we learn, we grow.

Masterlist

< Part 5 | Part 6 >

A/N: if your username is in red, it didn't let me tag :((

Dividers: @uzmacchiato

Merch pic thanks to @skzdreamer13 🫶🏾💜🥰😘

⚠️ Warnings: Bang Chan x F! Reader | Parasocial Relationship Boundaries break | Frenemies to Friends? | Enemies to Lovers | Angst | Flirting |

Main Masterlist

< Part 4 | Part 6 >

A/N: If your user is in red it didn't let me tag you:(

Dividers: @uzmacchiato

⚠️ Warnings: Bang Chan x F! Reader | Parasocial Relationship Boundaries break | Frenemies to Friends? | Enemies to Lovers | Angst | Flirting |

Main Masterlist

< Part 3 | Part 5 >

A/N: If your user is in red it didn't let me tag you:(

Dividers: @uzmacchiato

⚠️ Warnings: Bang Chan x F! Reader | Rumors | Parasocial Relationship Boundaries break | Frenemies to Friends? | Enemies to Lovers | Slight Self Deprecation | Mentions of Background Checks and Real Identities | Flirting |

Main Masterlist

< Part 2 | Part 4 >

(Note: G/n stands for "government name", meant to establish that the term "Y/n" has been used up to this point as readers online persona)

A/N: If your user is in red it didn't let me tag you:(

Dividers: @uzmacchiato

⚠️ Warnings: Bang Chan x F! Reader | Rumors | Toxic Headlines | Parasocial Relationship Boundaries break | Enemies to Lovers | Frenemies | Miscommunication |

Main Masterlist

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

A/N: if your user is in red it didn't let me tag you:(

Divider: @uzmacchiato

A/N: some of the texts look different because I had to construct them myself in order to keep the "can't message this person blah blah" thing pretend they all look the same 🙂‍↕️

Main Masterlist

Part 2 >

Divider: @uzmacchiato

---

Series masterlist

Next Update: 17th August (hopefully)

a/n2: This is kind of it. There is an epilogue of course but technically, Dog Thief concludes here. I am so grateful to everyone who came along this ride- it is my baby and i have absolutely loved watching it grow and have you embrace it.

Thank you to everyone who read this and a special kiss to everyone who interacted- even if it was just once. I think about you when I feel down, trust.

This is getting long and dramatic for no reason lmao but as my first official big series, I can literally see how much I have grown through the chapters yeah thank you for being patient with me and SoobYn, I hope you had a good time.

Watch me be emo again next week when I drop the epilogue. I'm such a loser. ANYWAY if you're still reading- here's a lil reward- the epilogue will be the cutest thing you can imagine, i promise you.

Taglist: @aria-in-wonderland , @thearchersupremacy , @moarmy7 , @mouldyvoldysworld , @salalalalami , @carrotkyu , @seraphimistic , @im-down-for-gyu553 , @itsdragonius , @bakudon , @zooweeemama-sai , @97z-jk , @soobinsoudesu , @beomiaow , @nanilis , @fairfootedflekk , @overtheggum , @en-moa , @monosung , @gomdoleemyson , @csbenthusiast , @starrybeoms @filmsforgyu

Deciding that the past fortnight had simply been too much, you threw your head back against the couch and groaned at the ceiling before finally pushing yourself up. You had had enough of this weird, horrible, increasingly painful situation between the two of you. You gathered your hair to put in a claw clip, and let your newly determined footsteps carry you...

Towards the kitchen.

Your solution to this whole unfavourable situation was flour. And sugar. And milk.

Of course.

By the time the brownies were out of the oven and the baking tray was sitting on the counter to cool, the smell of decadent chocolate had completely taken over the room. You stood there for a while, staring at the brownies as the warmth slowly left them, but your mind had already wandered somewhere else, drifting through everything that had happened since you had met Soobin.

You didn't realise how long you'd been standing there until the familiar skittering of Hazel's paws outside your apartment brought you back to reality.

Your head snapped towards the door.

You listened.

The shuffling of feet came first, followed by the faint rattle of keys and then the soft click of the lock turning. A moment later came the gentle thud of the door opening, and even though you weren't actually close enough to hear what came next, you could almost hear it in your head anyway:

"And we're back!" In that particular pitch in Soobin's voice that always made Hazel immediately turn to him, eyes wide and shiny.

You had lived this for almost two entire months. You could hear it as clearly as if it were actually happening in front of you.

Except it wasn't.

And that sucked.

You missed the way Soobin's dimple deepened whenever Hazel's paw met his palm, as if he was genuinely surprised that she had done it even though it was something she did every single time. You missed the way she would stand by the washroom afterwards, waiting for one of you to wash her paws while the other figured out which treat she was getting that day. You missed the little arguments over whether she deserved one or two.

You missed this mundane, domestic life with Soobin.

And you were to blame for not being able to live it anymore, only think about it.

So you sucked in a breath, transferred the freshly baked brownies into your nicest Tupperware, snapped the green lid into place and, before your brain could talk you out of it, let your legs carry you towards apartment 403.

Knock knock.

Silence.

And then-

Woof woof!

You heard the sudden shuffle of feet from inside.

"Hazel, come back here..."

More footsteps.

"Hazel, what's got you so excited, baby? Stand back now."

His voice became less muffled with every word, and you could practically picture him making his way towards the door, one hand probably already reaching for the handle.

Shit.

It was happening.

These were probably the last three seconds you had to overthink every possible way this could go once he opened the door.

You didn't how to deal with that information.

Your body felt cold and warm at the same time, your fingers tightening slightly around the container as you stared at the door.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You took a deep breath.

It was okay.

It was just Soobin.

It was JUST a man. A person. A fellow human being. A homo sapien. Neanderthal. Ape.

Before you could cringe at yourself for launching into a completely unnecessary revision of human evolution, the door opened.

And there he was.

Choi Soobin stood in the doorway, one hand still halfway through fixing his hair as he looked up at you. His eyes widened slightly when he realised who was standing there, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

You took his appearance in.

Thank God for the evolution of man. What a truly marvellous thing.

Your eyes locked.

You remembered that you were supposed to speak.

Your mouth stayed open for a second before you finally managed, "Hey! I, uh—"

"WOOF WOOF!"

Thank God for Hazel too, actually.

Whatever awkwardness was making its way to settle between you disappeared almost immediately when she shoved herself between the two of you, apparently offended by the fact that you had greeted him before greeting her. How dare you not acknowledge the actual most important person in the house?

A smile made its way onto your face before you could stop it, your shoulders dropping as some of the tension finally left them. Soobin stepped aside to let Hazel push her head towards you, and you bent slightly, freeing your right hand from the green-lidded container long enough to scratch beneath her chin.

"Hello, my darling girl! How are you?"

Hazel leaned into your hand happily, tail going back and forth as you scratched the underside of her mouth for another second before standing straight again.

"She is very happy because she just..." Soobin finally spoke, glancing down at Hazel, who was now looking between the two of you as though she was personally responsible for getting the conversation moving. "Devoured a whole bowl of chicken."

He finished the sentence with a tone that very clearly suggested you should be impressed. Jealous, even.

That sentence had absolutely no business sounding that delightful to your ears.

You had missed his voice.

You pushed the thought down immediately, raising your eyebrows and giving a solemn nod.

Soobin reached for the back of his neck, fingers rubbing awkwardly against his skin. "Also, don't stand out here. I'm sorry. Please come in. I- yeah."

He moved further aside, and you finally stepped into the apartment.

"Hi," he said.

You looked up at him, your eyes discreetly tracing his face before you looked away.

"Hi," you muttered.

Silence.

You tightened your grip around the container before holding it out towards him.

"I, uh, made these."

"Oh. Thanks."

He took the container from you, staring at it for a second as though it required closer inspection before he finally looked back at you.

"What is it?"

"Brownies."

His entire face lit up.

The change was so immediate that you almost laughed. He thanked you again, sounding far more enthusiastic this time, and then, perhaps because he didn't know what else to say or perhaps because he was genuinely excited about the brownies, he tilted his head towards the dining table.

You followed.

And so, here you were, sitting across from him at the small wooden table where you had shared his "special" milkshake so many times over the last two months. It had always been a little less sweet than you liked, but it had hardly mattered when Soobin would sit across from you, watching eagerly with that already-smug expression that told you he was convinced he had just pulled off a MasterChef-level creation.

He opened the container and transferred a piece onto a plate, setting it carefully in the middle of the table between you.

You both reached for it with your spoons at the same time.

But before taking your own bite, you paused.

You wanted to see his reaction.

And, oh boy, was it worth it.

The moment the brownie hit his tongue, Soobin's eyes fell shut. His shoulders dropped as he leaned back into the chair while he got completely lost in the taste. You knew your brownies were quite loved by everyone who had tried them, but seeing Soobin, a whole six-foot giant, practically melt into a puddle of goo while relishing every bite always did something to you.

You weren't quick enough to tear your exceptionally fond eyes away from his face before his eyes opened again.

"It is so good," he breathed, and the sincerity in his voice earned him a grin from you and a small, playful bow before you finally took a bite yourself.

Oh, hell yeah.

You nodded approvingly at the taste, chewing slowly as you looked back up at him.

He was already on his second bite.

