you tried to explain yourself. "I swear I thought you were Seungmin! He just stepped out to get coffee, and—" You paused, realizing how ridiculous you must sound, and only cringed internally at the mess you’d made of the situation.

Hyunjin, however, only chuckled, clearly entertained by your flustered state. "It’s okay, really," he said, the laughter in his voice light and teasing. "I didn’t expect to be hit with a shirt, but I guess that’s what happens when you enter uninvited, huh?"

You blinked, still trying to process his sudden presence. "Wait, what do you mean, ‘uninvited’? I thought Seungmin—"

"I came to visit him," he interrupted, his tone casual. "The producers and our manager suggested I come by to check on him—see how everything's playing out, you know?" He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "I called him first, but he didn’t answer, so I figured I’d just let myself in. Manager texted me the code to the door, but I didn’t think he’d be gone. Sorry for invading your space like this."

You shook your head, still processing what he was saying, but his apology caught you off guard. "No, no, it’s fine," you said quickly, waving your hands in front of you as if to dismiss the awkwardness.

For a moment, there was a lull in the conversation, and as you caught your breath, you realized how easy it was to talk to Hyunjin. His casual demeanor, mixed with his teasing comments, put you at ease far more than you expected. The way he made everything seem lighthearted made it hard to not smile at his every word.

"Anyway, I’m really sorry again for...you know," he continued, waving the shirt between his fingers. "But I didn’t expect to walk in and be treated like the enemy."

You couldn’t help but giggle. "Well, you were invading my space with no warning," you said jokingly, crossing your arms over your chest, but the playful tone in your voice betrayed any semblance of annoyance. "You should’ve sent a formal invitation first."

He smirked, leaning against the counter. "Next time, I’ll send one on a gold-plated platter, just for you."

You laughed harder than you expected, a bit of heat rising in your cheeks as his words caught you off guard. You weren’t sure if it was his charming smile or his easy confidence, but something about him made you forget the awkward tension you had just moments ago.

"Deal," you said, trying to sound more serious, but your grin gave you away.

Hyunjin chuckled, clearly amused by the way you tried to maintain composure. "Alright, alright," he said, pretending to zip his lips. "I’ll behave. But seriously," he added, his voice turning more sincere as he looked at you directly. "I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll make sure to announce first next time. Promise."

You nodded, the genuine apology in his eyes making you feel a little better. "It’s okay, really. You’re not the first person to barge in unexpectedly," you joked, thinking about the chaos the past few days had brought. "But maybe next time, we could go for coffee together instead of...throwing shirts?"

He grinned, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Now that sounds like a plan," he said, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "I’ll take you to the best coffee shop in town, where the coffee's strong and the company’s better."

Your stomach fluttered, the way he said it with such casual confidence making you second-guess just how much of it was meant as a joke. You laughed, brushing it off, though your cheeks were still warm. "I’ll hold you to that," you replied, a playful challenge in your tone.

The conversation drifted from there, as you both began chatting more naturally, as though you had known each other far longer than just this one meeting. The back-and-forth banter, the easy teasing, it felt so familiar and comfortable, like catching up with an old friend.

But as the moments passed, you couldn’t help but notice how his glances lingered on you a little longer than usual, how his smile seemed to grow whenever you laughed. He was good at making you feel at ease, but there was an underlying something you couldn’t quite place, an extra level of charm in his tone, or the way his eyes would flicker up to meet yours just a little longer than necessary.

You shook the thought away. He was just being friendly, right?

Still, as the conversation flowed effortlessly, you felt something new, something you didn’t expect to feel so soon, especially not in the midst of the chaos with Seungmin. You just didn’t know what to make of it yet.

-

The atmosphere shifted the second the door clicked open, and Seungmin stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanning the room, the coffee cups in his hands. But before his gaze could fully settle on you, it froze when he saw you, laughing and talking so easily with Hyunjin. It was like you two were in the middle of a conversation that had been unfolding for hours, your shared smiles and the way you giggled together seemed... too natural.

For a split second, Seungmin’s heart dropped in his chest, the room suddenly feeling smaller, like there wasn’t enough space for everyone in it. He didn’t even understand why, but there was a weird knot of jealousy starting to twist inside him.

No, he did understand.

His thoughts raced as he stood there, frozen in place, coffee in hand. He was jealous. Of course, he was. He liked you. He’d liked you for a while now, even before this entire chaotic situation started. But admitting it out loud? It felt wrong somehow, even if deep down, he knew it was the truth. He’d ignored it, kept his distance, but now, seeing you so at ease with Hyunjin, it stung more than he expected.

Seungmin didn’t even know if you liked him back hell, he wasn’t even sure if he could show it without things getting awkward between the two of you. But right now, standing in the doorway, watching you laugh with Hyunjin, he felt the sharp edge of frustration. He just wanted to be the one to make you laugh. He wanted to be the one to see you like that.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hyunjin’s voice broke the tension. "Ah, so you’re back!" he called, turning his head toward Seungmin with an exaggerated grin. "I let myself in, and your shirt came flying at me. Hope you don’t mind."

Seungmin blinked at him, taken aback by the casualness in his tone. He didn’t know what exactly had happened, but the moment felt almost too perfect, like Hyunjin had made himself at home without a second thought. Seungmin wasn’t sure what bothered him more: the fact that Hyunjin had come in uninvited, or that it felt like he had come into your space without permission, into a space that used to feel like only Seungmin’s, in a weird way.

He shook his head and stepped into the room, his eyes meeting yours briefly. You were laughing, looking at Hyunjin, and then, when you noticed him, your expression shifted for a second. He could feel your eyes on him now, but there was no anger or annoyance in your gaze, just the slightest look of surprise, maybe a little amusement. You were still smiling, but it was softer.

"Sorry," you said quickly, laughing lightly as you realized what had happened. "I really thought you were Seungmin."

Hyunjin waved it off, still chuckling. "It’s all good. Honestly, I didn’t expect this. But I’m glad I could make you laugh," he added, glancing at Seungmin with a knowing smirk before he turned back to you.

Seungmin wanted to say something, to make himself known, but his throat felt tight. You and Hyunjin looked so... familiar together. It was as if you two had known each other far longer than just today, and Seungmin couldn't shake the feeling that he was being left out of something. He told himself it was ridiculous. He knew Hyunjin was just being himself, and that you two were just talking. But jealousy had a way of clouding his judgment, and he hated feeling it.

He cleared his throat, then finally spoke, trying to sound casual. "I—I just came back from getting coffee," he said, holding up the cups in his hands, his voice awkward in the silence. "I was just... getting coffee for us."

You blinked, your face softening when you realized he had actually gone out of his way to get your complicated order. "Thanks," you said, your voice genuinely appreciative, but still carrying a bit of amusement as you looked over at him. "I’ll drink it in a bit."

Seungmin nodded and then stood there, shifting on his feet uncomfortably as you and Hyunjin resumed your easy banter. He couldn’t bring himself to sit down just yet. The dynamic between you and Hyunjin felt so... different. So much more effortless than his own moments with you had been recently. He had never imagined himself feeling like this like an outsider in a situation that should have been easy.

And then, the worst part, the part that stung the most was when he realized Hyunjin was looking at him, his gaze sharp, a quiet challenge behind his eyes. Seungmin swallowed hard, unsure of how to read the moment, but certain that Hyunjin had seen something he hadn't meant to show.

Seungmin’s thoughts were cut off when Hyunjin suddenly grinned, as if he’d read the room perfectly. "So, what’s going on, Seungmin? You and Y/N here all by yourselves, huh?" He said it with that same easy charm, but there was something under his words, something a little too casual, like he was trying to provoke a reaction from Seungmin.

Seungmin’s breath hitched. He stared at Hyunjin for a moment, his pulse quickening, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. He didn’t know how to respond. There was no reason for Hyunjin to be asking this. They were just talking, right? But the way he phrased it like there was something more going on between you and him made Seungmin’s chest tighten.

When Seungmin finally found his voice, he glanced at you, who had already turned back to Hyunjin, laughing lightly at something he’d said. You were completely oblivious to the tension building up in the room.

"Yeah, well," Seungmin said, his voice quieter now, "I didn’t expect this either." He hesitated, his hand holding the coffee cups tightly, almost like a shield. "But, yeah... It’s fine. Nothing’s going on. Just... hanging out."

Hyunjin’s grin widened, like he knew exactly what Seungmin was feeling, and in that moment, Seungmin hated how aware he was of it.

It was at that moment that Seungmin realized something, this wasn’t just about the show, about sharing space with you. It wasn’t just about the cameras. He had feelings for you. And as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t sure how to handle it now, especially with Hyunjin in the room.

The silence in the room felt thick now, and Seungmin realized that things weren’t going to be as simple as he had hoped. Not anymore.

-

The day had started off relatively calm, a forced kind of peace settling over the house after the earlier mishap. But as the hours passed, a subtle but unmistakable tension hung in the air. It started with the smallest of things, Seungmin’s lack of participation, his drawn-out sighs, the way he’d glance over at you and Hyunjin, then quickly look away. Hyunjin, for his part, had been his usual charming self, clearly enjoying his time, and you couldn’t help but get caught up in the mood. You laughed, smiled, and teased him just like you would with any other old friend. The way his jokes rolled off his tongue had you giggling harder than you’d expected. But Seungmin? Seungmin was a different story.

It wasn’t so much that he was ignoring you, it was more about how present he was, too present. His silence was loud in the moments when you and Hyunjin were talking, when you were cutting fruit and preparing a little snack for everyone. You didn't even notice at first, but slowly, it became more apparent. He didn’t say much. He didn’t even try to join in the conversation when you attempted to include him. Instead, he’d either grunt or give short, dismissive answers.

“Seungmin, do you want to try this?” you asked, offering him a slice of melon from the platter you had just arranged.

He didn’t look up from his phone, his face scrunched in irritation. “No thanks,” he muttered, barely sparing you a glance.

Your hand froze in mid-air. It wasn’t the first time today you felt him pull away. You tried not to take it personally, but with Hyunjin sitting across from you, his smile wide and his eyes warm, it stung a little more than usual. You tried to keep your focus on Hyunjin, who was laughing at some funny anecdote from his recent trip abroad, but you couldn’t help but notice how Seungmin was still sitting at the counter, stewing in his silence. Every time you caught him staring in your direction, there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. You didn’t know what to make of it. Was he mad at you? Or was something else bothering him?

The thought nagged at you, but you pushed it to the back of your mind.

“So, how was the tour, Hyunjin?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation away from the tension in the room. “I heard you guys had some amazing shows overseas.”

Hyunjin beamed, clearly thrilled by the change in topic. “Oh, it was incredible! Paris was my favorite stop. The art museum we went to... It was so beautiful, Y/N. You would have loved it,” he said, leaning forward, clearly excited to talk about it.

You smiled, genuinely interested. “I’d love to go someday,” you said, biting into a strawberry. “I didn’t really get the chance to go anywhere when I was there,”

Hyunjin laughed lightly. “We should go together sometime. I mean, why not? The more the merrier, right?” He gave you a wink, clearly teasing, but you didn’t think much of it.

As the conversation continued, you and Hyunjin easily slipped into that comfortable rhythm, talking about travel, music, and everything in between. You found yourself laughing more than you had in days, your mood lifting with every word. You caught yourself blushing a couple of times, especially when Hyunjin would look at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips curling into that half-smile of his that always made you feel a little warmer.

Seungmin, though, remained quiet, his gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance. Every now and then, he’d glance in your direction, but quickly avert his eyes, as if looking at you for too long might reveal something he wasn’t ready to confront.