And somehow, despite everything, you couldn't stop yourself from smiling.

~~~

Soon after the last bite was had, reality seemed to settle back into the room.

The brownies were gone. There was no longer a plate between the two of you to stare at, no spoon to occupy your hands, no excuse to comment on how good they were or how Hazel had somehow managed to acquire chocolate crumbs on her nose despite not being allowed to have any.

There was just you.

And Soobin.

And the very uncomfortable silence that had been waiting patiently for the distraction to disappear.

Great.

You looked down at the empty plate, then at the table, then somewhere over his shoulder. Anywhere but him. Across from you, Soobin seemed to be having the exact same problem. His gaze flickered towards you every few seconds, only for him to immediately find something else infinitely more interesting to look at.

The clock you had been glancing at told you that only thirty seconds had passed but you were almost certain that it was somehow lying to you. This already had felt like a minimum of two minutes of just... silence. The yucky-sticky kind. The one that breathes down your neck and makes you suddenly aware of every tiny movement you make, every swallow, every stupid little breath you take.

Your right thumb had been gently rubbing back and forth on the wrist of your other hand in the hopes to soothe you. You looked down at it for a second and then, up. You met Soobin's eyes immediately and both of you searched for somewhere else to look.

Maybe you should just leav-

"Well, this is a lil..." Soobin let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing his palms over his thighs before looking anywhere but directly at you, "awkward."

You laughed quietly, though there wasn't much humour behind it, and bit the inside of your cheek. "Yeah..." You glanced at him, hesitated, and then gave another nervous little chuckle. "It feels so weird, being awkward with you."

"I know." His mouth pulled into a faint smile, and for a second the familiar expression made something in your chest loosen. "I'm not a fan."

"Same."

The word settled between you, and the silence returned almost immediately. You continued rubbing your thumb over your wrist, staring down at the table as you gathered enough courage to say what you had actually come here to say.

You swallowed.

"I'm sorry."

Soobin's lips parted and stayed so for two seconds before he eloquently responded with, "Huh?"

You finally looked at him.

"This. I mean..." You gestured vaguely between the two of you, "It's my fault." He just stared at you, so you continued- determined to let it all out before your brain decided to freeze. "I know I was weird after the party, and I am so, so, so sorry. I was just... not in my best headspace but that doesn't give me a free pass to pull stunts so I'm sorry." You looked at your hands and then at him again. "We're friends. I don't want to mess that up at all. Ever."

You heard Soobin take a deep breath.

Your voice became quieter, "I hate that we're not... us anymore. I'm sorry I pushed you away."

"Hey"

He slid his hand towards yours almost immediately. Catching himself aiming to hold you hand, he pulled back, choosing to just let the tips of his fingers rest over the top of yours.

"It isn't just your fault."

You looked at your hands.

"I just..." He pulled his hand back and rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words. "I guess I got too... sensitive about something and let that come in between us as well."

His eyes flickered towards yours. He gave you a small, apologetic smile. "So, I'm sorry too."

You breathed out slowly.

"Okay. So, we're okay now?" you asked, voice still small but eyes hopefully looking up at him.

He gave you a small nod, "We're okay now."

You gave him a small smile. "Not messing up the friendship anymore."

His expression changed almost imperceptibly. His posture stiffened just the tiniest bit and something helpless flickered across his face before he looked down at the table.

You caught it nonethless.

"Yeah..." His voice came out softer than before.

Then, under his breath, "Friendship." almost defeatedly.

You didn't catch this clearly but you could tell something was off.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

You narrowed your eyes.

"No, you mumbled something."

"It wasn't anything. Don't worry about it."

"Soobin."

He exhaled loudly and looked away, his shoulders dropping.

"We don't have to open some doors."

You stared at him. "What doors?"

"None."

"Soobin." This time, a little firmer.

"I'm just a little loser sometimes, okay?"He gave an forced little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. "It's embarrassing."

You watched him for a moment, trying to work out why he suddenly looked so uncomfortable. "Soobin, I thought we were way past that. Remember how we met?"

A reluctant smile appeared on his face. "Yeah, but this is just..."

He stopped himself.

You waited.

When he didn't continue, you tilted your head. "It's just what?"

"Nothing."

You stared at him.

"I just don't want to make things weird again."

"Good thing today is the day we fix all of that. So, come on, lay it out."

You waited.

He looked away again. "I don't want to ruin this."

"We're both in the repair mood today, it's okay."

Almost with suspiciously perfect timing, Hazel got up from her spot by the sofa and walked over to him, resting her head on his thigh, looking up at him with her puppy eyes. He wondered if she was in on this with you somehow.

Either way, he was a simple (weak) man who could not really stand the innocent eyes from one of his favourite girls, let alone both- at the same time- so he bit his lip as he pet her before turning to you.

He looked right into your eyes. "I like you, okay?"

What?

You didn't move. Not even a bit. Those four words had somehow managed to turn your very human form into, well, a whole staue.

He shifted in his chair a little, probably hoping for it to somehow make him disappear, and then words started spilling out his mouth.

"I know, what the hell? You take me a good friend, and I come here with a whole fucking bag or two full of feelings, and I know we just made up and I'm ruining this again. I just..." He dragged both hands over his face, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he bent forward. "Oh God, fuck me."

You sat there completely bewildered, staring at the top of his head while your brain tried- and failed- to process the last thirty seconds because well, what?

"Soobin..."

"I'm sorry." He kept his face hidden behind his hands, his voice muffled slightly. "You can leave if you want. I just..."

"No, Soobin. Look at me."

He shook his head.

"Yn, I can't, okay? I'm too..."

You leaned forward and reached for his wrists, gently pulling his hands away from his face. He resisted for half a second and then gave in. The second his eyes found you right in front, they immediately moved somewhere over your shoulder. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and there was something almost frightened in the way he avoided looking directly at you.

"You mean that?"

His eyes finally flickered towards yours and his throat bobbed.

"Yeah."

You shifted back slightly, deciding to look at the very compelling sight of your knees and make try to make sense of the words.

He likes you.

The fuck?

If he did, then why had he always said friends? You were friends, obviously, but... okay fine, that is not exactly the best counter-point. Next, and hey, the MAIN point, that night in the kitchen, when the two of you had stood there looking at each other in that quiet little pocket of time, there was nothing! You had practically almost handed him... well, yourself, and he had done absolutely nothing but stare at you.

So, what the hell did this man mean right now?

Your stomach twisted as another possibility crept into your head. Was he making fun of you? Was this some horrible prank? What kind of sick lie would this be?

But then you looked at him again.

He was sitting there with his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped between his knees, unable to even look you in the eye after admitting that he liked you. This was the same person who danced and sang to make sure Hazel didn't register too much discomfort while getting her nails trimmed at the groomers, who used to be half convinced that you were "psychologically manipulating" him by feeding him delicious food ocassionally, who sung sad songs as if he had gone through seven really bad divorces and who had fed you pizza with a smile on his face while you yelled at him for making a silly move on a stupid board game.

Soobin could be silly, but he wasn't cruel.

Which meant there had to be another explanation.

You couldn't think of it. So, you asked, your brows drawing together as you looked at him. "I thought we were friends. Where did liking me come from?"

"I know." He licked his lips before slowly lifting his eyes towards you. "I just... I don't know where it came from, Yn. But honestly, how could it not come?"

He gave a small, helpless gesture towards you.

"Have you seen yourself? Have you been in your company?"

You blinked at him.

"What?"

"I mean it." About two seconds later, he continued, though his voice grew quieter, almost embarrassed by his own honesty. "But we're friends, and I'm sorry for ruining what we were just rebuilding, but I can't help it, okay? I'm just sorry for making you uncomfortable and I'll apologise ten times for that, but I-"

"Stop." You searched his face for anything that would give you a hint of what was really going on, but you found only nervousness.

That made you confused. And also nervous.

"I don't know if I believe you, and if I do, then how." You admitted.

His chest rose and fell thrice before he finally responded. "Yn, why do you think I've kept quiet these days?"

A voice inside your head answered. Because I pushed you away a nd you realised you deserve better friends who don't act hot and cold?- Yeah, no you were not going to make your guess known.

"Because I realised that I like you, and very soon after that I realised that you do not."

You almost immediately tilted your head and furrowed your brows. What the hell is going on, really?

He shifted in his seat, rubbing his thumb against the side of his index finger and continued. "And I am a grown man. I should be okay with it, I know." He gave a small, humourless laugh. "But it stung, okay? So I was a little dry because I just... yeah. I am a loser, yeah."

The admission hung between you.

You directed a simple "How did you conclude I didn't like you back?" his way. You did kind of know but you had to be sure.

"You... You acted a little distant since the party, and I thought maybe I overstepped that night with... I don't know, laying in your lap or holding your hand and playing with our fingers or something," He looked up at you carefully and timidly, and finished, "and scared you off."

Riiiight. right right right right right.

You sucked in a long breath through your nose. Then you stood. Soobin's eyes immediately followed you as you took two steps away from the table.

"You have got to be kidding me."

You turned to find a very puzzled Soobin- and Hazel, who was not the happiest about her disturbed slumber yet quite nosyabout the scene unfolding nonetheless- stare at you blankly. So you explained, "Soobin, the reason I was... distant was because I thought you didn't like me back!"

His eyes widened, his mouth fell open. Had you not been in this certain situation, you would have joked about how he looked exactly like a cartoon character.

"What?"

"Yeah!" You exclaimed with an almost helpless annoyance.

You ran both hands through your hair, frustration and disbelief mixing until you didn't know whether you wanted to laugh or scream. "In the kitchen, we had a... moment, that night, right? I was moving closer to fucking kiss you, but you just kept staring at me and not moving at all!"

Soobin stared at you, dumbfounded. He knew what you were talking about but this was still new information to him.

"And I realised, oh, he doesn't like me back. We're friends. I'm probably just confusing him- or worse- weirding him out!"

Soobin's eyes fixed themselves to the spot on the wall across the room, behind your shoulder as the wheels finally started turning in his head. "No way." He whispered.

You folded your arms, still staring at him. "Very much yes way, mister."

Soobin took a moment to piece everything he had got to know yet together. It wasn't the clearest picture, he still was a little lost but there was a picture coming together for sure. He finally spoke, "But you kind of just shut me out completely! Like you... wanted to get rid of me."

"I know. And this is no justification but I was scared and embarrassed and just..." You looked around, "I just needed time, I guess."

Soobin looked down, his eyes visibly tracing the very much invisible dots on the floor, apparently connecting them in his head.

Finally, with the last dot, he looked up. "That's-"

"Yeah." You cut him off, right after the first word. You didn't need to hear the rest of the statement to know what he was about to say, you knew. So, you shook your head- the embarrassment beginning to creep back in now that you'd admitted everything out loud. "And I'm sorry. I should have, I don't know, handled it better, I'm sure, but it was the only way at the time, okay? I'm not exactly an expert."

Soobin gave you a small and slow understanding nod. That did make sense. Was it the best way to deal with it? No, and he knew you knew that too. But he couldn't really sit here and act all offended when he knows he probably would have done the same. Wait, he did do the same.

He let out a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet, the movement immediately catching Hazel's attention as she got up with him. She looked between the two of you, her eyes narrowing slightly as though she had been following the entire conversation and had some very strong opinions about the current state of affairs.

Apparently, whatever was going on was not to her liking, because after giving you both one last distinctly disapproving look, she turned around and trotted off towards the opposite end of the house, leaving the two of you to sort yourselves out. She would rather be somewhere quiet and get some proper beauty sleep.

Both of your eyes follow her until she disapeeared and then, find each other.

He bit his lip, debating whether he should go forward with his next few words and the, "I love when you put glitter on your eyes."

Huh?

You tilted your head in confusion. "Okay...?"

"That night, you had some on. I love when you do. It is so pretty." He paused to see the look on your face- a mixture of confusion and amusement- and he kicked himself for being a loser. It was anyway too late to back off now, so, he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a quiet, embarrassed breath before trying to explain himself properly.

"I was staring at you because..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "We'd been joking around earlier, and then you said my name with all the seriousness you could possibly gather while being, like, half a second away from laughing again, and that just-" He shook his head, a small, helpless smile pulling at his mouth. "You looked so pretty, and I don't know, I just... I love the way my name sounds when you say it."

His gaze dropped for a second, the tips of his ears warming as he tried to put the rest into words. "And that just got me, okay? I know I sound like a loser but everything else just kind of... disappeared. I wasn't thinking about ore even registering anything else. I was just looking at you."

His eyes stayed on yours this time, his voice quieter when he finally admitted, "You mesmerise me."

You just blinked.

Mesmerise? Oh fuck off

You brain had, very smartly, decided to ditch you in this moment of desperate need. Splended.

Finally, you managed to pull yourself together and in an... amused disbelief, you asked, "So you accidentally rejected me... because you were too 'mesmerised' by me?"

He gave you an apologetic little shrug.

"In my defence, I realised I liked you the next day, but yeah."

You scoffed, "That is no defence, dude."

His eyes widened, almost offended. "Don't 'dude' me. I just professed my feelings for you. I'm vulnerable!"

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile.

"Right, sorry... dude."

He glared at you, without any real heat in it.

A chuckle escaped before you could stop it, and just like that, the air that had felt too thick to breathe in comfortably for so long seemed to loosen. Soobin let out a breath of his own at the sound, his shoulders dropping as the tension he'd been carrying finally began to melt away, and when he looked at you again, there was something almost relieved in his expression.

"So you're telling me this whole fucking fortnight-long ordeal was just because… we were stupid?" You were glad it was nothing too serious but at the same time, frustrated that it was something so... stupid.

The corners of lips tugged upwards as he finally took two steps towards you.

Him walking to you with that little smile and ears red did things to you that you couldn't exactly process. So, naturally, you said, "Fuck off. I'm so mad at you."

Offended, he reasoned, "I tried to talk to you! But you stayed so cold and avoidant" as he took another step towards you.

"Well, I know but still!"

Another step.

He scoffed. "You're annoying as well, okay? You made the thing worse."

"Again, I know."

One last step and he was here. Right in front of you. You could smell him after all this time again. It wasn't new- it was the same warm and woody scent that you'd smelled a hundred times before. But being this close to him after everything that had transpired in the past hour, knowing that he liked you too, had apparently made your brain decide it was the most fascinating scent known to mankind.

Oh boy!

Act normal, Yn. This is fine. He has been this close before. This is fine. So fine... Mmhm. He was. Sooo fine.

Shut up, Yn.

You looked up at him, to find him already looking at you. His gaze, soft. And then he hit you with a whispered, "It hurt."

Your eyes immediately dropped, guilt flashing across your face as your body instinctively started to pull back. You opened your mouth to apologise, but before you could get a single word out, Soobin's hand closed gently around your wrist.

His thumb brushed once over your wrist, and when you looked back up, there was that little smile again.

"So can you kiss it better?"

Your breath hitched. "What?"

"Kiss it better?" He repeated himself with a glint in his eyes.

You just stared at him, feeling the warmth creep into your neck, face, your entire body.

He took a step even closer, "Can you?" Then dropped his gaze to your lips, "Or can I?"

Maybe you leaned in first. Maybe he did. You couldn't tell later, and hontestly, neither of you seemed particularly interested in figuring it out as your lips finally met.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative in the way both of you were tentative about everything today, as though neither quite trusted that this was real yet. His hand came up instinctively to your waist, fingers settling there carefully, while yours found the front of his shirt as you held on to it, gently tugging him closer.

When you pulled back, his eyes remained closed for a second longer.

Then they opened.

He looked dazed.

You smiled.

"Hi."

He laughed under his breath, forehead falling lightly against yours.

"Hi."

"I hate that we spent half a month in pure agony over... nothing," You shook your head. You tried to sound casual but there was an undercurrent of frustration at yourself that couldn't quite hide from Soobin despite a great effort from your end.

"Shhh" He slid his hand into yours. "Don't waste time on the dark past."

You squeezed his hand. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." And then whispered, "Make up for lost time instead"

You couldn't help the little laugh that escaped you, the sound disappearing against his lips when you leaned in to kiss him again.

"Mhmm. Good idea."

Series masterlist

I hope this part was worth all the wait and the buildup and the idiocy hehe <333

Next Update: 13th August (hopefully)

a/n2: I cannot believe we're at the end of this series. The next part will be the official last chapter. There will be an epilogue but yeah. AHHHH! I'm already emotional BUT I'll save it for the next two posts lol.

Taglist: @aria-in-wonderland , @thearchersupremacy , @moarmy7 , @mouldyvoldysworld , @salalalalami , @carrotkyu , @seraphimistic , @im-down-for-gyu553 , @itsdragonius , @bakudon , @zooweeemama-sai , @97z-jk , @soobinsoudesu , @beomiaow , @nanilis , @fairfootedflekk , @overtheggum , @en-moa , @monosung , @gomdoleemyson , @csbenthusiast , @starrybeoms @filmsforgyu Comment to be added to the taglist <3

Kai Kamal Huening wasn’t good at hiding secrets.

It was something his sisters never let him forget—especially when he accidentally let it slip that a boy had been talking to them, right in the middle of family dinner.

Kai would only shrug in response, because it always ended the same way anyway: with him being rewarded with extra gummies for dessert.

It was a trait he had kept into adulthood, mostly because he found lying to be far too much effort.

But times had changed.

Kai had changed.

He was no longer the little boy who played the recorder while his sisters ‘traded’ his plushies for one of their uglier ones.

He was a man now—one who still played the recorder, but who also got to keep all his plushies to himself. And somehow, impossibly, he had something no one in his life ever thought he would have: a girlfriend.

Him having a girlfriend wasn’t entirely out of this world, but it was something everyone around him seemed convinced he couldn’t manage.

Maybe it was his lack of social activity.

Maybe it was his tendency to stay in his room.

Maybe it was his complete disregard for “trendy clothing.”

Regardless of all these very real factors, Kai had managed to get a girlfriend—you, to be specific.

He had met you on one of the rare occasions he decided to go on a solo trip around Seoul. Everyone else had a schedule that day: Yeonjun was busy working on his solo, Taehyun and Beomgyu were at the gym—mostly because Beomgyu was tired of being thrown around by the members—and Soobin was probably getting lectured about his lack of media training. After all, who publicly admits they can eat a watermelon in three seconds and expects the internet to forget about it?

Which left Kai all alone—and, for once, ready to go outside.

The plan was simple. Kai wanted to visit the café down the street from the HYBE building that had been temporarily converted into a Pokémon lover’s dream. While the fact that it was a manga café by design had always interested him, it wasn’t until the Pokémon theme that finally pushed him to go.

Which is exactly what he did.

Kai messaged his manager, put on his mask, and embarked on his journey.

The walk there was about as nice as a walk could get. The weather was good, his playlist was playing every song he wanted it to, and—most importantly—he hadn’t stepped in dog shit yet.

All in all, it was pretty good.

It was safe to say Kai was in a good mood when he stepped into the café.

Only for his good mood to be ruined by a sign plastered across the cashier area that read, with zero remorse: Out of Pokémon Trinkets / Merch.

Kai couldn’t help but slump in on himself.

He sighed as he checked the time on his phone. It was 3:24 in the afternoon, which meant that if he made the fourteen-minute walk back to HYBE now, he’d be stuck doing work—something he very much did not want to be doing.

Which left him with only one option: to suck it up and enjoy the ambience of the café.

It wasn’t as if he was deprived of Pokémon merchandise, or that this was his only chance. He was an idol, for crying out loud—he’d been to the Pokémon Center more times than he could count. Still, he had to admit it would’ve been fun to get something from a place just down the street from HYBE.

Kai allowed himself to wander into the café, taking in the posters plastered on the walls and the cute Pokémon-themed drink series.

He figured he should probably find something to do before ordering a drink—he didn’t want to risk juggling one hand holding a drink while the other flipped through manga, something he had learned inevitably ended with at least one item hitting the floor.

Which left him wandering into one of the aisles lined with manga. He soon found himself scanning for Gintama, a familiar favorite.

Kai walked up and down the aisle, hoping to see the familiar spine.

Kai was so focused on finding his manga that he didn’t notice he wasn’t the only one in the aisle. He didn’t realize you were only four steps away—until he walked right into you and sent your drink spilling all over his hoodie.

He looked down at his comfiest blue hoodie, now soaked in iced coffee.

“Oh—oh my gosh!” you exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

Kai froze, trying to understand what was happening. He watched you pull your purse forward and dig for napkins, a small smile of relief appearing once you found some. He hesitated, unsure if he should say anything as you raised the napkins toward him, silently asking if it was okay to touch his hoodie.

You were pretty, really pretty.

Which made him want to curl up in a ball and never leave his room again because the one time he did he made an absolute fool of himself in front of the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

You cleared your throat, shaking the tissues as a reminder of the situation, snapping Kai back to reality. He quickly grabbed them from your hands and started dabbing at his hoodie, employing the method Yeonjun had once taught him when he was sixteen and utterly incapable of doing laundry.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Kai could only nod.

You nodded back.

Kai decided he was finished trying to salvage the hoodie. If the stain survived the wash, it would simply be downgraded to a pyjama hoodie rather than an outdoor one.

You held out your hand, silently gesturing for him to give the tissues back, which he did without a word.

It was then that he truly saw your face for the first time.

His heart skipped. Your mouth slowly formed an ‘o,’ and a spark of recognition lit up your eyes.

Kai couldn’t help but tense. He remembered practicing scenarios like this during media training seminars: if a fan recognizes you in public, you simply say hi, maybe sign something—but never give personal information or take pictures. Stay calm. Stay calm.

And yet, you didn’t react with excitement or demand anything. You simply closed your mouth, quietly took the tissues from him, and held them with that calm, easy grace.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” you replied.

Kai decided then and there that you were precious—because your voice sounded just as charming as you were.

The two of you stood in that aisle, quiet, each trying to think of something to say.

It was then that he noticed the orange keychain hanging from your purse—a Charmander, to be exact.

“Is that…” he cleared his throat, “the Charmander keychain from the café?”

Your eyes lit up, and Kai silently thanked the fact that his mask hid just how pink he’d gone at the sight of you.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed. “I got it last week, actually!”

You looked at him directly. “Did you get one too?”

Kai shook his head, smiling at how infectious your excitement was. “I wanted to, but they were out of all Pokémon stock by the time I got here.”

He noticed your small frown, as if you were a little disappointed he hadn’t gotten one.

Then, carefully, you unclipped the keychain from your purse. “Here,” you said, holding it out toward him.

Kai’s eyes widened. “Oh… I couldn’t take this—”

“It’s okay,” you said with a small smile. “Consider it an apology for spilling my drink on you. I mean, it’s not every day you spill something on a famous idol.”

Kai nodded, bringing his hands forward to accept the precious gift. “Are you sure?” he found himself asking.

He found himself fumbling with the keychain, looking up to see if you had seen that.

“Take it,” you insisted. “Seriously, just take it.”

He placed it in his pocket, already imagining where he would put it in his room.

Then his eyes drifted to the manga you had been holding before the incident, and he froze at the familiar spine of Gintama.

“Wait… is that Gintama?” he asked, a spark of excitement cutting through his embarrassment. “You like Gintama?”

You nodded, and just like that, the conversation fell into easy territory. The two of you traded favorite arcs and characters, Kai gesturing animatedly, completely forgetting the wet patch on his hoodie, the spilled drink, and even the passing time.

Then his phone rang, and the name on the screen made him groan: Soobin.

“Where the hell have you been?” the voice demanded, half-angry, half-panicked.

Kai shot you a glance. “Uh… just a sec,” he said, still distracted. You smiled and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

“Here,” you said, handing it to him. “You’ll probably need it for… you know, emergencies.”

He looked down. Your number. And even though his stomach did that weird fluttery thing, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face.

“Right. Got it,” he said softly, tucking the paper into his pocket. “I’ll… uh, text you.”

Soobin continued whining in the background, but Kai, manga in hand and Charmander keychain safely pocketed, realized that maybe spilling his hoodie wasn’t the worst thing that could happen on a solo trip to a Pokémon-themed café.

After all, it was where he met his girlfriend.

His girlfriend, who would listen patiently while he ranted about whatever he was watching at the moment.

His girlfriend, who would sit prettily on her couch as he came over to show her something he helped create.

His girlfriend, who, over time, grew bold enough to tease him relentlessly, because in your words, “You're too pretty to not be appreciated.”

Because of you, Kai finally got to do all the “couple things” he had watched Lea gush about on the phone with her friends.

He could hug you whenever he wanted.

He could formally “adopt” plushies together with you.

He could talk about anything he wanted, knowing you’d always listen and respond.

He loved having a girlfriend.

In fact… he loved you.

He told you on your three-month anniversary.

You responded by showing him matching figurines of Plusle and Minun holding hands in a heart-shaped box you’d painted.

Was it quick? Probably.

Did the two of you care? Absolutely not.

It was on your four-month anniversary that you asked the question that made his stomach flip:

“Do your members know about us?”

He watched as you slowly lifted yourself off his chest, the two of you still sprawled on the bed, watching Team Rocket get absolutely destroyed by ten-year-olds.

He hated to admit it, but he always missed you—even if you were only ten centimetres away.

He shook his head, silently saying ‘No’.

“Why not?” you asked.

Kai opened his mouth, then closed it again. The only answer he could come up with was… weird. How do you tell the people who had practically raised you since the age of thirteen that you’re dating at twenty-three? How do you explain to the four people who had traveled the world with you, who had suffered with you, that you were no longer the kid with plushies that they had to take care of? That the kid remained a loser with plushies… but also now made out with the prettiest girl in the world every other weekend?

How do you even begin to explain that?

So all he could manage was, “It just… hasn’t come up in conversation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you expect it to come up in conversation?”

Kai groaned and let his head fall back. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed dramatically, which made you giggle.

He turned to look at you, voice exasperated, “How do you tell people who’ve taken care of you—and shared diarrhea with you—that you’re suddenly dating someone?”

You made a face. “Too much information,” you muttered.

Kai shrugged. “Besides, what if they don’t like it? It’s not like I can run away from them—I’m legally required to spend the next seven years with them!”

You hummed, weighing his words. Then you moved back to your spot on his chest. “Fine,” you said, “don’t tell them—but don’t hide it from them either.”

Kai nodded.

“They’re important people in your life,” you continued, smiling down at him. “They deserve to know that we’re together.”

Kai nodded again.

You leaned up and planted a soft kiss on his lips—a kiss he gladly returned.

Regardless of his members, Kai simply loved his girlfriend.

THE FIRST TIME: WHY DO YOU HAVE HADILAO ON SPEED DIAL?

Yeonjun loved eating.

When it came to deciding the group’s archetypes, he had claimed the “foodie” title immediately—and no one argued. He would eat anything. Everything.

But he knew his limits. After three consecutive days of takeout, a hand-made meal became necessary—even if it meant risking death by Taehyun’s glare. And he knew every other member shared this belief.

Which was why he was utterly confused when he saw the maknae frantically searching for the fastest route to Haidilao from their photoshoot location.

It was a photoshoot for something—he wasn’t exactly sure what—but all Yeonjun had to do was pose and post it on Instagram. Simple enough.

And yet, there was the maknae, plotting a route to hotpot like his life depended on it.

There was nothing wrong with it. It was just… peculiar. Yeonjun could have sworn Kai had gone to Haidilao three days ago. And wasn’t he supposed to be dieting?

He narrowed his eyes at the maknae, trying to decipher the master plan.

“Hyung?” Kai’s voice broke him out of his trance.

Yeonjun blinked, looking up. “What?”

Kai shook his head, smirking. “Why are you looking at me like I drew three-dot YJ again?”

Yeonjun squinted at him. “You’re a brat, you know that, right?”

Kai simply smiled and nodded, as if this accusation was an everyday occurrence. (It was.)