You tried to include him in the conversation a few times, but each attempt felt like a struggle. When you asked him if he wanted to join you and Hyunjin for a walk later, he simply shrugged, barely acknowledging you. "I’ll be fine," he said, not meeting your gaze.

The silence between you both grew thicker, his coldness more evident with each passing minute. You couldn’t figure it out. What had happened to the Seungmin who, just a few days ago, had apologized for his harsh words? Why was he being so distant now?

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The frustration bubbled up, and you were tired of feeling like you were walking on eggshells around him. After dinner, when Hyunjin had gone to the living room to relax, you turned to Seungmin.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” you asked, your voice quieter, but firm.

Seungmin looked up from his phone, his expression unreadable. “What’s up?” he asked, but there was a certain coldness in his voice.

You crossed your arms, looking at him with a mixture of concern and frustration. “You’ve been really rude all day,” you said, trying to keep your tone even. “I’ve tried to include you in conversations, but you’ve barely said a word, and when you do, it’s either dismissive or downright mean. What’s going on?”

Seungmin’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His gaze flickered to the floor before he finally spoke, his voice sharp. “I’m not in the mood to be around anyone today,” he muttered, the words coming out with more bite than he likely intended.

You blinked, taken aback by his response. “You’re not in the mood? Seungmin, you can’t just shut everyone out. Especially not me.”

His eyes flickered with annoyance. “I’m not shutting you out. I’m just... I don’t feel like being fake right now, okay?” He turned away, not looking at you.

“Fake?” you echoed, confused. “Seungmin, I’m not asking you to be fake. But you’re acting like you don’t even care to talk to me. Like I’m some... inconvenience.”

He snorted, a dry sound that made your stomach twist. “Maybe you are,” he muttered under his breath, but you heard it loud and clear. Your heart skipped a beat.

You stared at him, completely thrown off by the venom in his words. “You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “What is it with you? Are you still upset with me about what happened at the beginning of this? Is that why you’re being like this?”

Seungmin’s face froze for a moment. The anger in his eyes softened, but only slightly. “I’m not upset about the show anymore,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still tinged with bitterness. “I just... don’t know how to handle all this. Everything’s been so messed up lately.”

The words stung, but you pushed them aside, your frustration bubbling up again. “So this is your way of dealing with it? By being rude? By shutting me out when I’ve tried to make things better?”

Seungmin didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the floor, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Finally, he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he said, his voice softer now, but still heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions.

“I just want you to be honest,” you said, your voice cracking a little. “I can’t keep trying to make things work when you keep pushing me away.”

Seungmin’s gaze flickered up to meet yours, a flash of guilt passing over his features. But before he could say anything, Hyunjin’s voice came from the other room, interrupting the tension.

“You guys good?” he asked, poking his head around the corner. You gave him a small nod, forcing a smile, but it was clear that the conversation had ended for now.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned and started heading toward the room, your heart heavy. You had no idea what was going on with Seungmin, but you couldn’t handle the coldness any longer.

Hyunjin sat on the couch, his posture casually relaxed, but his mind was far from calm. He had been listening closely, too closely to the argument between you and Seungmin. He could see the tension between you both, but there was something more beneath it, something that he had picked up on over the course of the last few days. He knew Seungmin better than most. They had been through a lot together, both professionally and personally. But today, he could sense the internal conflict that Seungmin was trying so hard to keep hidden. It wasn’t hard to piece together, especially when he had seen how Seungmin had been looking at you. Hyunjin had his own suspicions, but he hadn’t pushed it. Not until now.

He waited a beat after you left before turning toward Seungmin, who stood by the kitchen counter, staring blankly ahead. The mood had shifted again, Seungmin was distant, his shoulders tense. It was obvious he wasn’t happy with what had just transpired. Hyunjin studied him carefully, noticing the clenched jaw, the subtle frown lines on his forehead.

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin began, his voice calm but deliberate, “you should really be a little nicer to her. Don’t you think?”

Seungmin’s eyes snapped to him, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but Hyunjin could hear the edge of annoyance in it.

“I mean, you’ve been acting like a jerk to her,” Hyunjin said bluntly, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed. “And we both know why. It’s because you’ve been holding onto that stupid crush of yours for way too long.”

Seungmin flinched at the words, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up, Hyunjin,” he muttered, though his tone was defensive, like he was trying to push the conversation away before it got any deeper. “That’s not it.”

“Isn’t it?” Hyunjin pressed, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that exactly what it is? You begged me to back out of the show when you found out she was the female lead, remember? I didn’t want to, but you insisted. ‘I can do this,’ you said, ‘I want to do it.’ do you remember, when you begged them to put you on the show instead?”

Seungmin didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted away, but it was clear he couldn’t argue with Hyunjin’s recollection of events. He knew Hyunjin was right, even if he didn’t want to admit it. His feelings for you had been complicated ever since the beginning. It was easier to bury them under the guise of irritation than to confront them. He didn’t even realize how deep it ran until now, and he hated himself for it.

“I told you to shut up,” Seungmin repeated, his voice lower now, almost dangerously quiet. “That’s enough, Hyunjin.”

But Hyunjin wasn’t done. He wasn’t going to back down this time. He stood up from the couch and walked over to Seungmin, who seemed to tense even more as Hyunjin got closer.

“You’re so damn childish about this,” Hyunjin said, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You’ve been acting cold toward her for days, practically ignoring her, and you think she doesn’t notice? You’re not fooling anyone, least of all her. She deserves better than this. She deserves someone who treats her the way she’s supposed to be treated.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “But you’re so stuck in your own head, you can’t even see it.”

Seungmin’s fist clenched, his knuckles going white. He turned away quickly, trying to suppress the anger that bubbled up inside of him. “I don’t need you to lecture me about her,” he snapped. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough,” Hyunjin replied with a smirk, his voice quiet but cutting. “I know you’re just being a damn high schooler about this. You like her, Seungmin, but you don’t know how to handle it, so you push her away. And you wonder why she hasn’t fallen for you yet.”

Seungmin’s eyes flashed with something darker. He spun around, his face red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “Just stay out of it.”

Hyunjin wasn’t intimidated. He only shrugged, his expression one of casual amusement. “I’m not surprised she hasn’t fallen for you yet. You’re so mean to her, you can’t even look her in the eye half the time. You’re pushing her away, Seungmin. And you know it. You’re acting like a damn child.”

The words hit Seungmin harder than anything else Hyunjin had said. It was like a punch to his gut. He hated hearing the truth, but he couldn’t deny it. He had been acting like a fool, and the weight of that realization crashed down on him.

“I’m not a damn child,” Seungmin muttered, but it was weak, almost as if he didn’t believe his own words anymore.

Hyunjin let out a laugh, a short, almost bitter sound. “You are, though. You really are. You’re scared of admitting that you like her, so you’re pushing her away. You’ve been doing it for years, Seungmin. You can’t even talk to her without being rude or distant. You think she doesn’t feel it? You think she doesn’t know?”

Seungmin stared at him, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The anger had drained from him, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. He didn’t know what to say. Hyunjin was right, and it was too painful to admit. He had no excuse for how he’d been acting.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Hyunjin added, his tone lighter now, as though he were trying to bring the moment to a close. “You need to figure this out. Or you’re gonna lose her before you even get the chance to have her.”

Seungmin’s eyes flickered to the floor, his gaze unfocused. The silence between them hung heavy, neither of them knowing what to say next. But it was clear that Hyunjin’s words had gotten under Seungmin’s skin. It wasn’t just the criticism, it was the truth.

Hyunjin, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “Tell Y/N I had to leave, alright? I’ll see you later.”

Seungmin didn’t respond. He didn’t even move as Hyunjin walked past him, heading toward the door.

Before he left, Hyunjin turned back, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “And one more thing,” he added, his voice teasing but serious. “If you don’t figure it out soon, I might just step in myself. You know, I wouldn’t mind spending a month with her.”

The comment hit Seungmin like a punch to the gut, his face flushing red. He almost snapped back at Hyunjin, but before he could open his mouth, the door clicked shut behind him.

Seungmin stood there for a long time, staring at the door, his mind racing. He wanted to chase after Hyunjin, shout at him for being a little too forward, for making him feel so exposed. But deep down, he knew Hyunjin was right. He knew it wasn’t just about the show anymore. He liked you, maybe more than he was willing to admit, but he couldn’t shake the fear that it was too late. He had been so rude, so distant, had he pushed you too far away?

Seungmin’s chest tightened as he walked back to the kitchen, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He grabbed the coffee cup he had brought you earlier and took a long sip, the bitter taste doing nothing to calm the storm brewing inside of him. He should’ve said something to you earlier, he should’ve apologized for his behavior. But now? Now, it felt like he had crossed a line.

He stared at the empty space between him and where you’d been sitting not too long ago. What was he supposed to do now?

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Seungmin sat down in the silence of the kitchen, completely unsure of what the future would hold.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon @geni-627 @enhacolor @jisuperboard @hyujim @alondra6011 lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

But lately, you’d had a rare break.

A small hiatus. Three whole weeks since the end of FLWR’s year-long stadium tour, the first tour on that scale for your group, and the first tour of that size you had ever been part of in your life. You’d performed in cities you’d only ever seen in travel documentaries, danced on stages so big you could barely see the fans in the very back, and lived out of hotel rooms that all started to smell the same.

You were exhausted, but in that strangely satisfying way that comes from knowing you’ve done something incredible.

FLWR was everywhere now, the group name trended every time one of you so much as posted a selfie. In the past year, you’d done interviews in English, Japanese, and even a little Spanish. You’d been in glossy magazine spreads. You’d heard your songs playing in cafés in Paris and taxis in New York. Your group chat with the girls was filled with screenshots of random people on the internet reacting to your tour videos.

The fandom, Bloom had grown into something huge, powerful, and fiercely loyal.

But still… you weren’t them.

Not Dahlia, the leader with a face that looked like it belonged on a painting and a voice that could make a crowd hold its breath. Not Soyeon, the dancing prodigy who could make even a walk across the stage look like choreography. Not Dahee, the charming variety queen who could get an entire audience laughing with just one raised eyebrow. Not Minseo, the baby of the group whose soft voice had somehow stolen the hearts of millions.

You were popular, you knew that. You had your own fans who loved your singing, your quirks, the way you could hold a note forever. But the company didn’t look at you the same way they looked at your members. You saw it in the way the staff talked to them versus to you. You heard it in the tone when executives discussed “marketability.”

You tried not to let it eat you alive. But some days it still did.

That morning, you were still sprawled under the covers, debating whether you could justify going back to sleep after drinking half a cup of lukewarm tea, when your phone started buzzing on the nightstand.

You groaned. Only one person would call you this early without warning.

“Yubin,” you mumbled into the phone, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Hey,” she said quickly, her tone brisk. “Can you be ready in ten minutes? I’m outside.”

That jolted you upright. “What? Why? I don’t have schedules today.”

“You do now. Company meeting.”

You frowned, already swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “What kind of meeting? I wasn’t told—”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

Which was code for I don’t want to tell you right now. You knew her well enough to recognize the avoidance.

You grabbed a hoodie and a cap, not bothering with makeup. Your hair was a mess, but it didn’t matter if it was just a meeting, nobody important would care.

When you slid into the backseat of her car, the city outside was still waking up. The streets were quiet, bathed in that pale early light that made everything look softer.

You buckled your seatbelt. “Okay. Spill. What’s going on?”

Her hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “I can’t say yet. You’ll find out when we get there.”

You stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Yubin. You know I hate being blindsided.”

“I know.”

“So tell me.”

She stayed silent, her jaw working.

You leaned forward, tapping the back of her seat. “Seriously. Just tell me now.”

A long sigh escaped her. She hesitated and that hesitation made your stomach twist.