Unsatisfied, Yeonjun glanced around, searching for backup.

Soobin was being debriefed by the photoshoot director about the promotion plan.

Taehyun was getting his outfit refitted—his arms having somehow grown overnight.

Beomgyu was in the makeup chair, half asleep and fully unhelpful.

Which left Yeonjun alone, forced to interrogate the maknae’s sudden devotion to hotpot by himself.

The plan commenced with a subtle shift—moving from standing in front of Kai to sitting beside him. Then leaning in, peeking over the maknae’s increasingly broad shoulder, and glancing at his phone screen.

Kai was scrolling through the Haidilao menu. Specifically, the soup bases.

“What’cha doing?” Yeonjun asked casually.

Kai flinched and immediately locked his phone.

“Nothing,” he stammered.

Yeonjun froze.

Now this was interesting. He had never seen Kai this shaken before.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

Kai nodded—but it was far too frantic to be convincing.

“Because it looked like you were searching how to get to Haidilao from here.”

Yeonjun watched as Kai visibly slumped, like a man caught red-handed.

“I promised someone I’d eat with them there today,” Kai admitted.

Yeonjun’s curiosity sharpened immediately. Kai never mentioned meeting new people—ever.

“Who,” Yeonjun pressed, “are you planning to meet there?”

Kai muttered something under his breath and turned his head away.

Yeonjun bit back the urge to roll his eyes. Why was he suddenly this difficult?

“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun said sweetly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “I couldn’t hear you.”

Kai straightened, as if bracing himself, and forced eye contact with his hyung.

“My girlfriend.”

Yeonjun stared at him.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Kai sighed, turning fully toward him now, resignation written all over his face. “My girlfriend. I was trying to figure out the quickest way to get to Haidilao because I promised my girlfriend we’d eat there together.”

Yeonjun blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Did the word girlfriend just come out of Kai’s mouth?

No. It couldn’t have.

It had to be something else. A misunderstanding. A joke. A lie. A very elaborate excuse involving hotpot.

The sheer absurdity of the idea hit him all at once, and Yeonjun burst out laughing—loud enough that Beomgyu jolted awake in his makeup chair.

“What—what’s happening?” Beomgyu croaked.

Kai remained entirely unimpressed, staring at Yeonjun like this reaction was deeply offensive.

“If you wanted to go to Haidilao,” Yeonjun wheezed between laughs, “you don’t have to make up some fake girlfriend just to do it.”

Kai blinked at him.

Once.

Slowly.

And then—

“She’s not fake.”

“Sure,” Yeonjun said, very close to ruining his eye makeup from how hard he was laughing.

Kai only sighed and went back to scrolling on his phone.

It took three full minutes—and two increasingly concerned side-eyes from nearby staff—for Yeonjun to finally calm down.

“I’m so happy that the idea of me dating someone makes you want to pee your pants,” Kai said dryly, already tired of bowing apologetically to staff members who looked genuinely worried about the two of them.

Yeonjun snorted. “You know you don’t have to make up a whole fake girlfriend just to go eat hotpot.”

He pushed himself upright, having nearly folded in half during his laughing fit. “It’s okay if you don’t want to eat Taehyun’s cooking today,” he continued, reaching out to pinch his maknae’s cheeks. “I’ll tell him you got called away by the producers or something. It’s not like he’s going to murder you for skipping one healthy meal.”

Kai nodded along, deadpan, wondering if the concept of him having a girlfriend was truly that unbelievable that his members’ most logical conclusion was that he was lying just to avoid eating clean.

“Yep,” Kai said quietly. “That’s exactly what’s happening.”

Satisfied with the maknae’s answer, Yeonjun turned around and went to his phone.

Kai has a girlfriend?

Yeah right!

When Kai finally spotted you waiting in a booth, scrolling on your phone, he felt the weight of the day melt off his shoulders.

You were sitting there in one of the hoodies that existed in joint custody between the two of you, your bag resting on your lap. A Plusle keychain dangled from it—perfectly matching the Minun clipped to the belt loop of his pants.

He couldn’t help but stand there for a moment, silently debating whether he should wait for you to notice him or poke you into acknowledging his presence.

The decision was made for him the moment you realised there was a 183-centimetre shadow looming in front of you, prompting you to look up.

“You know, if you keep standing there, someone might think you’re haunting me,” you said, trying to get him to sit down.

Kai let himself slide into the seat—not across from you, but beside you.

He couldn’t help it. You were comfort personified, and why would he want a table between the two of you when he could sit right here?

He wrapped an arm around you, slowly letting himself melt into your side.

Photoshoots weren’t new to Kai, but they were always just exhausting enough to make him want to curl up into a ball afterward.

Now, he could curl up with you beside him—and that made everything better.

“Are you ready to eat?” you asked, leaning into him just as easily.

As his head slowly drooped to rest against your shoulder, Kai briefly thought that this must be what people meant when they complained about couples being disgustingly affectionate in public. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to care if anyone was watching.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small nudge. He followed your finger to the tablet displaying the menu.

He straightened up and ordered with you, making sure both of your cravings were met. He listened as you talked about your day—about the new anime you were watching, about your friend’s upcoming birthday—and he realised he felt full in a way food had nothing to do with.

He really loved you.

When the food arrived, he made sure you ate first, even though this was the first proper meal he’d had all day.

It was halfway through feeding you your seventh bite that you asked, “So… how was the photoshoot?”

Kai made sure the chopsticks were perfectly loaded with everything you liked. “It was okay,” he said. “We filmed some TikToks—you’d probably like them. The outfits were fine.”

He lifted the chopsticks again, waiting patiently for you to open your mouth. “The only weird thing was that Yeonjun laughed at me when I told him I was meeting you here.”

You immediately choked on your food.

Kai rushed to grab a glass of water, holding it up to your lips and steadying it as you drank.

Once you finally signalled that you were okay, he set the glass down and watched you try to compose yourself.

“He—” you started. “You told him?”

Kai nodded. “Yeah. I said I was meeting my girlfriend here, and then he laughed like the Joker for twenty minutes.”

You snorted.

Then you started giggling.

Was he secretly a comedian? Why did everyone keep laughing at him?

“Well,” you said between laughs, “I guess they wouldn’t believe it even if you told them you had a girlfriend.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you saying that, in my members’ eyes, I am eternally bitchless?”

You nodded, still laughing.

“It’s okay,” you said, finally calming down. “I’ll still be with you—even if the entire world thinks you can’t pull.”

Kai couldn’t help but smile, because he knew the same thing.

No matter what anyone said, he’d choose you every single time.

THE SECOND TIME : SINCE WHEN WERE YOU INTO SHOUJO ANIME?

Soobin practically knew everything about Kai.

He knew his likes and his dislikes. He knew which of Kai’s many plushies was his favourite. He knew the small, subconscious habits Kai carried without realising—things Soobin had memorised over years of shared dorms and overlapping schedules.

Which was why this felt wrong.

Maybe it was because they’d been busy lately—the new comeback, the sudden surge of solo schedules, or simply the lack of proper one-on-one time—but Soobin never imagined walking into the living room to find Kai willingly watching Kimi no Todoke.

For fun.

Not ironically. Not because someone else had it on. Not because he’d lost a bet.

No—Kai was curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, fully immersed as Sawako awkwardly fumbled through her feelings.

Soobin stopped walking.

He stared.

Since when was Huening Kai into shoujo anime?

Soobin knew Kai had been trying to get more into anime lately—but he distinctly remembered nineteen-year-old Kai declaring that he would rather get abs than watch shoujo.

Soobin blinked, needing to confirm whether what he was witnessing was real or simply the result of his horrible sleeping habits finally catching up to him.

He closed his eyes.

He opened them again.

Kai was still there. Still watching Kimi no Todoke. Still wearing an expression of genuine focus that couldn’t possibly be faked.

Soobin couldn’t help himself.

“What the hell are you watching?”

Kai flinched, whipping his head around to find Soobin standing behind him.

Soobin slowly raised a hand and pointed at the TV. “Want to explain this?”

Kai tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Hyung, you’ve known I watch anime. Why is this weird?”

Soobin did a double take.

Why was this weird?

Oh. Right.

“Are we looking at the same thing right now?”

Kai turned back to the screen and paused the episode, then patted the space beside him, gesturing for Soobin to sit. “Do you want some water?” he added seriously. “Maybe all those media training lectures messed with your head.”

Soobin gaped at the maknae—yet somehow still found himself sitting down moments later, a newly acquired glass of water resting in his hand.

Kai turned to face his leader, a blanket draped over his lap and his comfiest hoodie pulled on, looking painfully at ease.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Soobin searched for the right words. “Why?”

Kai tilted his head. “Why what?”

“Why are you watching—” Soobin gestured vaguely toward the TV, fingers flailing, “this.”

“I’m not following,” Kai said calmly.

“You’ve never watched shoujo anime,” Soobin continued, pausing deliberately, “like. Ever.”

Kai shrugged. “What if I like romance anime?”

Soobin nodded slowly, as if that explanation made sense.

It didn’t.

“But you said you’d rather get abs than watch a school romance,” Soobin shot back.

Kai chuckled at the reminder. “I did,” he said, then gestured vaguely to his body. “But, uh—look at what happened to me.”

Soobin stared.

Abs were one thing. This? This was slander.

His brain began to whir. Loudly.

This wasn’t the Kai he knew. The Kai he raised. The Kai who once abandoned a drama five minutes in because ‘why are they staring at each other for so long?’

He looked at the screen again. Sawako was blushing.

Kai was smiling.

Oh no.

He’s changed, Soobin thought, dread curling in his stomach. Someone did this to him.

Slowly, carefully—like he was approaching a wild animal—Soobin leaned forward.

“Kai,” he said quietly. Dangerously calm.

Kai hummed, eyes still fixed on the paused screen.

“Who,” Soobin continued, pointing once at the TV, then very deliberately at Kai, “made you do this?”

Kai finally looked at him. Blinked. “…Hyung?”

“C’mon,” Soobin said. “You mean to tell me that all of a sudden, you’re changing your personality.”

“Personality?” Kai shot back. “I’m watching one anime and now you’re saying my entire DNA has changed?”

Soobin nodded. “Exactly. So what’s happening?”

Kai sighed, already knowing his hyung wouldn’t let this go. “You want the truth?”

Soobin nodded.

Kai exhaled. “My girlfriend told me it was good, so I decided to watch it.”

Soobin stared at his maknae.

Kai stared back at his leader.

“Girlfriend?” Soobin echoed.

Kai nodded, like this was the most normal sentence he’d ever said.

Soobin stared at the boy he’d known since he was fifteen—the kid he’d practically raised. He lifted a hand and pointed straight at him. “Girlfriend?”

Kai nodded again. Still calm. Still normal.

Too normal.

Which could only mean one thing.

Kai was lying.

A big, fat liar.

Soobin blinked. “You know,” he said carefully, “it’s okay to admit your tastes have evolved.”

Kai frowned. “What?”

“You don’t have to make up a girlfriend for it.”

Soobin watched as Kai closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long sigh.

“You’re telling me,” Kai said, locking eyes with him, “that just because I said I have a girlfriend, you think I’m making up an excuse to watch a romance anime?”

Soobin nodded—completely serious.

Kai pursed his lips. “You’re right,” he surrendered. “You’re absolutely right.”

Soobin nodded, satisfied with the explanation he’d decided on for Kai.

“Go on,” he said, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Have fun watching Kimi no Todoke.”

Kai opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it, allowing Soobin his moment of victory.

Soobin settled back into the couch, proud of the conclusion he’d reached.

Kai can’t have a girlfriend, he decided firmly. He’s just getting introduced to girls.

Kai’s favourite part of the days when he couldn’t see you was when he got to call you.

It was always late at night, after he’d settled into his room and made sure he’d said goodnight to all the members. He would send you a simple message—something like i’m free ~ —and then go about his nighttime routine, already anticipating the sound of your voice.

Sometimes you called while he was still in the shower, and he would speedrun through it just to call you back as soon as possible. Other times, you’d call when he was halfway through skincare, and the two of you would talk about your days while Kai carefully applied one of the Pokémon face masks you’d insisted on buying him.

To him, these calls were peace.

Relaxation.

The thing that made long, exhausting days at the company feel worth it.

And he knew that for you, they were a break too—a pause from daily stress, from everything that weighed on you.

Maybe that was why he cherished these calls just as much as he cherished seeing you in person. Because when the two of you were talking through a screen, it felt like your own small world— one that couldn’t be disturbed in the slightest.

Tonight’s call came while he was finishing his skincare. He’d already said goodnight to the members after eating Taehyun’s homemade food—the same food he’d missed earlier when he’d gone to Haidilao to meet you.

He accepted the call and smiled immediately when your face appeared on the screen. It looked like you were just starting your own nighttime routine.

The conversation began the way it always did: small, simple questions.

How was your day? Did you eat? Are you tired?

But they were never small between the two of you.

Kai genuinely wanted to know everything you’d done, and he knew you loved hearing about the tiny moments that made his day special.

Tonight’s main story?

Soobin questioning him over watching Kimi no Todoke—and then outright refusing to believe him when he told the truth.

It sounded ridiculous when Kai said it out loud. But the way you reacted, laughing softly into your hand, made it worth it.

As much as he loved the sound, Kai couldn’t stop the pout that formed on his lips.

“Why do all the members think there’s no possible way for me to get a girlfriend?” he complained.

Your laughter slowly faded.

“Maybe,” you said gently, “it’s because you’re always their baby who hates romance?”

Kai let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sulk. “But it’s not funny anymore.”

You tried—and failed—to contain another quiet laugh.

“Imagine if you give them our wedding invitations and they still don’t believe you.”

Kai looked horrified at the thought.

“No!” he exclaimed, face-palming as he pulled his blankets up and over himself like they could shield him from the idea.

That finally set you off, but when the laughter faded, Kai found himself just watching you—your smile warm and fond in a way that made his chest ache.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “That just means when they finally do figure it out, it’ll be even funnier.”

That was something Kai could agree on.

It went quiet for a moment. Comfortable. Unrushed.

And before he could stop himself, he said, “I miss you.”

You shifted in bed, getting more comfortable before smiling back at him.

“I miss you too, bubba.”

Kai wrinkled his nose. “Bubba?”

You nodded. “It’s cute.” You leaned your head against your hand. “Like you.”

As much as Kai wanted to argue that you were much cuter, his cheeks were already turning pink.

“Shut up,” he mumbled weakly.

Your small laugh echoed through his headphones.

 “I love you.”

Kai muttered the words back, quieter—but no less certain.

He really wouldn’t mind being married to you.

THE THIRD TIME: DID THE GHOST OF SHAKESPHERE POSSESS YOU?

Beomgyu had always admired Kai.

From the moment he learned that the group’s maknae had originally come to the company to produce—not sing, not dance—Beomgyu found himself genuinely impressed by the thirteen-year-old trainee. It wasn’t just talent. It was instinct. Kai heard music differently.

Whenever it came time to write lyrics or build a track, Beomgyu gravitated toward him without thinking. Beats, melodies, second opinions—Kai was always the one he trusted. The one who listened carefully before speaking. The one whose feedback actually made things better.

So when the producers suggested that the two in-house producers of the group sit together to brainstorm for the new album, Beomgyu didn’t hesitate.

He already had expectations.

Kai would write about friendship.

Or youth.

Or chasing dreams with that soft sincerity he was known for.

What Beomgyu did not expect—

Was a romance song.

And not even the safe kind. Not a vague, abstract I like you from afar track that could be brushed off as fanservice or metaphor.

No.

Kai wanted to write about wanting to dance with someone.

The lyrics he showed Beomgyu made him think Kai might want to do more than just dance.

Beomgyu stared at the lyric sheet in silence.

Then, slowly, he looked up.

“…Who possessed you?”

He stared at the maknae—who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” Kai asked.

Beomgyu looked back down at the paper, skimming over lines like this long, sweet dance that can’t be done alone.

He blinked.

“When did the ghost of Shakespeare possess you?”

Kai frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Beomgyu gestured at the lyric sheet.

“What made you write—” he paused, repressing both a shiver and a gag, “—sensual stuff?”

His face twisted. “Sensual stuff?” he repeated, like the word physically hurt.

Kai frowned—not offended. Just… confused. Genuinely so.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

Beomgyu froze.

That was worse than denial. Worse than embarrassment.

That was indifference.

The maknae was absolutely indifferent to the fact that he had written something meant to be sung to someone.

“Kai,” Beomgyu said carefully, “you don’t just accidentally write lines like this long, sweet dance that can’t be done alone.”

Kai shrugged, rolling his chair a little closer to the desk. “It’s just honest.”

Beomgyu’s eye twitched.

“Honest.”

“Yeah,” Kai said, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Dancing isn’t just moving. It’s timing. Trust. You have to listen to the other person. You can’t rush it—and you can’t do it by yourself.”

He spoke gently. Thoughtfully.

Like he’d rehearsed this explanation long before Beomgyu ever asked.

Beomgyu stared.

This wasn’t poetic nonsense.

This was a thesis.

“So,” Kai continued, eyes flicking briefly back to the lyric sheet, “I wanted it to feel close. Like you’re aware of every step the other person takes.”

Silence.

Beomgyu’s brain began to short-circuit.

“…You’re aware,” he said slowly, “that this is a love song.”

Kai nodded. “Yeah.”

Immediate. No hesitation.

Beomgyu swallowed.

“And you’re aware,” he pressed, “that this is supposed to be hypothetical.”

Kai tilted his head. “But it’s not?”

Oh.

Beomgyu looked at him again—really looked this time. The calm posture. The steady tone. The lack of deflection. No jokes. No embarrassment.

“…Who,” Beomgyu asked quietly, “are you dancing with?”

Kai blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then his ears turned red.

Something in Beomgyu’s soul cracked.

“Kai,” he whispered, pointing accusingly, “don’t you dare tell me this is about a real person.”

Kai shrugged, turning back to the soundboard and fiddling with a beat.

“God forbid a man wants to write a song about dancing with his girlfriend.”

Beomgyu blinked at him.

Girlfriend?

“…And by girlfriend, you mean a really hot actress, right?”

Kai turned around, eyes wide.

“Why would I lie about having a girlfriend?”

Beomgyu scoffed. “When would you ever leave your room long enough to get a girlfriend?”

Kai nodded slowly—less in agreement and more because he was still processing the audacity of that statement.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, seemed perfectly satisfied with his conclusion. He leaned forward and grabbed Kai by the shoulders.

“So,” he said teasingly, eyes sparkling, “care to tell me which actress made you want to finally become a man?”

Kai grimaced. “That’s gross, hyung.”

Beomgyu gasped, recoiling like he’d been personally offended.

“You’re disgusting! I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested, then pointed accusingly at Kai. “I just wanted to know what made you want to be all sensual,” he sang, dragging the word out obnoxiously.

“She’s not an actress!” Kai exclaimed.

Beomgyu clutched his chest and gasped once more.

“Is it one of our sunbaes?”

Kai opened his mouth to defend himself—but nothing came out.

“Is that why you want to dance with them?” Beomgyu giggled, a new theory forming mid-sentence. “Is it because you want a collaboration?”

Kai sighed and nodded along.

“Sure,” he said, patting Beomgyu as the older boy laughed himself silly. “Whatever floats your boat, hyung.”

Beomgyu continued to giggle.

The maknae having a girlfriend before him?

As if.

No matter how many times TXT released new music, it never stopped being nerve-wracking for Kai.

Questions always raced through his head—what if the fans didn’t like it? What if the directors butchered the music video? What if the company uploaded the wrong file and the wrong video went live?

Release day always left his stomach twisted into knots.

Today was no different.

If anything, it was worse.

Today was the day you would watch—and listen to—Dance With You for the first time.

Kai paced back and forth across your apartment, hands running through his hair, stopping only to glance at your laptop every few seconds as you refreshed the page again and again. Meanwhile, you just watched him with quiet amusement, unfazed by his spiraling energy.

“It’s okay,” you called out gently.

And the practical part of his brain agreed. It was fine. Totally fine.

It’s not like he’d written a song about you.

Not like it was basically dedicated to you.

And it’s not like this was your first time hearing it, considering the song had been out for weeks—weeks you’d spent waiting only because he’d begged you not to listen until the music video dropped.

Really. No big deal at all.

Then he heard you gasp.

Kai snapped his head toward you just in time to see you click on the thumbnail—him, mid-dance, holding a mop.

He physically cringed.

What if you hated it?

What if you hated seeing him like this—more grown, more intentional, more romantic?

Oh my god… what if you broke up with him because you thought he was getting too close with a mop?

The thought was ridiculous. Completely irrational.

And yet Kai suddenly became very afraid that, in some distant future, he’d be remembered only as the ex who danced with cleaning supplies—a cautionary tale you’d tell on dates because you hated the music video that much.

Kai was so consumed by his panic that he completely missed watching your reactions. It wasn’t until your voice cut through his thoughts with a weary, “Kai?” that he snapped back into reality.

“Yes?” he answered too quickly, silently begging his stomach to keep down the egg and toast he’d forced himself to eat that morning.

You were looking at him—not at the screen, not at the paused video, but at him. There was something in your expression that made his chest tighten, something Kai could only describe as awe.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the lump forming in his throat.

“…Did you like it?” he asked quietly, almost meekly.

You held your hands out to him, and when he placed his in yours, you gently tugged him down until he was sitting beside you.

“Like it?” you echoed, disbelief woven into your voice. “Sweetheart, I loved it.”

Kai felt his body finally relax, like everything snapping back into its proper place. “Really?”

You nodded without hesitation. “What’s not to like?”

You reached for the laptop, replaying the music video as you continued, “My boyfriend looking all pretty and handsome on screen, showing the whole world that he’s capable of incredible things.”

A small giggle slipped out of Kai before he could stop it, warmth blooming in his chest as he let himself soak in the praise.

He shifted closer, eventually settling into your lap, eyes fluttering shut as your hand instinctively moved to run through his hair.

“Did you read the lyrics yet?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Considering I heard the song for the first time, like, seven minutes ago? I don’t think I’ve had time to properly digest the lyrics you wrote.”

“Well, you should,” he said, almost sheepishly. “They made Beomgyu think I’m crushing on a sunbae.”

You snorted. “What?”

He nodded seriously. “He read the lyrics and straight-up refused to believe I’m capable of writing about girls.”

You laughed, already following his logic. “Another girlfriend reveal gone wrong?”

Kai hummed in agreement. “It’s obvious too. I’m not even hiding you from them anymore, and they still don’t believe me when I tell them.”

He glanced up at you as you tried to think of a solution.

“Maybe they’d believe it if they saw it?” you offered.

Kai considered that. You weren’t wrong—but a small, anxious part of him worried they’d just ask if he’d hired you as an actress.

“I’ll think about it,” he said instead.

Which, in Kai-speak, really meant: I don’t want to think about this right now, but I’ll file it away as a potential Plan B.

You resumed playing with his hair, fingers gentle and familiar. “Hey, Bubba?” you asked softly.

He looked up, expecting a question.

Instead, you kissed him.

He melted into it immediately, relaxing as he pressed his lips back against yours. When you pulled away moments later, you stayed close, your words barely a whisper against his mouth.

“I would love to dance with you.”

Kai kissed you again without hesitation, heart swelling in his chest.

And as he held you there, he couldn’t help but think that he’d dance with you every day—every lifetime—if he could.

THE FOURTH TIME : IS YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE ABS?

Taehyun knew he was very different from Kai.

Taehyun hated being called cute.

Kai embraced it.

Taehyun hated watching romance.

Kai was—apparently—getting into it.

Taehyun didn’t mind showing skin.

Kai avoided it as much as he possibly could.

But Kai had been Taehyun’s first friend on the team.

One of the people closest to him.

Taehyun listened. He always did. He would sit beside Kai and let him talk—about his day, about melodies stuck in his head, about ideas for projects that never quite left his thoughts. Taehyun didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush him. He just stayed.

Which led to another realisation, another difference between them.

Taehyun loved working out.

Kai would rather do just about anything else than step into a gym.

Which was why Taehyun found himself surprised— and, admittedly, a little scared— when Kai asked if he could help him get abs.

Taehyun had agreed.

That decision led to a two-hour session at the HYBE gym, where Taehyun spotted the maknae and discovered—much to his disbelief—that Kai was putting in a full, unwavering one hundred percent effort. No complaints. No excuses. Just stubborn focus and slightly shaky arms.

That alone was alarming.

It wasn’t until after the workout that Taehyun decided he needed answers.

They were seated at the HYBE café, taking full advantage of the free food benefit they earned by metaphorically breaking their backs for the company. Taehyun watched as Kai ordered his usual mango drink— then added one scoop of protein powder.

As if that single scoop made all the difference in the world.

Taehyun cleared his throat.

“So,” he began carefully, “what exactly made you want to get—” he paused, searching for the least awkward word possible, “—abs?”

Across from him, Kai slurped his mango concoction thoughtfully, eyes unfocused as he considered the question.

Taehyun waited.

This better be good.

Kai blinked. “Well… we had them for Love Language, so I thought I should keep them.”

Taehyun nodded slowly, not fully buying it.

“If I remember correctly,” he said, “you were always the first person to leave the gym the second the trainer said you were good to go.”

Kai hummed in response, leaning forward to take a bite of the egg tart he’d grabbed.

“So?” Taehyun pressed, crossing his arms.

Kai finished chewing and let out a sigh.

A deep sigh.

That immediately worried Taehyun.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Kai said quietly.

Taehyun’s mind started racing.

What does he mean I wouldn’t understand?

He ran through every possibility—every reason Kai might suddenly change one of his most fundamental habits.

“…Are you getting hate comments about your body again?”

Kai’s eyes widened. “What? No.”

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Kai nodded. “I mean, I probably am. But I’m not reading them anymore.”

Taehyun looked down at the table and let out a small, relieved sigh.

Okay. Not that.

So what else?

He cleared his throat again. “Then what is it that I won’t believe?”

Kai took another sip of his drink.

Taehyun watched closely, silently praying that two hours at the gym hadn’t just gone to waste on a mango drink with a conscience.

Kai cleared his throat. “Well,” he trailed off, “my girlfriend really liked my abs during Love Language, so I thought I should try to keep them.”

Taehyun blinked.

Then rubbed his ear, just to be sure.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing it again, “can you repeat that?”

Kai looked like he was used to this. He slumped further into his seat.

“I’m trying to keep my abs because my girlfriend likes them.”

Taehyun stared straight into Kai’s eyes, searching desperately for a hint of humor.

There was none.

Which meant this had to be something else.

“You don’t have to use a girlfriend as an excuse to better yourself,” Taehyun said gently.

That had to be it. He must be embarrassed—starting now, when everyone else had been working out for years.

Kai looked exasperated. “What exactly are you talking about?”

Taehyun continued, “I understand that everyone around us has always pushed us to be fit, and you never listened—which was completely fine, because you looked great without the muscle.” He paused, meeting Kai’s eyes. “But you don’t have to be embarrassed to admit you want to improve yourself now.”

Kai stared at him.

Then leaned forward, rested his arms on the table, and took another sip of his drink.

“Sure, hyung,” he said dryly. “You caught me. I’m using a fake girlfriend as an excuse to get abs so I can keep watching anime and gaming in my room—but with abs.”

Taehyun nodded, satisfied.

“That makes sense,” he said. “I mean—whose love language is abs?”

Kai stared at him blankly. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “So weird.”

Taehyun opened his mouth to comment on the tone when his phone rang—a reminder for an interview he had to film alongside Yeonjun.

He stood, holding the phone up to Kai, who waved him off casually.

Taehyun walked down the hallway toward the makeup room, already shaking his head.

The maknae having a girlfriend?

There was absolutely no way.

When Kai was training, he always kept a small emotional-support plushie with him.

It wasn’t separation anxiety—he swapped them out often.

It wasn’t to stand out or earn points with the producers during training sessions, like some of the other trainees tried to do.

He simply liked having something small and soft nearby. A reminder that even when things felt overwhelming or bleak, there were still gentle, cute things in the world.

People teased him for it.

His sisters teased him.

His members teased him too.

But he always knew it came from a place of fondness, so he never took it to heart. It became just another thing about him—something he accepted with a shrug and a smile.

Which was why his heart had started beating faster when, during a video call, you noticed the plushies in the background.

And instead of commenting on how many there were, you asked if they all had names.

And stories.

You were the first person in his life who didn’t treat his plushies like something to laugh at—but like something that mattered.

What made it even better was that you had your own collection. A stash of stuffed animals you clearly adored just as much.

At the time, it felt like a small detail. Cute. Insignificant.

Later, it became something else entirely.

Something affectionately referred to as “ the co-parenting practice”.

This happened every two to three weeks.

The two of you would meet—usually at your place—and spend a few quiet hours together before exchanging plushies, so that you each left with a small piece of the other.

This week was no different.

In Kai’s hands was a Tuxedo Sam plushie you had given him, tucked carefully alongside the strawberry Molang plushie he planned to give you in return.

But that wasn’t all he was carrying.

In his bag were three of his comfiest hoodies—chosen specifically because, just the other day, you had complained about how the women’s section never stocked properly oversized fits.