“The company,” she started slowly, “signed you up for something.”

“Something,” you repeated. “Like what?”

Another pause.

“A reality love show.”

You blinked at her. “What.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” she said quickly, her eyes still on the road. “I knew you’d—”

“I’m not doing that.” Your voice was louder than you intended. “No way.”

“It’s already been finalized.”

“you’re joking, right?!”

“They think it’s a good fit for you.”

You sat back against the seat, shaking your head in disbelief. The idea of standing on a stage in front of fifty thousand people didn’t scare you, but this? Cameras in your face while you pretended to be in some cutesy romance? It felt suffocating. And risky.

“What is it even about?” you demanded.

She kept her gaze on the road. “What they told me is… you’ll be with another male idol. For a few days. Stuck in a house. Cameras everywhere.”

You almost laughed at the absurdity. “Oh my God. Why would they—”

“Like I said,” she interrupted gently, “they think you’re a good fit.”

“Based on what?!”

She didn’t answer.

You narrowed your eyes. “Who is it?”

Her grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Yubin.”

She sighed again, clearly deciding there was no point in hiding it now. “Seungmin. From Stray Kids.”

For a moment, you didn’t breathe.

Then: “No. Absolutely not. I’m not doing that.”

The name felt like a bitter taste in your mouth.

The first time you’d met Seungmin was during your debut promotions. You’d been at a music show, nerves buzzing through your entire body, still clutching your in-ears after rehearsals. It had been a whirlwind day of interviews, soundchecks, and costume fittings, and somewhere between the chaos you’d ducked into one of the smaller back rooms to catch your breath.

He’d been there tall, sharp-featured, and already radiating that self-assured air that only seasoned idols seemed to have. You’d recognized him immediately. Stray Kids had been huge long before your debut, and meeting seniors was supposed to be an exciting, respectful moment.

You’d greeted him cheerfully, bowing a full ninety degrees. “Hello, Seungmin! I’m from FLWR, nice to meet you!”

He’d barely looked at you. A quick nod, a mumbled “Mm,” and then his attention had gone right back to his phone.

It was a small thing, but it stuck. Maybe because you’d been so nervous that day, maybe because you’d grown up in a culture where even the smallest politeness was expected in these moments. Whatever the reason, that one brush-off had carved itself into your memory.

From that day on, you’d filed him under cocky, thinks he’s too good for people.

And now, the company expected you to live in a house with him, surrounded by cameras, pretending to be… what? Interested? Friendly?

You scoffed just thinking about it.

In the front seat, Yubin glanced at you through the mirror. “I know you’re not happy about this, but—”

“No. There’s no ‘but.’ This is a terrible idea.”

“They’re not going to back out,” she said softly. “And honestly… if you do well on the show, it might help your solo debut.”

That was the dagger you’d been waiting for, the reminder of where you stood in the company’s eyes. You weren’t Dahlia or Soyeon or Dahee or Minseo. You didn’t have a guaranteed chart-topping solo. You were the one they were nervous about.

The one who had to prove herself.

You turned your gaze to the window, watching the buildings blur past. The day already felt too long, and it hadn’t even really started.

If you’d known what was waiting for you at the company building, maybe you would have told Yubin to turn the car around right then.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

And maybe, though you wouldn’t admit it, a part of you was already curious. Not about Seungmin. Definitely not about him.

But about why, out of all the idols in the industry, they’d chosen you for this.

-

The elevator ride up to the twelfth floor was too quiet.

Yubin stood beside you, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors. You kept your gaze on your reflection in the brushed metal walls, wondering if you looked as tired as you felt. The hoodie and cap had been fine in the car, but now, knowing you were walking into a meeting with executives, you wished you’d at least thrown on some lip tint.

You caught her glance at you out of the corner of her eye. Not a warm glance, not the kind that said Don’t worry, it’s fine. More like the cautious look of someone about to hand you a gift wrapped grenade.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

The twelfth floor of the building was nothing like the lower levels. Downstairs, there were practice rooms, makeup stations, racks of stage outfits. Here, the air smelled faintly of expensive coffee, and the lighting was so even it made the white walls almost clinical.

The meeting room was already full when you walked in.

Three people you recognized immediately, part of the FLWR oversight team, the ones who approved every song, every photo concept, every television appearance. They smiled politely at you, the kind of smiles that didn’t reach the eyes.

And then two strangers: both middle aged, well-dressed, with that effortless posture that said we’re in charge of something important. You didn’t need an introduction to know they were producers from the show.

“Come in, sit,” one of the FLWR staff members said, motioning to the chair at the far end of the glossy conference table. Yubin took the seat beside you, opening her tablet.

You clasped your hands in your lap and waited.

One of the strangers, a man in a navy blazer, leaned forward. “We’ll get right to the point,” he said, his tone brisk but not unfriendly. “We’re producing a new program in collaboration with your company. A reality series romantic format, idol-focused. And you’ve been selected as our female lead.”

You already knew this part, thanks to Yubin. But hearing it phrased like lead role didn’t make you feel any better.

The woman sitting beside him smiled warmly. “We think the concept will resonate with fans. It’s called One Month, One Love.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

She continued, “The premise is simple: one idol couple, one house, one month. Twenty-four-seven camera coverage.”

Your brows furrowed. “Wait. A month?” You turned sharply toward Yubin.

She was studying the papers in front of her like they were suddenly fascinating.

“You didn’t tell me that part,” you said flatly.

Her only response was a small, guilty shrug.

The woman from the show carried on as if you hadn’t spoken. “The goal is to explore whether two famous idols can develop a genuine connection under constant observation. It’s… intimate, yes, but also a unique experiment. Fans love the mystery around idols’ dating lives, this is a safe way to give them a glimpse without breaking the rules.”

Safe. You almost laughed. There was nothing safe about this.

One of the FLWR oversight staff who had been with the group since pre-debut, chimed in. “The couple will have no contact outside the filming schedule, to maintain the integrity of the show. But during the month, you’ll be living together. Cooking, cleaning, talking. Going on planned dates.”

The other producer leaned in slightly. “And, of course, acting like a couple. Holding hands, sitting close, maybe sharing a blanket on the couch. Enough for the viewers to believe in the story.”

You stared at them, incredulous. “You’re telling me I have to fake date someone for a month, on camera, and the entire world will be watching?”

“Exactly,” the woman said, still smiling as if she were offering you a vacation.

“And I don’t get a choice in this?”

The navy blazer man’s tone cooled slightly. “You’ve already been signed by your agency for this project. And…” He hesitated, then said, “There is a contractual clause. Backing out now would result in penalties.”

You froze. “Penalties?”

He spoke again, his voice quieter, as if trying to soften the blow. “Both you and your partner’s agencies have agreed to terms that include financial compensation to the network if either of you withdraw. It’s… not a small amount.”

Of course it wasn’t.

The woman added quickly, “We only put those measures in place because we’ve seen projects like this collapse when one party gets cold feet. We can’t afford that here.”

You sat back, trying to process. The air in the room felt heavier now, pressing against your skin.

This wasn’t just an appearance. This was a trap dressed up as an opportunity.

Your mind went to Seungmin, unbidden. His face in that music show dressing room years ago. The way he’d barely acknowledged you, like you’d been some overeager rookie beneath his notice. And now, you’d have to spend thirty straight days pretending you were falling for him?

You exhaled slowly, forcing your voice to stay calm. “When does this… filming… start?”

“One week from today,” the navy blazer man said. “We’ll have you both moved into the house the day before, so you can settle in before the cameras go live.”

You felt your stomach turn. One week. That wasn’t enough time to mentally prepare for spending a month in close quarters with someone you couldn’t stand.

From your left, Yubin cleared her throat. “I’ll make sure her schedule is clear for that month.”

You shot her a look, sharp enough that she finally met your eyes, though only for a second before glancing back at her tablet.

One of the FLWR staff members, a woman named Jiyeon, smiled at you. “Think of it as an acting challenge. You’re a performer, you can do this.”

You didn’t answer. Because yes, you were a performer. But performing on stage was different. There, you could lose yourself in a song for three minutes, bow, and walk away. Here, you’d be on all the time, with no curtain call.

The woman producer slid a folder across the table toward you. “Inside, you’ll find the basic guidelines, the filming schedule, and the list of approved activities. We’ll send you wardrobe suggestions as well. Oh, and there’s a short questionnaire we’d like you to fill out today, just to help us tailor the show to your personalities.”

You glanced down at the folder, then back up at her. “Personalities,” you echoed, your tone flat.

“Exactly,” she said brightly. “We want it to feel authentic.”

The irony almost made you laugh. Authentic, in a relationship you were contractually forced into.

If you’d had any illusions about this being something you could quietly fade through, they shattered the moment the meeting ended.

One month. One house. One boy you couldn’t stand. And no escape without making yourself, and FLWR look like the villains.

When you stood to leave, Yubin gave you a small, almost apologetic smile. You didn’t return it. Not yet.

Because you knew the next week would feel like the longest countdown of your life.

-

You didn’t tell the girls right away.

Not because you wanted to keep it a secret, that would’ve been impossible anyway, but because you needed a day to process it yourself. A full twenty-four hours of letting the words One house. One month. Seungmin. rattle around in your head until they stopped making your pulse spike.

They never really stopped, though. They just became… background noise.

The next evening, you were at the dorm. It was one of the rare nights all five of you were in the same place without schedules, scattered across the living room in various states of laziness. Dahlia was curled into the corner of the couch with a book. Dahee had claimed the middle cushion, scrolling through her phone. Soyeon sat cross-legged on the floor, working through stretches that looked painful just to watch. Minseo was lying on her stomach, chin propped on her hands, watching a cooking show on the TV.

You were in the armchair, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves covering your hands.

It should’ve been peaceful.

But then Yubin’s voice echoed in your head from yesterday: Filming starts in a week.

You exhaled slowly. “I have something to tell you.”

That got their attention immediately. Four sets of eyes turned toward you.

“Is it good news or bad?” Minseo asked, sitting up a little.

“That depends on how you define bad,” you muttered.

Dahlia closed her book. “Go on.”

You hesitated, then decided ripping off the band-aid was best. “The company signed me up for a reality show.”

Dahee tilted her head. “Like… variety variety? Or dating variety?”

“Dating,” you said flatly.

That was all it took.

The reaction was instant, four different voices overlapping, squeals and laughter mixing in the air.

“Wait, what?” Minseo gasped.

“Oh my God,” Dahlia grinned.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” Soyeon teased from the floor.

Dahee smirked. “You finally got caught, huh?”

You held up a hand. “Calm down. It’s not what you think. I didn’t choose this. The company did.”

They ignored that.

“Who is it?” Dahlia pressed.

You stared at them for a beat before saying it. “…Stray Kids’ Seungmin.”

That set off another round of noise half teasing, half disbelief.

Dahlia’s grin widened. “Okay, but… he’s attractive. You can’t deny that. Maybe you’ll fall for him.”

You scoffed so hard it made her laugh. “No. Absolutely not. Do you remember the time I had to MC with him? He barely looked at me the whole time, and I think he said maybe five words total.”

Dahlia tilted her head. “Maybe he was nervous.”

You shot her a look. “Nervous? He’s been in the industry longer than us. He’s done MC gigs before.”

Dahee chimed in, her tone softer but still playful. “Ignore her. But… maybe keep in mind that idols aren’t always having the best days. You should know that.” She got up from the couch and padded over, slipping her arms around your shoulders in a back hug. “Sometimes people are distant because they’re dealing with other stuff, not because they don’t like you.”

You let her warmth sink in for a moment before sighing. “Maybe. But I still don’t like him.”

“Fair,” she murmured, squeezing once before letting go.