Kai wasn’t stupid. He had watched enough dramas to know that this was a thing—something you were supposed to do. Give someone your hoodies. Let them steal your warmth.

So he had spent a full ninety minutes standing in front of his closet, narrowing it down to his top three. He picked his favourite cologne, sprayed each hoodie lightly, then folded them neatly into the bag, placing the plushies on top like they were guarding them.

And somewhere between zipping the bag shut and slinging it over his shoulder, it hit him.

This—this—was what love meant.

Because he knew, without a doubt, that he would never do this for anyone else.

He quickly unlocked the door to his apartment and let himself in, immediately kicking off his shoes and hanging his jacket and mask on the designated hook you kept just for him.

He set his bag at the foot of the couch before heading to the kitchen to find you. Instead of greeting you properly, he opted to surprise you with a hug.

He couldn’t hide his smile when you flinched at the sudden contact.

“You know I could’ve kicked you,” you said, even as you melted into his embrace.

“Yeah,” Kai agreed easily, “but then you wouldn’t be able to hug me, and you’d feel bad.”

You stopped stirring the pasta and turned to face him. “Well, that would be too bad, wouldn’t it.”

He smiled down at you. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” you smiled back.

“Are you ready for the exchange?” he asked, already looking forward to carrying another piece of you with him.

You nodded, placing a lid on the pot.

“Smells delicious, by the way,” Kai added as he followed you into the living room.

The exchange went on as it always did—soft smiles, familiar movements, comforting habits. In return for his Squirtle plushie, he received a bread plush with a tiny bow tie, accompanied by your quiet remark that it reminded you of him.

He, in turn, excitedly handed you the Molang plushie, which you immediately cooed over, praising how cute it was.

You were just as overjoyed with his hoodie selection, admitting that you’d been eyeing his closet for a long time. Kai felt his heart warm as he helped you pull them on, one by one.

The meal that followed was delicious. Because of you, he had learned how amazing it was to eat something homemade—something not packaged or ordered. He would happily eat your cooking no matter the consequences.

It was only when it came time to say goodbye that Kai found himself truly grateful for the arrangement the two of you had started. He couldn’t imagine not doing this with you.

He lingered in your doorway, procrastinating putting his jacket and shoes back on.

“One more hug,” he pleaded, making small grabby hands in your direction.

You smiled. “I’ve been hugging you all day.”

“That’s different,” he argued. “This is my goodbye hug.”

You played along. “You’re right. It would be unjust to let you go without one.”

He opened his arms, already accepting you the moment you stepped into his space.

You shifted slightly in his embrace. He didn’t think much of it—until your voice came out muffled against his sweatshirt.

“Have you been working out?”

He nodded, arms still wrapped around you. “You said you liked my abs, and I figured… if you liked them, I might as well try to keep them a little longer.”

You looked up at him. “You know you don’t have to.”

He hummed in agreement. “I know. But it’s for you—and it’s not a big deal either.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He smiled and nodded, pulling you even closer.

“It even let me tell Taehyun about you,” he added after a moment, loosening his hold just enough to let you breathe.

“Did he believe you?” you asked.

“No,” Kai said, a little dejected.

You giggled. “You’d think he’d be the one to figure it out.”

“You’d think,” Kai sighed, finally moving to put his shoes on.

“It’s okay,” you said, handing him his jacket. “We’ll tell them together?”

He nodded, slipping it on and grabbing the bag that held his children—read: plushies.

He paused, looking at you. “One more hug before I leave?”

You smiled and indulged him.

Kai decided he wouldn’t mind staying in your embrace forever.

THE ONE TIME : WHY WERE YOUR LIPS MOVING LIKE THAT ?

Kai decided that everyone around him was, frankly, dumb.

There was no other explanation. No universe in which four grown men could repeatedly fail to comprehend the very simple fact that he had a girlfriend—especially when he had spelled it out for them. Slowly. Clearly. Multiple times.

And yet.

They accused him of having everything but a girlfriend and moved on as if it never happened.

Which was why Kai decided it was time to test their cognitive skills.

By inviting you to the dorm.

The plan was simple. He’d call you over, the two of you would hang out in his room, and that would be that. Undeniable proof. Visual confirmation. Case closed.

It started well enough. Despite everyone having the day off, the dorm’s common areas were eerily empty, which made it easy for Kai to sneak you inside and coax you down the hallway to his room without running into anyone.

He’d planned the afternoon meticulously. Snacks were arranged neatly on his desk. His laptop was fully charged. His bed had been transformed into the coziest possible setup—plushies piled high, hoodies layered over the mattress for extra comfort. He was nothing if not prepared.

And honestly? The day went well.

It was a little awkward at first—Kai adjusting to the reality of having a girl in his room, you adjusting to the fact that you were in your boyfriend’s room—but somewhere between the soft giggles, the easy conversation, and eventually curling up together on his bed, the nerves melted away.

Two hours slipped by without either of you noticing.

You talked. You scrolled on your phones in companionable silence. Eventually, you settled in properly, choosing My Neighbour Totoro—a mutual favorite—and letting the movie play as you cozied closer together.

At some point during the film, Kai realized he had stopped paying attention entirely.

Totoro moved across the screen, the gentle music swelling and fading, but Kai couldn’t tell you what was happening anymore. His attention had drifted—quietly, naturally—away from the movie and onto you.

You were tucked into his side, knees drawn up slightly, your head resting against his shoulder like it belonged there. One of his hoodies swallowed you whole, sleeves covering your hands, fabric bunching up around your neck. Every now and then, you shifted closer without thinking, chasing warmth.

Kai swallowed.

He told himself to look back at the screen. He really did. But then you laughed softly at something—barely louder than a breath—and the sound settled right into his chest.

He glanced down.

Bad idea.

Your face was relaxed, eyes reflecting the soft glow of the screen, lips slightly parted in concentration. Kai felt something twist low in his stomach, unfamiliar and dizzying. He adjusted his arm around you, intending only to get comfortable.

Instead, you leaned into the touch.

Your head tipped just enough for your cheek to brush his collarbone, and Kai froze. His heart began to race, loud enough that he was convinced you could hear it. He held his breath, waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

Minutes passed. Or seconds. Kai wasn’t sure anymore. The space between your faces felt suddenly noticeable—charged in a way that made his palms sweat. He could feel your breathing, slow and steady, syncing with his own despite his best efforts to stay calm.

You tilted your head up slightly, eyes flicking from the screen to his face.

“Kai?” you murmured, barely audible over the movie.

“Yeah?” His voice came out softer than he intended.

“I think you stopped watching,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He huffed out a quiet, nervous laugh. “I think I did.”

Your gaze lingered. Too long to be accidental. The air between you felt heavy, expectant, like it was waiting for something to happen.

Kai leaned in before he could overthink it.

Slowly. Carefully. Giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you met him halfway.

The kiss was gentle—soft and hesitant, like the two of you were still figuring out how to exist in this moment. Your lips fit against his in a way that made his thoughts scatter completely, warmth blooming through his chest.

Someone on-screen said something profound.

Neither of you noticed.

The kiss lingered.

At first, neither of you moved—like you were both waiting to see if the moment would disappear if you shifted even slightly. Kai’s lips stayed against yours, warm and careful, his breath shallow. He could feel the way your hands tightened just a little in the fabric of his hoodie, like you were anchoring yourself there.

Then you leaned in again.

Just a fraction closer. Just enough.

Kai followed instinctively this time, his hand sliding from where it rested awkwardly at your side to your waist, fingers curling into the oversized hoodie. The movement was slow, almost shy, like he was asking permission with every inch.

Your lips parted slightly, and his heart stuttered.

The kiss deepened—not suddenly, not dramatically—but naturally, like it had always been meant to get here. It was still gentle, still sweet, but warmer now. More intentional. Kai tilted his head, kissing you again, softer this time, slower, like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

He pulled back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours.

You were close enough that he could feel your breath, hear the tiny sound you made when you inhaled.

“Sorry,” he whispered instinctively, even though he didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

You smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Don’t be.”

That was all it took.

Kai kissed you again, a little more confident now, his thumb moving absentmindedly at your waist. The world outside his room—practice, schedules, his members, the whole ridiculous plan—felt impossibly far away.

Right now, it was just this.

You. Him. The quiet glow of the movie still playing, completely forgotten.

And for the first time since inviting you over, Kai thought distantly:

Yeah. This was a really good idea.

…Which was, unfortunately, exactly what happened.

Somewhere between kissing you and getting completely lost in it, Kai failed to register the footsteps outside his door. He didn’t notice the handle turning. Didn’t hear the door creak open. Didn’t even process Beomgyu’s voice starting to say something about practice being moved to today.

Not until the scream.

It was loud. Sharp. Horrified.

Kai froze.

Time stalled in the worst way possible—his lips still barely parted, his hand still at your waist, the world crashing back into place all at once.

“Oh my—” Beomgyu’s voice cracked mid-sentence. “WHAT—”

The scream echoed down the dorm hallway.

And just like that, Kai knew.

The moment wasn’t just ruined.

The entire dorm was about to know.

Kai broke the kiss and looked down at you, trying to make sure you were okay. He was about to ask when another scream tore from Beomgyu.

“Can you stop screaming, hyung?” Kai said, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Beomgyu just stared, eyes wide. “You—” He pointed a trembling finger at Kai. “What the hell were your lips doing?”

Kai opened his mouth to retort—but was interrupted as Yeonjun appeared, dragging a half-asleep Soobin behind him.

“What happened?” Yeonjun asked, out of breath.

His gaze followed Beomgyu’s finger, landing on Kai… and you… in his bed. His eyes widened, and he dragged Soobin closer to see for himself.

The two eldest gulped, then simultaneously turned to Kai. “She’s real,” they said at the exact same time.

Eerie, Kai thought.

Then Taehyun appeared, peeked inside—and Kai watched the most unfazed member of the group’s jaw drop.

He was about to speak, but Soobin cleared his throat before he could.

“Group meeting… in the living room. Now.” His leader's tone made it clear this was going to be serious.

Soobin then turned to you. “You… should also come,” he stammered, clearly untrained in handling the concept of a girl in the maknae’s room.

Soobin quickly dragged the members to the living room, muttering something about “letting the youngest get a decent—” The words sounded pained as they left his mouth.

Kai wanted to yell back that nothing inappropriate was happening, but he quickly realized that wouldn’t mean anything to them.

He turned to face you, bracing for shock or awkwardness—emotions he knew he’d beat himself up for causing. Instead, he found your face carefully composed, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh.

You let out a small burst of laughter. “Well, I guess they know now.”

Kai relaxed slightly. “I guess they do.”

You turned to him, smiling. “Shall we go?”

Kai nodded, helping you out of the cozy nest of his bed and holding your hand as you stood.

He led you to the living room, where his four older members were whispering and pointing at each other, clearly in the middle of a heated debate.

Kai cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention. “Hello,” he said, bowing slightly as if this were some formal interview. He held up your joined hands. “This is my girlfriend.”

You smiled, raising your free hand to wave. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so many things about you.”

The four boys stared at you as if you were a unicorn.

“You're real?” Beomgyu asked.

You nodded, “I would hope so,”

Soobin snapped back into reality.

“Sit,” he gestured to the couple that he could barely make eye contact with.

Kai let you sit down and settle first before sitting beside you.

Yeonjun cleared his throat, “You weren’t lying when you said you were going to Hadilao to see your girlfriend?” 

Kai nodded.

Soobin chimed in, “And you were watching Kimi No Todoke because she wanted you to watch it?”

Kai nodded again.

Beomgyu looked Kai in the eye, “To be clear, you wrote Dance with You for her?”

Kai pursed his lips and nodded, remembering all the glances Beomfyu would give him any time they would pass a female sunbae.

Taehyun stared at him, “You were training to get abs because of her?”

Kai let out a hum of agreement.

A collective ‘oh’ let out by the group.

Beomgyu turned back to you, eyes wide. “So… she’s real. And he’s… yours?” His voice trembled slightly, as if this revelation were too big to process.

Kai, unfazed, simply nodded and gave your hand a small squeeze. “Yep. All hers.”

The room went silent for a moment, each member letting the information sink in. Then, almost simultaneously, Yeonjun and Beomgyu groaned in unison.

“This is so embarrassing for him,” Beomgyu muttered.

“And for us!” Yeonjun added, throwing his head back dramatically.

Soobin finally broke the silence, sighing heavily. “Alright. New rule: no more accidental walk-ins. And Kai… maybe give us a heads-up before your ‘romance escapades’ escalate again.”

Kai’s ears turned red. “That’s not what was happening!”

Beomgyu shook his head, pointing a finger at him. “No, that was exactly what was happening. I’m the one who had the misfortune of watching.”

Kai opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Taehyun, who leaned forward with an unexpectedly serious expression. “Are you… happy with each other?”

You blinked, taken off guard by the sudden shift in mood. Clearing your throat, you smiled softly. “Yeah… I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been when I’m with Kai.”

Kai’s chest fluttered. He leaned forward and pressed a small, tender kiss onto your intertwined hands.

Then came the gagging noises.

Kai didn’t care.

Because no matter what the world—or his members—thought, he was very much in love with his (very much real!) girlfriend.

Except for this one lie. 

Perhaps not even a real lie, but a withholding of information. A secret you’ve always kept from boyfriends and even some friends.

Keeping it a secret makes it special. A memory that’s only yours. Yours and his—one that can’t be tarnished by anything. Not new boyfriends or judgmental friends. 

You keep those memories in a jar, not because you want to relive them, but because sometimes you like to look back, to take a peek inside, to remember what things were like before they ceased to exist. 

And of course, you never expected it to come up like this. You never expected to be standing in line for a meet and greet, post-concert, clasping your hands together in front of your chest, trying not to think about what it will feel like to look at him again, to make eye contact with him. 

He’ll remember you. There’s no doubt in your mind. What you had was real and special, and honestly, not all that long ago. There hadn’t been any huge fallout, any fights, or negativity. You’d just grown apart. And at some point, the distance got so large that it felt impossible to cross. And that was before his rapid ascent into popularity. 

“Maybe we should just go,” you say when there are only a few people ahead of you in line. It’s easier to bail, to pretend none of this happened at all. 

It’s Jiung who encourages you forward. “We’re almost there. It’s okay. I don’t mind the wait.”