Minseo spoke up from the couch. “Well, I think Seungmin’s attractive too. So if it doesn’t work out…” She grinned. “Please pass him my number.”

You turned to glare at her, but it only made her burst into laughter.

Dahlia, still holding her book like she’d forgotten it entirely, shrugged. “To be fair, every time I’ve interacted with him or the rest of Stray Kids, they were nice.”

You blinked at her. “Are you serious?”

She nodded without hesitation.

Your brows furrowed. “Then why…?” You trailed off, the thought unfinished.

“Why what?” Soyeon asked.

You glanced down at your hoodie sleeves. “…Why doesn’t he like me?”

The room quieted just a little at that.

Soyeon leaned back on her hands, studying you. “Don’t overthink it.”

“How can I not overthink it?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “What if I did something without realizing? What if I offended him somehow?”

Minseo, still lounging, tilted her head. “Or maybe…” Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “…maybe he thinks you’re attractive, and he’s acting cold so he doesn’t catch real feelings.”

The room erupted in laughter again, except you. You just gave her a look that said absolutely not.

But her words stuck in your head longer than you wanted them to.

You had been dreading this day since the meeting.

It had lived in the back of your mind like an unwelcome guest, stealing pieces of every hour you tried to enjoy. Even when you were out with the girls, even when you were curled under blankets watching dramas, there it was, the quiet knowledge that soon, you’d be stuck in a house with him.

And now soon had become now.

The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the filming location, a two-story modern house with big glass windows and a neat little garden that looked like it had been designed for Instagram. Even from the outside, you could tell it was the kind of place that felt less like a home and more like a perfectly staged photo.

Your fingers stayed locked around the seatbelt.

“I’m not getting out,” you said before Yubin could even reach for the door handle.

She glanced at you over her shoulder. “We’ve been over this—”

“He’s already here.” You didn’t even need to ask, you’d spotted a black van parked nearby, and a pair of unfamiliar shoes just inside the doorway.

“Mm,” Yubin confirmed as she pushed her sunglasses up her nose. “His manager said he’s inside getting settled.”

You slouched lower in your seat. “Then I’ll wait until he’s… done.”

Yubin didn’t answer immediately. She loved you, you knew she did. She’d been with you since the chaotic, sleep-deprived pre-debut days, back when FLWR was just five girls in a cramped dorm with peeling wallpaper and no guarantee of success. She’d been the one to keep you from falling apart on bad days, the one who quietly slipped your favorite snacks into your bag before a long schedule.

But she also knew her job. And today, her job wasn’t to shield you, it was to make sure you walked through that door before the company accused her of “delays.”

So instead of coaxing you, she opened her own door and got out. You watched her walk over to greet a man you assumed was Seungmin’s manager. They shook hands like they were old friends, voices low but friendly.

You caught bits of it through the open car window.

“…He’s inside… getting settled,” his manager was saying.

“Ah, thank you,” Yubin replied, her smile professional.

You stayed exactly where you were.

When she came back, she didn’t bother trying to negotiate. She opened your door, reached in, and tugged lightly at your arm. Not rough, but enough to make it clear you weren’t staying put.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll get your bags. Just go inside.”

You crossed your arms like a sulky teenager. “I don’t want to.”

She gave you one last look, part sympathy, part please don’t make this harder and then a small push toward the sidewalk.

“Go,” she said quietly.

You exhaled loudly, muttering something that wasn’t quite words, and stepped out.

Seungmin’s manager smiled politely as you passed. You forced yourself to return the gesture.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of fresh paint and furniture polish. The floor was spotless, the light pouring in from the windows so bright it almost made you squint. It looked exactly like the photos the producers had shown you open kitchen, spacious living room, stairs leading up to the bedrooms.

You weren’t really paying attention, though. Your mind was on not running into him right away.

Which is exactly why you walked straight into him.

The impact jolted you, sending a dull ache up your nose, the part of you that had taken the brunt of the collision.

“You could watch where you’re going,” Seungmin said, voice low and matter-of-fact.

You bit back the response that bubbled up instantly and rubbed your nose instead.

He stepped back, looking entirely unbothered. “I already claimed my room. Since you’re late.” He nodded toward the larger of the two rooms, then pointed toward a smaller door on the opposite side of the hall. “That one’s yours.”

You stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

He didn’t look like he was.

You were just opening your mouth to snap something back when Yubin and his manager entered, dragging your bags behind them.

“That should be everything,” Yubin said, brushing hair out of her face.

You stepped forward to take the suitcase from her. “Thanks.”

She smiled faintly. “Glad you two have met already. The producers will be here tomorrow morning to install cameras everywhere. So for now…” She gave you a little look that was almost mischievous. “…Enjoy the camera-free day. Clean up, make it feel homey.”

You nearly scoffed out loud. Homey. Right.

Seungmin’s manager nodded in agreement. “We’ll leave you to it. Remember, Seungmin, I’m a call away. Anything you need.”

Seungmin nodded, lifting a hand in a casual wave.

Yubin turned to you, her expression softening. “I’ll be back in a few days to check in. The company said I’ll stop by once in a while over the month anyway.”

That was not good enough. You rushed over, lowering your voice. “You don’t have to go. Seriously. Just… stay for a little while.”

The look you gave her said what you didn’t: Don’t leave me alone with him.

She hesitated, you saw it but in the end, she shook her head apologetically. “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble if I linger. You’ll be fine. Call me if you need anything.”

And then she was gone.

The silence that followed was heavy.

“I didn’t want to do this either,” Seungmin said suddenly, breaking it. “Hyunjin was supposed to be here instead of me.”

You froze mid-step. “…What?”

He leaned casually against the wall, like this was a boring conversation. “He had to drop out. Brand shoot conflict.”

Hwang Hyunjin. You could’ve been stuck in a house with him instead?

You let out a sharp huff, bending to grab your bags. They were heavier than you remembered, probably because Yubin had insisted on carrying them from your dorm, meaning you hadn’t felt their weight until now.

You tried to hoist both duffle bags onto your shoulders while dragging your massive suitcase with the other hand. The balance was impossible, every step felt like you might tip over.

When one duffle started to slide off your shoulder, you muttered under your breath, adjusting your grip.

Seungmin just stood there, watching.

“You could at least help,” you said finally, your patience thinning.

He rolled his eyes but stepped forward anyway, taking both duffle bags from you with ease.

“Suitcase is yours,” he said simply before heading toward the stairs.

You gripped the handle of the suitcase, its wheels squeaking faintly against the polished floor as you followed him toward what would be your smallest-room-in-the-house prison for the next month.

And this was only day zero.

You had barely slept the night before.

It wasn’t just nerves though those were there, heavy in your stomach, it was the awareness that when you woke up, everything about your life for the next month would change. You’d be watched. Every word, every blink, every sigh recorded. And not just recorded broadcast, analyzed, replayed in slow motion by people who’d decide for themselves what you meant.

When Yubin showed up that morning, she wasn’t alone.

Behind her came two of FLWR’s stylists and a makeup artist, wheeling in cases and garment bags like they were preparing you for an awards show.

You blinked at them. “What’s all this?”

“First day,” Yubin said, setting her phone on the counter. “They want you looking perfect. First impressions.”

“You mean they want me marketable,” you muttered.

She didn’t deny it.

The makeup artist was already unpacking brushes, laying them out in a neat line like surgical tools. One of the stylists started hanging clothes in the open closet by the door, casual enough for a “cozy” reality show, but with the kind of tailoring that didn’t exist in normal people’s wardrobes.

You sat obediently while they worked, letting them dab concealer under your eyes, blend blush into your cheeks, smooth flyaways with a gentle tug. Yubin stayed close, scrolling through her phone, occasionally glancing at you in the mirror.

Meanwhile, the house was transforming around you.

Camera operators moved like shadows, lugging tripods from room to room. Lighting techs crouched by outlets, plugging in panels. Producers huddled together near the kitchen island, whispering about angles and “key emotional beats.” Every so often, someone passed by with a black case that looked like it could hold either a camera lens or a small bomb.

You watched a tech in the living room mount a small, black camera to the corner of the wall, one of at least five you’d spotted already.

“Will I even have a bit of privacy?” you asked Yubin quietly.

She didn’t look up from her phone. “Bathroom.”

You let out a loud sigh.

She finally glanced at you, lips quirking in a small smile. “Cheer up. It’s just thirty days. And remember, once Dahlia finishes her solo promotions, Minseo’s next. Then you. Filming this now lines up perfectly for your debut push.”

You knew she was right. It had been the plan since the beginning: you’d finish the show, the hype would hopefully be on your side, and your solo debut would hit while your name was still trending. The meeting with the producers had made it clear, if the show did well, your debut numbers would likely follow.

That didn’t make it feel any less claustrophobic.

When the stylists finished, Yubin gave you a final once-over and nodded. “Perfect.”

The FLWR staff said their goodbyes soon after, along with Seungmin’s team. Bags packed, vans idling outside, promises to “check in soon.” And just like that, the two of you were alone.

Well, not really.

The house felt crowded even without people in it. Your gaze flicked around, catching on the tiny red lights that winked from the corners of the walls, the microphones disguised as decorative items, the faint hum of electronics.

The only other person here was the one you’d spent years avoiding.

The first task was scripted: an introduction interview.

You sat together on the couch, side by side but with a polite gap between you. The producer behind the main camera prompted you to say your names, talk briefly about your groups, and share “how you’re feeling” about the show.

Your smile felt stiff, but you delivered the lines.

“I’m curious to see how this will go,” you said, which was as close as you could get to the truth without causing a PR fire.

Seungmin’s answer was smoother, but equally non-committal: “It’s new for me, but I’ll do my best.”

The producer seemed satisfied. The crew began packing up, wishing you both “good luck.”

The front door clicked shut behind them.

For the first time, it was really just the two of you.

“Are you hungry?” Seungmin asked suddenly.

The question caught you off guard. You turned toward him, wary. “…A little.”

“I can make you something,” he said, already moving toward the kitchen.

You blinked. This was… new. Not the Seungmin who’d barely looked at you when you’d first met, or the one who’d claimed the big bedroom without discussion.

You followed him, still cautious, as he opened the fridge, now fully stocked by the staff. Eggs, vegetables, prepped meat, even neatly labeled containers of sauces. He pulled out a few things, setting them on the counter.

Without being asked, you stepped in to help washing vegetables, handing him utensils. The air between you stayed quiet but not entirely tense.

He broke the silence first. “So… how’s FLWR? You guys just finished your tour, right?”

You nodded. “A year. Stadiums. We wrapped a few weeks ago.”

He hummed. “Must’ve been intense.”

“It was,” you said. “Worth it. But exhausting.” You glanced at him. “Stray Kids just finished too, didn’t you?”

He nodded, slicing with practiced ease. “Same. Flying every week, barely resting before the next show… By the last leg, I didn’t know what city we were in half the time.”

You smiled faintly. “Same.”

By the time you sat down to eat, the conversation had loosened just enough to feel… human. You took a cautious bite and immediately hated that it was delicious.

Halfway through the meal, the topic drifted naturally or maybe deliberately, the way the producers had hinted they wanted, into the harder parts of idol life.

You found yourself talking about the distance from your family, the birthdays and holidays you’d missed. About how sometimes, even surrounded by thousands of fans, you felt completely alone.

You weren’t sure why you were saying any of it. You weren’t the type to share your hardships openly not with strangers, not even with people you didn’t fully trust. But maybe it was the fact that he did understand. That, despite everything, he’d lived a version of the same life.

Your throat tightened before you could stop it. You blinked rapidly, but a few tears slipped free anyway.

Seungmin didn’t comment. He just reached for a tissue and held it out.

You took it, pressing it lightly to your eyes. “…Sorry. I don’t usually…”

“It’s fine,” he said simply, and went back to his food.

You let out a quiet laugh through your sniffle. “I just… Sometimes it’s suffocating. Keeping it all in.”

He nodded. “I get that. I don’t like to burden my members, either.”

“Exactly.” You sat back, a little calmer now. “It’s easier to just pretend you’re fine.”

He didn’t say anything more, but you caught the small flicker in his expression, the kind that said me too.

And just like that, the month ahead felt… not easier, exactly. But maybe less impossible.

After dinner, the house grew unnervingly quiet.

The clatter of pots and pans had stopped, the gentle hum of conversation gone with it. The only sound left was the faint whir of cameras as their lenses adjusted every so often, following motion like small, unblinking eyes.

You busied yourself by rinsing the dishes and wiping down the counter, mostly to avoid sitting in awkward silence. Seungmin had taken care of the stovetop, working methodically, his movements quiet but efficient.

When everything was put away, you found yourself standing in the middle of the kitchen with nothing left to do. Your gaze drifted toward the living room, but the thought of curling up there under the watchful gaze of at least three cameras made your skin crawl.

You were scanning for something, anything to keep yourself occupied when Seungmin straightened, wiped his hands on a towel, and said, “I’m gonna use the restroom.”

You nodded absently. “Okay.”

He disappeared down the short hallway toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

You didn’t think anything of it at first.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. You figured maybe he was showering, but you didn’t hear water running.

Another twenty minutes ticked by.

You glanced toward the closed door, then toward the cameras, one perched in the hallway corner, the other in the kitchen. Both were angled away from the bathroom entrance, but their presence was still obvious, a constant reminder that nowhere in this house felt truly private except for that single locked space.

Half an hour became forty minutes.

By the time you hit the one-hour mark, curiosity had shifted into mild irritation.

It was the only bathroom. And now you needed it.

At first, you told yourself to wait. He’d probably come out any second. But the seconds dragged into minutes, and the minutes began stacking until it had been nearly an hour and a half.

Finally, you walked down the hallway, your socks barely making a sound on the floor. You stopped just outside the door, hesitating.

A faint sound leaked through the wood tinny, distant.

You leaned closer, pressing your ear gently against the surface. The noise became clearer: not music, but dialogue. The muffled rise and fall of voices, underscored by dramatic background music. A movie. You frowned.

Knocking lightly, you called, “Seungmin?”

Inside, you heard a sharp rustle, like someone fumbling with something. Then his voice, slightly startled: “Yeah?”

“Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah. Just… using the restroom.”

You stared at the door. “For an hour and a half?”

Silence.

Something in you, maybe the fatigue, maybe the frustration decided you’d had enough waiting. You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, bracing yourself for the worst, and turned.

It opened easily.

Seungmin was sitting on the floor, back leaning against the base of the sink cabinet, legs stretched out in front of him. His phone was balanced in one hand, the light from the screen illuminating his face in a faint blue glow.

He jumped when the door swung open, gasping like he’d been caught committing a federal crime. His phone nearly slipped from his hand, and he fumbled to pause whatever was playing.

“What are you doing?” you demanded.

For a split second, he looked like he might actually answer seriously. Then he scoffed, recovering some of his usual indifference. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s not a single room out there without a camera.”

You folded your arms.

He gestured vaguely with his phone. “So I’m watching my movie. This is the only place they can’t see me.”

You stared at him. “…You locked yourself in here for an hour and a half just to watch a movie?”

“Yes,” he said flatly, like it was the most logical thing in the world.

You exhaled through your nose, pinching the bridge of it briefly. “Well, congratulations, but I need to use the restroom. So out.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pushed himself up with a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”

You stepped aside as he walked past, rolling his eyes like you were the one being unreasonable.

The moment he disappeared into the living room, you shut the door behind you with a little more force than necessary.

By the time you emerged again, he was stretched out on the couch, phone still in hand, the faintest smirk on his lips like he was amused that you’d gone through the trouble of confronting him.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But in your head, you were already wondering how many more bizarre moments like this the next twenty-nine days would hold.

The sun dipped behind the blinds without ceremony, casting the living room in that bluish half-light that made everything feel a little more closed in.

You’d expected that once night came, things might relax, maybe the producers would call it a wrap and leave you some space. But no. The tiny red lights on each camera still blinked steadily, unblinking, recording every shift, every sigh.

You and Seungmin sat on opposite ends of the couch. The space between you was wide enough to park a car in, but it still felt too close.

At first, you scrolled through your phone, pretending you had a hundred unread messages to catch up on. In reality, you were reading the same texts from Dahlia over and over, her teasing emojis from earlier in the day, a couple of “fighting!” messages, and one not-so-helpful, “try not to kill him on the first week 😘.”

Seungmin was also on his phone, earbuds in, occasionally letting out a faint chuckle at whatever he was watching. You glanced once just once and caught sight of some gaming livestream, the bright colors reflecting in his eyes. He looked… different when he was focused on something that wasn’t you. Softer, almost.

You hated that you noticed.

For the next hour, you both avoided direct conversation. The only sounds were the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the occasional creak of the house settling, and the distant clatter of his game’s sound effects.

By the second hour, the silence had started to feel heavier.

Your phone battery was dying, but plugging it into the outlet meant getting up, which would mean moving in front of at least two cameras and you didn’t feel like giving them that kind of footage.

So instead, you shifted in your seat, pulled your knees up, and tried to get comfortable.

“You’re fidgeting,” Seungmin said suddenly, not looking away from his screen.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You keep moving around,” he said, voice even. “It’s distracting.”

You stared at him. “Well, maybe if there was something to do in this house, I wouldn’t be fidgeting.”

He finally looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “You could talk to me.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Pass.”

By the third hour, you’d had enough of just sitting there. You retreated to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something to snack on, partly to break the monotony and partly to avoid him.

Seungmin called after you, “Don’t eat all the good stuff, we’re here for a month.”

You resisted the urge to throw a piece of bread at him.

Eventually, you settled on some grapes and returned to your end of the couch, popping them into your mouth one by one while scrolling aimlessly again.

It was around 10 PM when one of the producers’ earlier instructions replayed in your mind: “You should both try to spend most of your evening in shared spaces for the first few days so the audience can get to know your chemistry.”

Chemistry. Right.

You sighed audibly, earning a side glance from Seungmin. “Something wrong?” he asked, tone dry.

“Other than being stuck here with you? Nope. Totally fine.”

He smirked faintly but didn’t respond.

By 11, your irritation had shifted into something more like exhaustion. The kind that comes from being on all day cameras, fake smiles, and a house that didn’t feel like yours.

You stood, stretching your arms over your head. “I’m going to bed.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “It’s early.”

“It’s late enough,” you shot back.

You headed toward your small room, the one he’d so kindly “assigned” you earlier and shut the door behind you, leaning your back against it for a moment.

For the first time all day, you were alone without anyone watching.

But instead of relief, you felt a strange buzz in your chest. Not quite anger. Not quite… anything you could name.

Just the lingering image of Seungmin sitting at the other end of the couch, smirking at you like he had all the time in the world.

-

You weren’t sure what had woken you first, the light slipping through the thin curtains or the obnoxious mechanical whirring echoing from somewhere beyond your bedroom door.

It wasn’t the gentle hum of a fridge or the distant creak of pipes. No. This was aggressive. Industrial. Something that did not belong in the fragile stillness of an early morning.

You groaned, rolling onto your side, dragging the blanket over your head in the hope that it might block out whatever monster was roaring to life in the kitchen. But the sound didn’t just continue, it got louder, sharper, like whoever was making it had moved the blender closer to the doorway just to spite you.

Your eyes cracked open. The red light from the tiny camera in the corner blinked steadily back at you, reminding you that yes, your very first moments of irritation for the day were being immortalized. Somewhere, a producer was probably already sipping their coffee and enjoying the footage.

You kicked off the blanket with a huff and reached for the first piece of clothing your hand could find, a worn oversized sweater you’d stuffed into your suitcase at the last minute. It still smelled faintly of your apartment. Home. Somewhere far, far away from here.

Dragging it over your head, you shuffled toward the door, socks whispering against the floor, eyes barely open. You didn’t bother checking the mirror. If the cameras wanted your bedhead, they could have it.

The moment you stepped into the hallway, the noise doubled in volume, bouncing off the walls.

There he was.

Seungmin stood in the middle of the pristine kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair annoyingly perfect for someone who had clearly been awake for a while. His hand was on the blender lid, holding it down like he was conducting an orchestra of noise. A faint, infuriating curve lifted the corner of his mouth not a full smile, but enough to send a clear message.

He knew. He knew you were still asleep. He knew this would drag you out of bed.

And he was enjoying it.

The blender finally cut off with a sharp click. Silence rushed back into the space, almost dizzying after the racket. You blinked at him, disbelief written across your face.

“You’re kidding,” you muttered, voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” he said casually, as though he hadn’t just waged an acoustic war against your REM cycle.

You didn’t dignify him with more words. You just stared at the ridiculous smoothie in his hand, bright, unnatural purple and then turned on your heel.

If you stayed in that kitchen one second longer, the microphones might catch something you’d regret.

The floor felt cold under your socks as you padded back down the hallway. You didn’t slam your bedroom door, slamming it would be too much of a win for him but you closed it with the deliberate weight of someone announcing, I am done with you for now.

You flopped onto the bed, dragging the sweater’s hood over your head like you could disappear inside it.

Your phone buzzed.

A text from Yubin lit up the screen:

How’s it going so far? Need me to stop by?

You didn’t hesitate. Your thumbs flew over the keys.

Yes. Get me out of here.

For a second, you almost felt relief. Yubin could come, maybe take you for a walk, give you a break from Seungmin’s smug early-morning antics.

But then, her reply came. Not words. Just a single yellow thumbs-down emoji.

You stared at it. That was it. No sympathy. No “hang in there.” Not even a “lol.” Just rejection in emoji form. You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost painful and tossed your phone onto the pillow beside you.

Lying there, sweater sleeves bunched around your hands, you thought about how this was only day two. Maybe not even a full day.

And there were twenty-eight more to go.

You exhaled through your nose, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling in the early light.

How were you supposed to survive a month like this?

//

masterlist.

a/n: this is only part 1! more angst and drama to come (,:

you met taehyun during your first year of university, both of you quiet but oddly compatible from the start. it began with you sitting next to each other during intro to comparative literature, silently exchanging glances during awkward icebreakers, sharing sighs when the professor assigned a 10-page paper in the second week. it was a natural progression—first study sessions at the library, then morning coffee runs before lectures, until eventually you were part of each other’s routines without really noticing when it happened.

he was smart, thoughtful in that understated way, always carrying a notebook half-full of ideas or lyrics or just random observations. you liked being around him, even if you didn’t talk about everything. and he liked being around you, even if he never said it out loud. your dynamic was comfortable, even domestic. after early classes, you’d both stop at the campus café for breakfast—he always paid, no matter how often you tried to fight him on it—and then you’d split: him to whatever mysterious thing he had lined up next, you to your shift at the small off-campus café where you worked until closing.

he once mentioned that he worked nights too, when you were both sharing notes at his place. “it’s nothing serious,” he said, shrugging, eyes not quite meeting yours. “just something to make rent.” you’d smiled at him, trusting him enough not to ask. “as long as it’s not illegal or life-threatening, i won’t pry.” “it’s not,” he’d chuckled, almost too quickly. “then don’t worry. we all hustle.”

and that was the end of it.

the thing was—you were always a little tired, always stretched too thin between your coursework and your café shifts. taehyun noticed, and he started walking you home whenever he could, even if it meant going out of his way. he’d wait for you outside your café on thursdays when your closing shift dragged late, hands buried in his coat pockets, hoodie half-zipped and eyes sleepy. you teased him for it, told him he didn’t need to play the part of the noble friend—but secretly, you liked how protective he could be. how safe it felt walking beside him under the quiet streetlights.

you didn’t question much, even when you noticed little things: how he never took calls around you, how he was careful with his phone, how sometimes he’d show up to morning lectures looking like he hadn’t slept at all. maybe you just didn’t want to disturb the balance you had. maybe you thought, whatever it was, it didn’t matter—not as long as he kept being your taehyun.

that illusion held until one afternoon when you were sitting at the back patio of the café on your break, sipping watered-down iced coffee with sei and doyeon.

you’d known them both since your first semester—sei was bright and unpredictable, always saying things that caught people off guard; doyeon was calmer, serious about her studies, but sweet once you got past the reserved surface. the three of you didn’t always get time to hang out, but when you did, it was always honest, laughter bubbling up between complaints about professors, roommates, and endless assignments.

that day, doyeon had been especially stressed. “i’m thinking of quitting my job,” she said, pressing a cold can of soda to her cheek. “i just can’t keep up with school and working five shifts a week.”