You wish the stress developing like a tight ball at the base of your stomach had anything to do with the amount of time you’ve been waiting. No, it’s the idea of him. Of Yeonjun looking you in the eyes. 

So, you want to turn and run. But you don’t. Not when Jiung has a hand on your lower back, and you can see Yeonjun just ahead, chatting with other fans. 

You are a fan. You’ve been following their comebacks, listening to their music at home. Concerts were always a step too far out of your comfort zone, over the line you drew in the sand to protect your heart. 

But now you’re there. So far past the line you can hardly even see it anymore. Then, you’re standing in front of him, watching his big brown eyes roam over your body, taking note of the man standing next to you, touching you. 

And you have to wonder what he’s thinking—because you certainly can’t ask. 

There’s nothing immediately evident in the way that he looks at you. He recognizes you. You know he does. And when Jiung turns away for a brief moment, there’s a ghost of a smile on Yeonjun’s lips like he wants to be caught. 

Because he can’t stop looking at you. At the way the corners of your lips turn up in a smile, at the inch of skin he can see over the table, but below your skirt, at the way your shirt cuts downward. He looks at you, and he thinks things he should not be thinking in public, in front of all those fans—but neither can he stop thinking them. 

“Really nice to meet you,” Yeonjun says, pressed smile across his lips. Fake. “This your boyfriend?”

You clear your throat, trying to free all the emotion jammed to a stop in the center. Because he did not just ask you that. It could be played off. You’ve seen the videos of him with fans. You’ve seen his jealous nature in those conversations. But so, too, do you know what he looks like when he’s really jealous. That glint of subtle anger behind his eyes. 

And you want to say something, because who does he think he is, being jealous of you, in this moment? You hold your tongue. 

Jiung smiles. None the wiser. 

“Yes,” you say. 

Yeonjun makes a face, lips twisted up in a half scowl that he tries to play off as unserious. 

“You want a picture?” he asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and neither do you. You can’t imagine filling the silence with questions about his career, about the group—you don’t care about any of that shit. Not really. 

And you didn’t account for any of this, really. And maybe if you had, you would have cancelled on Jiung, feigned sick or something, because holy shit, he looks so handsome. Blonde hair pushed back with gel, a tight red tank top, shoulders exposed. 

Had he been this attractive when you were together? 

Jiung elbows you gently in the side when you don’t immediately respond to the question. “Oh,” you say. “That would be nice.”

Yeonjun reaches over and takes your phone out of his grasp. He rolls his eyes at your lock screen photo. Jiung with his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

He turns in his chair to take the photo with the two of you, then places your phone flat on the table, face down. 

He makes small talk. Asks you a little bit about yourself. Things he already knows. He’s teasing you, you know it. Making you say all this stuff. He presses a little too hard, hoping Jiung will ask you about it on the ride home. Comment on how strange it was in the moment. He wants it to stick with you, make you uncomfortable now, and make you talk about it later.

Of course, you don’t know the fine details—just that he’s getting under your skin. Just that you’ll be thinking about him later, too. That annoys you more than anything else. 

He folds his arms over his chest, leaning forward. His elbow obscures your phone from view. 

“Nice to meet you again,” Yeonjun says as you step away from the table. “Thanks for coming.” 

He waits until you’re gone to slip your phone into his lap, then into his pocket. 

“So,” Jiung says, as he starts the car and readies to pull out of the parking lot. “Was that everything you hoped it would be?” 

The rest of your conversations with the other members went smoothly. More fan service than strange, ex-boyfriend mind games. 

“Mhm,” you say, looking out the passenger side window. You reach into your purse, looking for your phone. You check the pockets of your jacket. “Hold on,” you say, checking under your butt and anywhere else that a phone could possibly be located. “You don’t have my phone, do you?” you ask. 

Jiung shakes his head. “Maybe you left it inside. Do you want me to go get it?” 

“No,” you say, maybe too quickly. “It’s fine.” You unbuckle your seatbelt. “I’ll be right back.”

The walk back into the concert hall is a little more stressful than the first, and it has no reason to be. You’ve already seen him. Besides, some staff member probably has your phone. You just need to find them. 

There are still lines curving throughout the place, fans waiting to be acknowledged, even momentarily, by their biases. 

You approach a staff member in all black, scanning tickets near the front. 

“Hey, I think I left my phone on the table,” you say. 

She looks at you with a raised brow, like it’s the worst excuse she’s ever heard. But she tells you to wait while she calls over another employee, who then approaches the table. You watch them lean down to whisper something in Yeonjun’s ear. His eyes drift past the fan he’s talking to to find yours, and a chill runs through your system. 

God, how the fuck did either of you let things end so abruptly? You were there, and then you weren’t. And all of a sudden—being together again felt like an impossibility. So you never called. And neither did he. 

The staff member finds you again and gestures for you to step to the side. She doesn’t say much, but leads you further away from the crowd, then down a hallway. “Just wait here for one moment,” she says, extending an arm toward a couch in a small dressing room. 

You take a seat, then turn to say something, but she’s already gone. 

There’s no clock, just a rack of clothes and a large mirror lined with lights. It occurs to you in some far-off part of your brain that this must be Yeonjun’s dressing room. There’s an unzipped makeup bag on the table in front of the mirror, and a backpack—much more casual than the rest—slouched against the table. 

The door opens while you’re studying the place, and then he’s there. Standing with his arms crossed in front of the door, looking down at you. 

You stand up, crossing the minimal space until you’re in front of him. 

It’s so much different, this moment, than the one not fifteen minutes ago. There’s no long table separating you, no fans watching your every move. No Jiung. With all that stripped away, his eye contact makes your skin hotter, makes the blood boil beneath it. 

There’s nothing to be angry about. Not really. You still find the way to some brand of spite. 

Yeonjun pulls your phone out of his back pocket and holds it up between two fingers. “Looking for this?” he asks. 

“You know that I am,” you say. 

He tilts his head to the side, studying you. “Bummer,” he says. “I thought you came back to see me.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask, keeping your voice even. Free of any kind of feeling, even as your heart skips and stutters under his eye contact. 

You reach for your phone, and he pulls it back, just out of reach. “Maybe because you missed me,” he suggests. 

“I didn’t.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he asks. 

“Jiung—my boyfriend. He got me the tickets,” you say. “He knows I’m a fan, so.”

Yeonjun raises a brow. God, there’s so much fucking history between the two of you. You can feel it pressing in from every angle, oppressive and loud, vibrating your eardrums and making it difficult to focus. You can’t look at him and just see an idol. You look at him and see someone who was yours for so long, before they weren’t. 

Yeonjun nods. There’s no change to the way he looks at you, or the way he holds himself. He nods like it's the most uninteresting conversation in the world. 

“If you want to say something, just say it,” you tell him. 

He shrugs, lips turning downward at the corners as he does so. 

“Can I have my phone back?” you ask. 

“Not yet,” he says. Then, “Must not be a very good boyfriend, if he doesn’t know about me.” He takes half a step closer to you. 

You will yourself to take a step back, to even the distance back out, but your body doesn’t listen to your brain. 

“He’s a good boyfriend,” you say. 

“Then you must not be a very good girlfriend,” Yeonjun says, with a light shrug. It’s not serious to him. None of this is. 

Your brows furrow. Your nose scrunches at the bridge. “I’m—I’m a good girlfriend.” 

He holds your phone up, and you don’t realize what he’s doing until it’s already done. With your phone unlocked, he pulls up the phone app. “I could call him, tell him our little secret.”

You reach for the phone, wrapping your hand around his in an attempt to tug it away. You freeze there, hand on top of his, chests a few inches apart. 

“Why haven’t you told him about me?” Yeonjun asks, leaning down, meeting your eyes. His voice is low, and the hushed tone makes goosebumps rise on your forearms. And you don’t even know the answer to his question. You don’t know why you never told Jiung about Yeonjun. Why you never told any of the guys you dated before Jiung about him, either. Maybe you just like having the secret. 

He presses your phone into your hand, closing your fingers around it. 

“I don’t know,” you say, and the words come out nearly silent. 

A smile crosses his lips for the first time since that small dressing room. He reaches out and places a hand on your bare upper arm. 

“Does he make you happy?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you say. 

“Happier than I made you?” he asks. 

You don’t answer immediately, and his smile grows. 

“What are you doing right now?” you ask him, because you can’t seem to wrap your mind around whatever game it is he’s playing. 

“I didn’t expect to see you today, that’s all,” Yeonjun says. 

“Why would you?” you say. 

“You’re right,” he says. “I didn’t even know you were a fan.”

You roll your eyes because you’re really not going to have this conversation with him right now. “Yeonjun,” you say, firmly. 

He bats his eyes, lets the smile creep over the rest of his features. “Yes?”

It’s hard to say the words, but you say them anyway. “I should go.” Maybe if you had all the time in the world, you would stay. You would stay, and you would talk. Maybe you would even try to figure out what went wrong last time. But you can’t. Jiung’s waiting in the car, and you’ve already taken longer than necessary. 

He doesn’t budge from his spot in front of the door. You stare at him for a beat longer, and he finally does move, sidestepping you. 

You open the door, and his hand shoots out, landing on your wrist. You freeze again. His hand is warm on your skin, and it brings with it memories you’ve tried to forget. 

Yeonjun doesn’t speak. You turn slowly to look at him, eyes cast downward at his grip. They drag slowly upward to meet his eyes. 

“Wait,” he says, and the word comes out more desperate than anything else he’s said. That bravado all stripped away, now. 

The tension breaks when he steps in one more time, when he drops your hand to push the door closed behind you. 

He’s too close. Too warm. Too suffocating. And somehow still too far away. 

You move in slow motion, between moments where you’re both frozen looking at one another and moments where time slams back into full speed, ticking by in your ears, but you still don’t move—contemplating the next step, and the next. And your heart is racing out of your chest, and he’s looking at you like it’s years in the past, and you can’t seem to remember anything except how his lips used to feel against yours. 

He can’t take it, either. The intoxication of you. If you just hadn’t been there. If you hadn’t been there today, if he hadn’t seen you. He would be able to keep pretending you didn’t mean something. But you’re here, standing in front of him, and he can’t just let you leave again. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, right before he closes the distance. “I just—I have to—” and then his hands are cupping your cheeks and his lips are on yours. 

You hardly register the apology, let alone feel bad for what’s happening. The electricity in the air doesn’t fizzle at the contact. It surrounds you. Hot and blinding. You don’t stop him. Stopping him is the last thing on your mind. 

Your lips move slowly, tasting each other and remembering. It hardly even occurs to you that you should not be doing this. Not when it feels so good, so right. Not when he’s holding you like he never should have let go in the first place. 

You don’t break apart to speak, only to catch your breath, to change angles. He deepens the kiss as his hands fall from your face, tracing down the sides of your body before they land on your hips. He sucks on your lower lip, and you gasp into his mouth. 

It takes a long time—longer than you would be proud to admit—for you to realize exactly what you’re doing. 

You reach up to push against his chest. “Yeonjun,” you mumble against his lips. “Yeonjun,” you say again. “We can’t—I shouldn’t.”

His fingers dig into the fabric covering your hips. His eyes bore into yours, then drop back to your lips. He runs a tongue across his, and you lose track of what you’re saying, of why you’re saying it. “Why not?” he asks. 

“I—” you start, trying to remember why this is such a bad idea. “He’s—” 

You can’t bring yourself to care. That’s the problem. Yeonjun is here. He’s here, in front of you, breathing heavily, sweaty from the concert, looking at you like you’re everything in the entire world. And he’s here. How many times have you wished for this?

One hand hooks around the back of his neck, and you pull him back down for another searing kiss. He steps forward into you, pressing you against the door. 

“God,” Yeonjun mumbles into your lips. “Missed you.”

The words and his fervent kisses awaken something deep inside of you. Heat flares at your core, and you think, absent-mindedly, that you’re so fucked. 

“Yeah? Did you?” you ask, just barely breaking apart. Despite your anger, still ever present, neither can you stop kissing him. 

The back of his hand drags slowly across an exposed patch of skin just above your skirt. His eyes are focused there, but they snap upward at your question. “What?” he says, before kissing you again, before snaking that same hand around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. “Of course I did.”

Your hands ball into the fabric of his shirt. His tongue slips between your lips, and you angle your head backward to give him better access. When you break apart again, to breathe, you’re still thinking about the anger beneath it all—and whether or not you have a right to it. “You could have called,” you say. “I would have answered.”

“Is that your way of saying you missed me, too?” he asks. “I’m here now.” 

He curls a finger under your chin and lifts it, soft brown eyes finding yours. 

“I have a boyfriend now,” you say. But you don’t untangle your hands from his shirt, don’t take a step backward away from him, don’t even think about leaving. But it’s a thing you have to say. Even if you don’t know why, when it would be so much easier to ignore it. 

“Yeah, and you seem really eager to get back to him,” he says. 

“I am,” you say, pulling him down by the shirt. Then, “Take this off.”

He drops his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulls it off over his head. Your hands shoot out to touch his bare skin immediately. Your fingers run over his chest, down the hard plane of his stomach. He pushes your jacket off your shoulders, and you let it fall to the ground.

Yeonjun laces one hand through your hair and kisses you again. Harsher this time. More desperate. His other hand sits on your hip, keeps pulling you closer and closer. 

He presses against you, shifting one leg between yours and pinning you to the door. He slips a hand under your shirt, eager to touch any skin there. You gasp into his mouth at the mere contact. 

“Fuck,” he says against your lips. “I don’t want to rush this.”

“He’s waiting for me, Jun,” you say. 

Yeonjun rolls his eyes. There’s so much he wants to say. So many comments he could make. He kisses you again, instead. He drops his hand between your legs, instead, reaching under your skirt. 

He wastes no time—that’s what you wanted, right? His fingers brush your core, and he hums into the kiss. You can feel the smirk on his lips. 

“Shut up,” you say.

“You want me so bad, don’t you?” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. “Can’t figure out how to just ask for it?” he says. He pushes your panties to the side and nudges a finger inside of you, watching for a reaction. 

Your lips part, and you let your head fall back against the door behind you. 

“Trying to make me feel bad for wanting you when you have a boyfriend—but god, you want me just as fucking bad, don’t you?” he asks. You don’t respond fast enough, so he presses harder. “Don’t you?” 