“you’re still at the convenience store, right?” you asked, and she nodded, grimacing.

“i’m thinking of just going back to my parents’ place. it’s a bit far, but at least i won’t have to pay rent.”

“unless you find another source of income,” you said with a wry smile, “like opening an onlyfans.”

sei choked on her drink, laughing so hard she had to wipe her mouth. “god, i dare you.”

“no way,” doyeon said, laughing along. “i wouldn’t even know what to do. besides, what would i post?”

“feet pics,” you said with a grin. “or softcore cosplay.”

sei leaned back in her chair, smirking. “you know… you should do what taehyun does.”

you blinked. “wait, taehyun?”

“what, he never told you?” sei asked, and you watched the mischief light up in her eyes like a match held too close to gasoline. “he’s a streamer.”

“like… video games?” you asked, confused, already picturing taehyun in his room, headset on, calm voice narrating through long hours of league or valorant.

sei snorted. “not quite.”

“what does that mean?” doyeon asked, suddenly alert.

sei looked between the two of you, grinning wide. “he’s a camboy.”

the words didn’t land at first. they just hovered, too surreal, too sharp in the open air.

“a… what?” you said slowly.

“camboy,” sei repeated, clearly enjoying herself now. “you know. the kind of streamer who jerks off for tips.”

doyeon’s mouth fell open. “you’re serious?”

sei nodded, sipping casually from her drink like she hadn’t just flipped your entire world on its head.

you sat frozen, the sounds around you dulling under the pounding in your chest. something twisted in your stomach—shock first, then confusion, then something darker. was that the job he’d been hiding from you all this time? was that what he did at night?

your throat was dry. your thoughts scrambled. you wanted to say it didn’t make sense—but as your brain began to connect the pieces, everything started clicking into place.

the sleepless eyes. the careful secrecy. the way he’d always deflected questions. the soft voice when he whispered through the phone, once, thinking you were asleep: i’m working late tonight, i’ll see you in the morning.

you hadn’t thought twice then.

now you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

sei kept talking, clearly unaware—or maybe fully aware—of the storm inside you. “i mean, he’s hot, so it’s not shocking,” she said. “he’s got that whole mysterious, low-voice, pretty-hands thing going for him. and the girls in my dorm? obsessed.”

doyeon leaned forward, whispering like someone afraid to get caught. “but how do you know?”

“i’ve seen the stream,” sei said, almost smug. “i only realized it was him because i used to… well, we used to date. for a while. he never told me outright, but when i stumbled on the stream by accident one night—his voice, the way he touches his own mouth when he gets too into it—there was no mistaking him.”

you couldn’t breathe.

your mind was flooded with the sound of his voice. your taehyun. the same one who passed you sticky notes during class, who held doors open for you, who offered you his hoodie when it rained. the one you trusted, the one you never questioned. the one who never told you.

a camboy.

it sounded unreal.

but maybe the most unreal part was how your heart wasn’t recoiling in judgment. it was racing with something else entirely.

because if it was true… you wanted to see it for yourself.

you laid on your bed like someone who had been carrying too many thoughts and finally collapsed beneath their weight. your hair was a mess, your shirt slightly twisted from how you had rolled over too quickly, restlessly, like your body couldn’t decide what to do with itself. taehyun had texted earlier that he couldn’t pick you up tonight because he had a “commitment,” and you’d replied with a simple "no worries," even adding a smiley face you didn’t feel. in truth, a part of you felt relieved — you didn’t want to see him. not yet. not with everything sei had said echoing in your head like it was stuck in a loop. a camboy, seriously? the idea alone had been hard to grasp. taehyun, your taehyun, the guy who helped you cram for exams and always remembered your coffee order, doing... that?

you turned onto your side and stared at your laptop sitting quietly on your desk, closed but somehow louder than anything else in the room. your fingers twitched like they were reaching for something even you didn’t want to admit. maybe it was curiosity. maybe it was something else entirely. the thought that maybe sei was wrong lingered for a moment, but she hadn’t looked like she was joking. she had laughed in that knowing, sharp way that made you feel like the only one left in the dark. you bit your lip, hesitating, before finally sitting up and dragging the laptop onto your bed.

your fingers hovered over the keyboard. you typed slowly — deliberately — as if every key pressed was another line crossed. camboy livestream site. the search results loaded almost instantly, and your heart pounded in your ears like you were about to do something criminal. you hesitated, thinking about the things your grandmother used to say — that angels watched over you, that you were never really alone. for a second, you almost laughed at the memory, but instead, you just felt worse. you scrolled through the links, choosing the first one not because it was the best but because it was there, and it was fast, and because if you paused any longer you might back out.

the page opened to dozens of tiny thumbnails, each with men of all kinds in various poses — most of them shirtless, many of them staring straight at the camera with eyes like they were looking for someone. it was overwhelming, too much noise, too many faces, and you were just about to close the whole thing when your eyes caught on one stream. it wasn’t the person’s face that drew you first, it was the room behind him — the muted tones, the gray wall with three framed prints, the bed pushed to the corner, the guitar stand by the window. your breath caught. you’d seen that room before. you’d been in that room.

you clicked on the stream before you could stop yourself. the screen loaded slowly, like the universe wanted to draw out your panic. when the image finally came into focus, you froze.

your body went cold.

the username in the corner read kth02.

and there he was.

he was leaning back against his pillows, the soft lamplight casting warm shadows across his chest, but it wasn’t the fact that he was shirtless that had your breath stalling. it was him. it was the exact shape of his jaw, the small mole on the side of his neck, the way his fingers moved as he adjusted the camera slightly, always calm, always intentional. there was no doubt. you knew that face. you knew that room. you knew that voice — even though he wasn’t speaking yet, you knew it. you’d heard it a thousand times in cafés, in hallways, in whispered study sessions late at night.

your hand went to your mouth. not in fear, not entirely — more in awe. more in a kind of stunned disbelief that curled inside your chest like smoke. how could this be real? how could he be doing this — your taehyun? you blinked, trying to force your brain to make sense of it. was this his “commitment”? the job he never talked about, the one he always brushed off with a shrug and a “just something I do at night”?

you stared longer than you should have. you didn’t mean to, but something in your chest was frozen and aching and fascinated all at once. you felt wrong for watching. you felt something else for watching, too — and that scared you more than anything. because for the first time since sei had said it, you couldn’t unsee it. it was real. it was him. and now, even if you closed the tab and threw the laptop across the room, that image — that knowledge — wouldn’t leave you.

you were still sitting there, laptop open on your thighs, screen glowing dimly in the darkness of your dorm, when your phone buzzed.

taehyun [9:12 p.m.] “made it home safe? i owe you coffee tomorrow :)”

you didn't reply.

not because you were mad.

not because you didn’t care.

but because you were already too far gone.

you didn’t even realize when your hand had slipped past the waistband of your pajama shorts, fingers curling over the soaked cotton of your panties. his voice filled the room, low and deliberate, every word like silk dragged across your skin.

“yeah, baby... just like that,” he murmured into the mic, his hand wrapping around his cock, pumping slowly as he stared directly at the camera. “you watching me? imagining i’m right there with you?”

you were.

god, you were.

your hips rolled forward into your palm, back arching slightly on your bed as your fingers pressed down harder through the thin barrier, dragging slow, aching circles against your clit. the heat in your belly coiled tighter with every breathy groan that left his lips.

taehyun licked his bottom lip, his thumb swiping over his leaking tip before he gave himself another slow stroke, veins visible along the shaft, his muscles taut and gleaming under the soft amber light.

“i bet you’re soaked for me,” he whispered, voice husky, eyes half-lidded but focused, like he could somehow see you. “you gonna come with me, baby? wanna be good for me tonight?”

you whimpered, pulling your panties to the side with trembling fingers, finally letting yourself touch bare skin. the contact made you gasp — your cunt was already dripping, so sensitive, so needy.

your middle finger dragged through your folds, collecting your slick as you stared at him through the screen, your breath catching as he tightened his grip and picked up his pace. the sound of skin meeting skin echoed from your laptop speakers, the obscene wetness of his hand matching your own now.

“fuck—” he hissed, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as his chest rose and fell faster. “that’s it, baby. i’m gonna come for you. gonna make such a mess.”

your thighs trembled. your fingers worked in tighter circles, your other hand gripping the sheets beside you as you stared at the way his abs clenched, the way his cock twitched in his fist, the way his lips parted—

“come with me,” he moaned, body tensing. “come for me, now.”

and you did.

the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, drawn tight and then snapped loose in an instant. your body shook, your mouth falling open in a silent cry as your fingers worked you through it, slick pooling between your thighs.

you barely heard his ragged groan as he came, spilling across his stomach in thick ropes, his hand slowing as he panted softly into the mic.

silence followed.

not on the screen—he was still there, wiping himself off with a practiced, almost lazy grace, murmuring goodnights to his viewers—but inside you. in the pit of your stomach.

you blinked, suddenly aware of your hand still resting between your legs, the mess on your fingers, the rapid beat of your heart.

and the guilt hit you like a fucking truck.

you had just made yourself come to your friend. to taehyun. to a stream he never told you about, to a version of him he kept hidden from you.

the shame crept in like frost, fast and biting. you closed the laptop slowly, almost reverently, like it might shatter under your touch. your fingers trembled as you reached for tissues, cleaning yourself with shaky hands. everything felt too quiet now. too intimate. too wrong.

what had you done?

you stared at the ceiling, chest heavy with the weight of your own betrayal. he was your friend. he had walked you home. bought you breakfast. knew your favorite café drink by heart.

and now… you had watched him come. had touched yourself to him. had let yourself enjoy it.

you didn’t even remember the moment you crossed that line.

but now, you couldn’t un-feel it. couldn’t untangle the want from the regret, the heat from the shame.

you reached for your phone with shaking fingers.

taehyun’s message still sat there, unopened.

“made it home safe? i owe you coffee tomorrow :)”

your stomach twisted. you couldn’t reply.

not yet.

not with your thighs still sticky, your skin still flushed, your heart still pounding from a version of him you were never supposed to see.

the days that followed were soaked in silence and something heavier you couldn’t name.

on the surface, everything looked the same. you and taehyun still shared glances during lectures, passed notes when the professor turned his back, walked the same familiar path across campus between classes. but you weren’t the same. and he felt it.

every time he stood too close, your body stiffened. when he brushed your arm with his sleeve, you flinched. you avoided his eyes like they burned, like seeing the truth in them would undo you all over again. and the worst part — the absolute worst part — was that he noticed.

you were both standing in line at the campus café when he finally said it, quiet but direct.

“are you mad at me?”

you blinked, startled, forcing a quick shake of your head. “no. why would i be?”

his brows drew together, lips pressing into a thin, unsure line. “is it because i didn’t come pick you up that night?”

“what? no,” you said too quickly, too sharp.

his eyes stayed on yours for a moment longer, like he was searching for something. but whatever he found didn’t satisfy him. still, he dropped it. “okay,” he mumbled. “just… wanted to make sure.”

that was the end of it. or so you thought.

later that week, your literature professor assigned a paired research project. no surprises when your name was called next to his — everyone knew you worked best together. taehyun leaned over and whispered, “your place or mine?”

you hesitated. “yours is fine. i don’t work tonight, so…”

his lips curled up in a small smile, but it faded when you added, almost too casually, “i’ll head out before nine, though. wouldn’t want to mess with your work schedule.”

his head tilted slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face. “you’ve never said anything about my job before.”

you swallowed hard. “right. well. figured i should.”

he didn’t reply. he just nodded and shoved his notebook into his bag.

you walked to his dorm together in the golden hour light, and even though your hands didn’t brush once, the space between you still felt too narrow.

once inside, everything hit you at once.

the framed prints. the guitar stand. the pale gray walls. the soft lamp in the corner, the way his bed curved slightly against the edge of the room — it was all exactly as you’d seen it. not in person. but on screen.

it had always been real.

taehyun didn’t seem to notice your gaze lingering on everything for too long. he set up on the floor like always, opening his laptop and inviting you to sit across from him. the research began easily enough — literary movements, source material, split tabs and shared documents — but your mind was somewhere else. your answers were delayed, your notes half-formed. and he noticed that too.

by the time the clock neared 9 p.m., you shut your notebook a little too quickly. “i should go,” you said, already gathering your things. “you’ve got work, right?”

taehyun looked at you, something close to hurt in his eyes. “you’ve asked about my job twice today. what’s going on?”

you shook your head. “nothing.”

“you’ve been acting weird all week.”

“i haven’t.”

“you won’t look at me.”

you laughed nervously, a sound too thin and brittle. “don’t be dramatic.”

“you flinched when i touched your arm earlier.”

“taehyun, it’s late—”

“did i do something wrong?”

your breath caught in your throat. his voice wasn’t angry. it was soft. wounded.

you couldn’t speak.

“i’ll walk you back,” he offered quietly, already reaching for his jacket.

“it’s fine,” you said, backing toward the door. “really. stay. you’ve got… work.”

and before he could stop you, you turned and rushed out, your heart hammering loud in your ears.

you didn’t stop until you reached your dorm, your legs shaky, your thoughts spinning out of control. you closed the door behind you, dropped your bag, leaned back against the wood like it might hold you up.

you’d been so strange. cold. avoidant. and for what?

your phone buzzed as you slid onto your bed, the screen lighting up with his name.

taehyun [9:27 p.m.] “did i do something that upset you? :( please tell me. i don’t understand why you’ve been like this lately.”

guilt swallowed you whole.

he hadn’t deserved that. none of it. he was your friend. he’d been nothing but gentle and patient and concerned — and you’d punished him with silence.

you reached for your laptop without thinking, desperate for anything to distract you.

your browser auto-filled the address before you even finished typing. your breath caught.

the camboy site.

you hadn’t meant to return. you really hadn’t.

but then — a notification flashed at the top of the page.

kth02 is live now.

you clicked before you could stop yourself. your heart trembled in your chest, and then the screen filled with him.

taehyun.

he was sitting comfortably, a dark hoodie zipped halfway down, only the line of his throat visible. he wore snug black workout shorts that hugged his thighs, legs spread casually. he looked… tired.

he looked sad.

he greeted his chat with a soft smile, eyes not quite meeting the lens. “hey,” he said, voice hoarse. “i wasn’t sure i’d stream tonight. but… i figured it’d help take my mind off some things.”

the comments poured in fast — hearts, greetings, compliments.

someone asked why he sounded off.

he chuckled lowly, rubbing a hand along his neck. “just a friend acting kind of weird lately. feels like they’re avoiding me. not sure why.”

your heart jumped into your throat.

he was talking about you.

the chat exploded — some people called her (you) a bitch, others offered themselves in your place, asking for attention with pouty emojis and flirty comments. one said, “she doesn’t deserve you, babe. punish us instead 😘.”

taehyun smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“maybe you’re right,” he murmured, hand slipping down over his thigh. “but… she’s really sweet. and smart. and… i don’t know. i like her. a lot.”

your lungs stopped working.

he adjusted the camera slightly, enough to show his stomach and thighs, still keeping his hoodie on.

his palm pressed against his cock through the shorts, slow and teasing. “i shouldn’t say this,” he whispered, voice slipping into that low, honeyed tone that always made you ache, “but this one’s for her. even if she doesn’t know it.”

your panties stuck to you instantly, wet and hot and clinging.

“she has no idea how beautiful she is,” he continued, rubbing himself slowly. “always biting her lip when she concentrates, always brushing her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous. i notice everything.”

you were frozen, breath shallow, hand already pressing between your thighs.

“this is for her,” he groaned, fingers slipping under the waistband to pull his cock free — thick and flushed and twitching in his grip. “she doesn’t know it, but every time i stream… i think about her.”

you whimpered softly, dragging your fingers over your clothed pussy, feeling the slick gather with every word he said.

taehyun spit into his hand, spreading it over his length as he pumped faster, moaning quietly. “she’s driving me fucking insane,” he growled. “so sweet. so soft. she doesn’t know how badly i want her. how many times i’ve thought about her on this bed.”

you couldn’t tear your eyes away. the guilt? it was still there — but melting. burning away under the fire of want.

he was touching himself for you.

he wanted you.

that made it okay… right?

you shifted on your bed, sliding your panties down and letting your fingers glide through the mess he’d made you.

“you don’t even know,” he groaned, back arching. “this is for you. every stroke. every fucking drop.”

you moaned softly, matching his rhythm, legs trembling as your orgasm built hard and fast in your gut. “taehyun,” you whispered into the empty room, breathless.

on screen, he gasped your name — not loud, not clearly, but unmistakably. the way he’d said it a hundred times before. just not like this.

and it pushed you over the edge.

you came with a cry, back arching, toes curling, fingers soaked with your release.

he followed seconds later, spilling across his stomach with a guttural moan, hips jerking, voice shaking with pleasure.

you stared at the screen, chest rising and falling, heart pounding in your throat.

you weren’t guilty anymore.

you were even.

and now… you wanted more.

the next few days passed in a blur of unfinished sentences and lingering glances. the strange discomfort you’d felt around taehyun had started to fade, but in its place came something more dangerous — tension. thick and slow like honey, clinging to everything you did. neither of you acknowledged it, not with words, not even with accidental touches, but it hung in the air between you like something waiting to be set on fire.

you’d agreed to meet again to finish the research project, this time with the intention of wrapping it up for good. it was late afternoon when you arrived at his dorm. the sky outside had already started shifting into shades of deep gold and fading blue, the light catching on the frames above his bed, painting the room in soft, dusky warmth. he greeted you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. you smiled back, heart thudding too fast.

you worked side by side in silence, your laptops open between you, bodies angled slightly apart but never too far. his arm brushed yours once, and you didn’t pull away. he didn’t apologize. the energy between you simmered just beneath the surface — not awkward anymore, not exactly — but charged, as if both of you were pretending not to think about the same exact thing.

an hour passed, maybe more, before you stood and stretched with a soft groan, brushing your hair out of your face. “gonna use the bathroom,” you mumbled, already stepping away. “should we add one more source for the last paragraph, or leave it as it is?”

taehyun didn’t answer.

you didn’t notice at first. you were already down the hall, distracted with your thoughts, cheeks flushed from the way his eyes had been on your lips minutes earlier. but back in his dorm, taehyun sat frozen, staring at your screen like it had just betrayed him.

your laptop was still open, your notifications still on.

and there it was.

a small, perfectly timed alert had bloomed in the lower right corner of your screen like a bullet wound — unmistakable, cold, precise:

“don’t miss tonight’s stream — kth02 is going live at 10 p.m.”

taehyun’s blood turned to ice.

his breath left him in a single, sharp exhale as he stared at it, unmoving, every nerve in his body locking into place. even after the notification disappeared, the ghost of it lingered. burned into his retinas. into his chest. you had been watching him. you knew.

when you returned, still toweling off your hands and talking like nothing had happened, the last thing you expected was the way his eyes met yours. he wasn’t smiling anymore. his phone was forgotten, resting face-down on the bed. his gaze was hard, dark, unreadable — a silent storm gathering force.

“did something happen?” you asked, voice small, hesitant.

his eyes didn’t leave yours. his jaw flexed once, then again. and then he said it.

“have you been watching my streams?”

you stopped breathing.

the words hit you like a slap, like a spotlight you didn’t know you’d stepped into. your throat closed up. your entire body went cold, then hot, then cold again. blood rushed to your face all at once.

“i… i can explain,” you whispered, voice barely audible, shame thick in your chest like tar.

taehyun stood slowly, deliberately, his movements quiet and unhurried as he walked toward you. your heart pounded harder with each step he took, and you took one back without thinking. he kept coming. he didn’t raise his voice, didn’t look furious — but his eyes burned. sharp. hungry.

“you watched me,” he said again, voice low now. rougher. “you’ve been watching me.”

you couldn’t speak. couldn’t move. his presence was too close, too warm. your lips parted as if to defend yourself, to deny it, to run, but instead — you stayed.

his hand reached out, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face up toward his.

“you didn’t need to do that,” he murmured, voice silk and steel all at once. “if you wanted to see my cock… i would’ve shown you.”

your breath caught, a small, involuntary sound leaving your lips.

taehyun kissed you.

not gently. not questioningly.

his mouth crashed into yours with the force of weeks — maybe months — of hidden hunger. his hands found your hips, pulling you into him like he couldn’t stand the space that had been there before. your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging, gasping against his lips as his tongue slid past yours, hot and slick and possessive. you moaned into the kiss, shame and tension melting away into something far more dangerous.

he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, “you want to see it now, don’t you?”

you whimpered, nodding helplessly, and that was all the answer he needed.

he pushed you gently, but firmly, toward the bed, until the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you tumbled back with a soft gasp. he climbed over you, eyes scanning your body like he wanted to memorize every inch, and when his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt and lifted it — he stopped.

his eyes widened slightly.

you were wearing matching lingerie. deep wine red lace. delicate straps and silk bows.

he let out a low, dangerous sound in his throat.

“fuck,” he muttered, dragging his palm along your thigh, over your waist, slow and reverent. “you wore this for me?”

you didn’t answer, but the blush on your cheeks said everything.

“you planned this,” he growled, kissing down your neck, fingers sliding the straps of your bra off your shoulders. “you watched me, got wet for me, and now you’re here, dressed like a fucking fantasy.”

his hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts, dragging his thumbs over your nipples through the lace, until you arched into him with a breathy moan. you were trembling — not from fear, but anticipation.

“i want to fuck you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “but not just for me.”

your breath hitched. “what…?”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing your lip. “i want them to see. i want everyone who watched me jerk off to know you’re mine.”

your eyes widened, but your thighs pressed together.

he smirked, knowing exactly what that meant.

“let me show them,” he said. “let me show them how good you take it. how pretty you sound when you moan.”

his hand slid down your body again, fingers slipping under your panties, dragging through your slick folds.

“they’ll never touch you. never hear you the way i will. but they’ll know. they’ll see what they can’t have.”

you whimpered, your hips bucking into his hand.

“please,” you whispered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

he kissed your neck, trailing down toward your chest, mouthing at the lace before looking up at you again. “say yes,” he said. “say yes, and i’ll turn the camera on. just for them to watch. just for us to enjoy.”

his fingers were inside you now, slow but firm, curling perfectly against your walls.

you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

and then you nodded.

“yes,” you breathed. “yes, taehyun.”

you barely registered him grabbing his laptop, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he placed it on the desk at the edge of the bed, angling the webcam down toward the mattress where you lay — flushed, breathless, your bra halfway off, your panties damp and already tugged down to mid-thigh.

“you’re sure?” he asked, one last time, his voice deep and reverent as he loomed over you. “once i turn this on, they’re gonna see you. hear you. know exactly who’s making me come from now on.”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded with lust, legs spreading wider in invitation.

“fucking perfect,” he muttered, switching on the stream.

the chat lit up almost instantly.

he hadn’t even said a word yet, and people were already flooding in. hearts. usernames. emojis. thirsty little greetings. taehyun smirked as the viewers climbed, way higher than usual.

he turned back to you, crawling over your body and placing a hot kiss just under your jaw. “they’ve been waiting for me,” he murmured, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and dragging them all the way down your legs. “but they’ve really been waiting for you.”

you whimpered when he settled between your thighs, spreading them with both hands like he was presenting you to the camera. your pussy glistened in the low lighting, folds soaked and swollen, thighs trembling slightly with need. taehyun didn’t touch you yet — he just stared, dragging his tongue slowly over his bottom lip.

“you see this, chat?” he said finally, voice shifting into his streaming tone — low, hypnotic, dirty. “remember the girl i told you about the other night? the one avoiding me. the one who had no idea i jerked off thinking about her every single time i turned this camera on?”

his hand moved down, thumb gliding through your slit with a wet noise that made both of you inhale sharply.

“she knows now.”

his middle and ring fingers pressed into you without warning, curling deep on the first thrust. you moaned — loud and raw — your back arching off the bed.

the chat exploded.

he laughed darkly, leaning in to kiss your mouth hard as his fingers pumped in and out of you, obscene and fast, the sound of your wetness echoing through the room.

“you hear that?” he said, pulling back just enough to watch your face contort in pleasure. “that’s her pussy. soaked for me. because she likes this. she likes being watched.”

you nodded desperately, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from how fast your orgasm was already building. his fingers knew exactly where to press — his thumb finding your clit with perfect rhythm, rubbing tight circles as you sobbed his name.

he turned your face toward the camera, gently but firmly, holding your jaw. “look at them, baby,” he whispered. “let them see how fucking pretty you are when you come.”

you did — lips parted, eyes glassy, body trembling.

“taehyun—fuck, i’m—”

“come on my fingers, princess,” he growled. “do it. show them who you belong to.”

you shattered.

your thighs clamped around his wrist, your body jerking, crying out shamelessly as you came hard — gushing around his fingers, soaking his palm, your moans loud and raw and unfiltered.

the comments went wild.

“holy shit.” “i’m never recovering from this.” “marry her.” “he’s so fucking lucky.”

taehyun kissed you through it, moaning into your mouth, fingers still fucking you until you were shaking and whining from overstimulation.

and he wasn’t even close to done.

he pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere across the room before shoving his joggers down his hips. his cock sprang free — flushed, thick, heavy — and you moaned at the sight of it, thighs instinctively falling open again.

he grinned, pumping it slowly, letting the camera see the way it dripped with precum. “you want this now, don’t you?” he murmured. “want me to fuck you right here, in front of all of them?”

“yes,” you breathed. “please, taehyun—i need it.”

he grabbed a pillow and shoved it under your hips, tilting you up just right before lining himself up and thrusting in — hard.

you gasped, fingers clawing at the sheets, back arching as he filled you to the hilt.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, head falling forward. “you’re so fucking tight. made for me.”

he snapped his hips forward again, and again, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud and sinful in the room. he was rough, relentless, fucking you like he wanted to ruin you for anyone else — deep, punishing thrusts that made you cry out, barely coherent.

he flipped you over without warning, yanking your hips up until you were on your knees, face pressed into the mattress. he spread your ass with both hands, fucking back into you so hard your knees slipped on the sheets.

“look at her,” he hissed, staring directly into the camera now. “this pussy’s mine. mine.”

you moaned so loud, you knew the whole dorm floor could probably hear.

and still — you wanted more.

he reached around, fingers finding your clit again as he slammed into you from behind, deeper than before. “gonna make you come again. right here. want all of them to see what a messy little slut you are for me.”

“yes—fuck, yes—taehyun—”

you came harder the second time, screaming his name into the sheets, body trembling uncontrollably as he fucked you through it.

taehyun groaned behind you, close now, his rhythm faltering.

he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back again and straddling your chest. his cock slapped against your tits, slick and twitching.

“open your mouth,” he ordered, and you obeyed instantly, tongue out, eyes wide.

he fucked your mouth with short, desperate thrusts, his hands gripping your hair, voice breaking. “shit—fuck—i’m gonna come—baby, take it—”

and he did.

thick ropes of cum spilled over your tongue, your lips, your chin. he groaned deep in his chest, holding your head still as he emptied himself all over your face, his eyes wild and locked on the lens.

“this is what she does to me,” he whispered to the chat. “every. fucking. time.”

you swallowed, licking your lips slowly, gazing up at him through tear-filled eyes, completely wrecked.

the chat lost their minds.

“best stream of my life.” “i’m on my knees.” “someone call 911 i’ve died.”

taehyun leaned in, kissed your forehead softly, and ended the stream with one final smirk.

“mine,” he whispered against your skin.

taehyun hovered over the trackpad for a second longer, breath still heavy, a smug smile playing at the corners of his swollen lips. his chest was flushed and glistening, the sweat on his toned body catching the soft light. you were sprawled beneath him, covered in his cum, your lips parted, cheeks pink, pupils blown wide. completely fucked out.

he looked into the webcam, tilting his head slightly, and said with a grin, “we’re gonna end it here tonight, guys. thanks for being such good voyeurs.”

the chat exploded with whining, hearts, and desperate pleads for more. 

“already?!”  “she’s perfect.”  “you better marry her.”  “tae PLEASE don’t log off.”

but he just winked, lazily reached for the laptop, and clicked end stream.

the screen went black.

a silence settled over the room, broken only by your shared panting. the moment felt suspended — like glass right before the shatter.

then, slowly, taehyun reached for you. he dragged his thumb gently across your chin, collecting some of the mess he’d made and bringing it to your lips. “open,” he murmured, and you did without thinking. your tongue darted out, tasting him. his eyes darkened again for a moment.

but instead of taking it further, he leaned in and kissed you — soft this time. slower. no camera. no audience. just the warmth of his lips against yours and the faint taste of salt and sweetness shared between you.

“come on,” he whispered. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

he scooped you up in his arms, ignoring your squeak of surprise, and carried you to the bathroom. he set you down gently on the cool tile, then turned on the shower. steam began to rise almost instantly, fogging the mirror and curling around your bodies.

taehyun stepped in first and held a hand out to you. “get in, baby,” he said softly, his voice no longer performative — just yours.

you followed him, letting the hot water wash over you as he pulled you under the stream with him, arms wrapping around your waist. your skin pressed against his, slick and sensitive, and for a moment you just stood there like that, heads resting on each other’s shoulders, letting the rush of the water melt the tension from your limbs.

but then his hands slid lower.

slow, deliberate.

they cupped your ass and squeezed gently, dragging your body tighter against his. his cock was hard again, thick and heavy against your stomach, already twitching from the feel of your wet skin.

you looked up at him, wet hair clinging to your face, and he leaned in to kiss you — this time open-mouthed, heated. his tongue curled against yours, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other sliding down to your inner thigh.

you gasped into his mouth as his fingers slid between your legs again, finding you still soaked — not just from the water. “fuck, baby,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re still so fucking wet for me.”

you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, grinding against his palm as his fingers teased your slit.

“you like that, huh?” he growled. “you like being my little showgirl? letting everyone watch you come for me?”

you nodded, unable to speak, hips moving on their own.

“you’re so fucking dirty,” he said, voice thick with lust, fingers slipping inside you. “you want me to fuck you in the shower now, too? hmm?”

“yes—taehyun—please,” you gasped, clinging to him.

he kissed you again, biting your lower lip as he pushed you back against the wall. the cold tile made you shiver, but the heat of his mouth on your neck, his fingers pumping into you with delicious precision, more than made up for it.

“i should make you scream for me again,” he muttered, curling his fingers just right. “right here, where no one else gets to hear you but me.”

“please,” you whimpered, “i want your cock again—need it, tae.”

he groaned low in his chest, grabbing your leg and hooking it around his waist as he lined up, his tip rubbing along your entrance. “you begging for it, baby? say it. tell me how bad you want me.”

“i want you to fuck me,” you breathed, eyes wide, body trembling. “please, i want your cock. i want it inside me.”

taehyun grinned like a devil and slid in all at once — a deep, rough thrust that had your mouth falling open in a silent cry. your back hit the tile hard, and you wrapped both arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin.

he started moving, slow but deep, each thrust rocking your body into the wall, water pouring down both of you. he was grunting against your skin, his hands tight on your hips.

“you feel that?” he whispered, biting your ear gently. “feel how deep i am, baby?”

you nodded, voice a mess of moans and gasps.

“no one’s ever fucked you like this, huh?” he panted, speeding up, fucking into you harder now. “nobody else’s cock fills you like mine.”

“never,” you cried, tears springing to your eyes, “only you, tae—only ever you.”

“that’s right,” he groaned, grabbing your other leg and lifting you off the ground completely. you clung to him, thighs locked around his waist, his cock hitting deep with every thrust now.

the sound of his hips slapping against you echoed off the walls, water splashing over your shoulders as you cried out for him.

“gonna come again?” he asked, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot.

“yes—yes, fuck, don’t stop—”

he angled his hips just right, grinding into your sweet spot with brutal rhythm, and you shattered again — nails dragging down his back, head thrown back, voice cracked with pleasure.

taehyun fucked you through it, chasing his own high, groaning into your neck. “fuck, baby—gonna fill you up again. want you dripping for me.”

he came with a long, broken moan, cock pulsing inside you, warmth spilling deep as his hips stuttered and slowed.

you stayed like that for a moment, trembling in his arms, water still pouring over you.

“goddamn,” he muttered, brushing wet hair from your face. “you’re fucking perfect.”

he helped you stand again, your legs barely working, and cleaned you gently under the stream — washing your thighs, kissing your belly, cradling your face like you were something precious.

“stay here tonight,” he said.

you nodded, dazed, and let him lead you back to his bed.

he dressed you in one of his oversized shirts — it swallowed you whole — and pulled you into bed with him, the sheets still warm, his body even warmer. he tucked your head under his chin, your leg thrown over his hip, one hand stroking lazy circles into your thigh.

it was quiet for a while.

then he whispered, almost shyly, “i like you.”

you blinked.

pulled back just enough to look at him.

“you what?”

he rolled his eyes, smiling, but there was a nervous edge to it. “don’t make me repeat it.”

“taehyun…”

“i like you,” he said again, firmer this time. “have for a long time.”

you stared, heart fluttering in your chest, lips parted.

he laughed softly at your expression. “you seriously didn’t notice?”

you shook your head, breath catching in your throat. “i thought… i don’t know. i thought you were just—”

“just what?”

“just being a good friend,” you whispered.

he exhaled, pulling you closer, kissing your temple.

“baby,” he murmured, “friends don’t jerk off on livestreams thinking about each other.”

you laughed, burying your face in his neck, heart swelling.

and when you fell asleep in his arms that night, it wasn’t guilt or shame or secrecy that lingered.