He slides another finger inside of you and pumps them slowly. “Yes,” you say. 

“Yes, what?” Yeonjun asks, raising a brow at you, cocking his head to the side just so. He’s enjoying this. Playing with you even when you have such minimal time together. 

“Shut the fuck up, Yeonjun,” you say as you roll your hips forward. “I don’t have time—”

“I know,” he says. “Your boyfriend.” He moves his fingers faster, savoring the feeling of you clenching around them, of you grinding to meet each thrust. 

He pulls his fingers out and places them in his mouth while his other hand works to undo his belt, to push down his pants and boxers. He doesn’t bother kicking them all the way off. He licks his fingers clean, then takes your hand, tugging you toward the vanity. 

He leans forward and presses another kiss to your lips, then along your jawline, to the space beneath your ear. “Turn around,” he whispers. 

You listen. 

He pulls you backward against him, and you can feel the line of his hard cock on your ass through your skirt. You grind backward into him and swear you can hear him grin. You place your hands on the table in front of you as he pushes your skirt further up your thighs. 

You look forward, catching your own reflection in the mirror. Lipstick smudged, hair messy, and Yeonjun behind you, watching with appreciation as he runs a hand over your ass. 

He spreads your legs with the back of one hand and uses the other to guide his dick to your entrance. He swipes the tip through your slick, taking his time. 

“Yeonjun,” you whine, trying to catch his eyes in the mirror. It’s not about time anymore. Not about being in a rush. You need him. 

“Swear to god if you mention him one more time,” he says as he slides his tip down your slit again, pausing at your entrance for a split second before moving past it. 

“No,” you say. “Just—need you.”

He places a hand between your shoulder blades and lets it slowly trail downward. “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll make you forget his name.” 

“Yeonjun,” you say again, whimpering. 

“That’s it,” he says, reveling in the sound of his name on your lips. He presses forward into you, slowly, and your knuckles go white on the edge of the table. 

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. But as he sinks into you an inch at a time, you can’t think about anything else. Not even the person waiting for you hundreds of feet away. And it doesn’t even feel like cheating, not really. It’s like returning back to the time you shared together before and enjoying it one more time. 

“Fuck,” Yeonjun whispers as he bottoms out. His fingers press into your hips, holding you steady as he shifts slowly back. He snaps forward, burying himself deeper inside of you. Your legs shake, and moans fall off parted lips. 

He does it again. The slow withdraw before a quick thrust. “Feels so fucking good,” he murmurs, voice dripping with want like having you again is making him a little crazy. He reaches forward to wrap a hand around the front of your neck, pulling you backward, making you look up. 

Your eyes reach his through the mirror. 

“Look at you,” he says, tilting his head to the side. He’s still rolling his hips forward hard and fast, and you can hardly keep your eyes open to watch him. “Maybe if I knew you were still such a slut, I’d have called you.” 

Your fingers tighten on the desk in anger and pleasure, but you can’t seem to form words to talk back, not with the way he’s moving. 

“Boyfriend waiting for you outside, but you’re letting me fuck you senseless instead.” He lifts one of your hands and pulls it behind your back. “Haven’t changed at all.” 

You flip him off with the hand he’s holding back, and he laughs, lifting his eyes to meet yours in the mirror. He releases your neck to grab your other hand, too, collecting them in one hand and pulling you backward. Your back arches as he thrusts deeper, harder. 

“Yeonjun—oh my god.” 

He smiles again. “Can’t even hate me properly, can you?” 

“Yes,” you mutter between broken gasps and moans that slip past your attempts to hold them back. “I can,” you say. “I do.” But you don’t mean it. What reason do you have, anyway, besides time? Besides the fact that he’s making you feel like this when you have someone waiting. 

He tugs your arms sharply back, uses his other hand to force you upward, so your back is nearly touching his chest. He drops your arms and lowers his lips to your ear, slowing his pace while he speaks. “Go, then,” he says. 

Yeonjun takes a step back, pulling out of you. He stops touching you. You turn around to look at him. Your eyes roll in annoyance, but you take the step forward anyway, reaching for him. He laces his fingers through yours and pulls you against him. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says, before pressing a kiss into your hair. He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and leads you a few steps over, toward the couch. The backs of your knees hit the cushion, and you’re forced to sit. He kneels down in front of you. He places a hand on your cheek and leans forward to capture your lips. A brief moment of softness before both his hands are on top of your thighs, and he’s pulling you down. Your elbows hit the couch cushions as he pulls your ass completely off it. 

He holds the backs of your thighs together with one hand as he uses the other to guide his length to your entrance. He pushes forward into you, and you gasp, biting down on your lower lip to keep from moaning. 

Yeonjun holds your legs up by the back of your thighs, just under your knees, as he rolls his hips forward into you. Your lip stays firmly between your teeth, even as your head falls back. 

“Come on,” Yeonjun says, his own voice devolving into a gravely, rough mess the longer this continues. “Let me hear you.”

His hips snap forward, deep and hard, trying to elicit something from you. Your eyes roll back and your back arches greedily, but you don’t let out anything more than a sharp gasp. He shifts forward, moving your legs to one side, barring them against him with one arm, while his other hand collects your hands and pins them to the back of the couch, while he leans over you. 

The angle change makes it all the more difficult to keep quiet. You toss your head to the side to avoid his gaze, the lopsided smile on his face, and his blown-out pupils. It’s easier to focus when you aren’t looking at him. He laughs under his breath and thrusts forward harder, driving even deeper. 

A few moans tumble off your lips without permission, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s pleased with himself. 

You test the strength of his hand holding yours back, pushing against his grip. 

“Don’t like being held down, pretty?” he asked, the soft lilt of his voice making you shiver. “That’s not what I remember.”

“I don’t remember you.” A moan breaks your sentence. “Being this annoying.” 

“God, you love it though, don’t you?” he asks, slowing to an agonizing pace, languid drags that make your hips stutter, your lips part, your hands work harder against his grip. “You fucking love it. Look at you.”

Your next words are cut off by your phone, vibrating in your jacket pocket on the floor, a foot away from Yeonjun. His eyes shoot to it, and he stills inside of you. 

“Yeonjun,” you say, a word of warning, because you know who’s on the other end of the phone call before he drops your hands and fishes the thing from your coat pocket, before he holds it up. A picture of your boyfriend on the screen, his name surrounded by hearts. Yeonjun’s finger hovers over the accept button. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you say, reaching forward to grab it. 

He grabs your hands again, holding them in front of his chest. 

“You should talk to him,” Yeonjun says. “He’s probably so worried.”

“Yeonjun,” you say again, sharply. 

He clicks accept, then presses the phone against your ear, holding it there. 

“Hello?” Jiung says, sounding a little more confused than normal. 

You clear your throat. Yeonjun moves an inch, and you nearly bite through your lip. “Hey,” you manage to choke out. “It’s me.” 

“Oh, good,” he says. “You found it.”

Yeonjun pulls out another inch, the slow drag against your walls short-circuiting your brain every time he does it. You’re glaring at him, but he’s just smiling, fucking proud of himself. 

“Yeah,” you say. Another inch. “I—yeah, I found it.”

“You get lost in there?” he asks. 

“No—no,” you say, breath catching as Yeonjun shifts forward, just as slow. “I should be right out. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” 

“No worries, baby,” Jiung says. 

Yeonjun rolls his eyes. 

“I love you,” he says. 

Yeonjun’s hips snap forward, and he buries himself fully. Your head rolls back, and your mouth falls open, but you don’t make a sound. 

He stills enough to let you speak, and you’re looking at him, when you say it. “Love you too,” you say, but the words come out a fraction too breathy. You don’t have enough time to worry about whether or not it sounds suspicious. 

Yeonjun pulls the phone away, ends the call, and tosses it back onto the floor. He releases your hands, and you lean forward, pushing his chest. “You’re an asshole,” you say, breathing heavily, trying to hit him and grab him at the same time. 

“God, that was so hot,” Yeonjun says. “I bet he didn’t even know—didn’t even realize.” He laughs, starting his slow thrusts back up again. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him down. You can just barely mutter a “Shut up” against his lips before you kiss him. He returns your desperation, lets you slip your tongue into his mouth as he increases the pace of his thrusts. You break away to breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours, eyes finding yours. 

Something softens in his expression, and your eyes fall closed under his kind gaze. 

He pulls back, holding your legs upright again, spreading them so one rests against each shoulder. He drops a hand between them and finds your clit. His initial touch feels electric. He rubs lazy circles on it with his thumb, looking down, watching his cock drive into you over and over, harder and harder as you squirm, clenching around him while he increases the stimulation. 

“Yeonjun, fuck, oh my god,” you moan, dropping your head backward. 

He moans, too, the sound music to your ears. He places his other hand low on your stomach, flat—feeling himself fuck into you. “Fuck, baby,” he says, soft and reckless, enough to make you forget about anything else, anyone else. “You feel so goddamn good, it’s insane.”

He rolls your clit between two fingers, and you clench hard around him, slowing his pace a fraction. Your bach archs even more, and your hands reach out for something to hold onto, settling on the edge of the couch. You press yourself forward, hips rising to meet each thrust even as your thighs shake. 

“That’s it,” he purrs. “Come on, baby, please.” 

You say his name again, like a prayer—even though it feels fucking damning. 

And when you cum, it’s with his lips crashing into yours, capturing your moans, and your hands grasping his bare skin, taking everything you can get. 

You collapse back against the couch. For a moment, Yeonjun doesn’t move. He trails a few fingers along your jawline. His eyes wander your face. They meet your eyes, then shift away. He pulls out and stands up, quickly putting on his boxers and pants. You study the muscles in his back and the way they tense, before snapping back into reality. 

You shift your underwear back into place and stand up, smoothing out your skirt. You pick your jacket up off the ground and slip your phone back into your pocket. 

The room is dead silent, and Yeonjun won’t turn to look at you. 

You clear your throat, and he does. “I should—um,” you say, dropping your eyes away from his gaze. You can’t even look at him, now. Not after that. Not when you have to go back to your boyfriend, waiting in the car, oblivious. 

Yeonjun takes a step forward and fixes your hair, combing his fingers through it. He runs a finger just under your lip, wiping away some of the smudged lipstick. 

You do look up at him, then, eyes widened, trying to figure him out. 

“Do you love him?” Yeonjun asks as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. 

The question makes you freeze. “Yes,” you say, after a moment. It’s the gut reaction. The answer you’re supposed to give. It’s not the truth. “No,” you say, but that doesn’t feel right either. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking down at you, keeps adjusting your hair. It’s probably fine now, but he can’t stand the idea of ceasing physical contact. If he drops his hand, when will he get to touch you again? 

Yeonjun nods. 

“Okay,” he says, voice soft—almost broken. Something sad behind the word. An acceptance, maybe. He takes a step back, away from you and the heavy tension pressing on your shoulders. 

He leans down next to a backpack and fishes something out. 

He closes the distance again and presses a card into your hand. 

“What—” you start to ask. 

“That’s the key to my room,” he says. 

“I can’t—”

“Break up with him, then come to my room tonight,” Yeonjun says. “Or don’t break up with him, I don’t care. Just come.” 

You can’t bring yourself to look down at the card in your hand, can’t bring yourself to look away from his intense eye contact. 

“Hell, I’ll be there for the next few days,” he says. “If you don’t come, I’ll know this didn’t mean anything.” 

“Yeonjun—” you say, like you can figure this out now, talk this through now. 

“You should go,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss into your hair. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

Permanent taglist: @soobinsoudesu , @nanilis , @csbenthusiast , @filmsforgyu Also tagging @aliceskzfan , I last posted Kai in January and you had asked me to tag you whenever I posted him next so here you go (sorry it took SO LONG) <3 Comment or send an ask to be added to the permanent taglist <3

Minho was sure that Jisung was doing this on purpose - he had literally said it himself, already telling him that it had been his idea from the start.

“You know I chose my clothes for tomorrow myself”, he had told him with a grin, legs draped over Minhos lap as he held them close, being busy with his phone.

“You did? What you gonna wear?”.

Jisung had told him it’s a secret and well, now he knew why. Minho loved his boyfriend in tank tops already, but had it to be that print? That stupid shirt was mocking him, when he had first seen it backstage, his brain malfunctioned.

Misbehave.

Oh, he definitely was. A tank top, saying ‘misbehave’ and that damn zipper on the back. He really was teasing Minho to no end. He had tried for so long to ignore it, the raging hard on he had, how uncomfortable he was in his pants. During the part of the concert where they run to each other, Jisungs outfit had Minho fantasizing about pouncing him, wrestling him to the ground and showing him what would happen, if he indeed was misbehaving like he was so obviously showing the world.

But now, when he had Jisung all to himself as soon as the concert was over and they were settling down backstage, Minho could feel the tension rise even more. He yanked the younger man towards him at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re coming with me now. To the dressing room”.

“Hyung, the others-“.

He looked at Minho with big round eyes, looking all innocent when he knew exactly what he did to rile him up all evening. The other members of Stray Kids knew about their relationship, of course. But the older man didn’t look like he wanted to kiss him or hold his hand.

“Oh, you think you’re safe with them around? Kitten, you’re either coming with me now or you’re getting fucked right in front of them. It’s up to you”, Minho whispered, making Jisung gulp involuntarily.

His words and especially the nickname were enough to make the younger man fold, to follow him into the dressing room and even let him push him against the door as soon as it was locked.

“You think you’re funny?”, Minho growled, grabbing Jisungs jaw like he did on stage.

And god, he had that same damn expression. Jisung looked at Minho with that silly grin that made his blood boil immediately.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”.

“Wanna act dumb? Fine”, Minho growled in fake annoyance, his free hand wandering downwards to grab Jisungs ass and press their bodies together like this, “Act like a dumb whore and get fucked like one”.

Before Jisung could answer something, the push against the door got more forceful, Minhos lips crashed onto his in a bruising kiss that stole both their breaths equally. Jisung couldn’t stop himself from rocking his hips forward in need of friction, shamelessly using his boyfriend to get off like this.

“God, look at you. I was kidding, but you really are a slut, huh?”, Minho claimed his mouth again, biting into his lower lip until he whimpered.

Minhos hand slipped under Jisungs shirt, tracing the abs and pushing the fabric up some more as he went on.

“Take that off”, he murmured, “Put the other top on”.

“Do you not want to-“.

“Jisung”, Minhos voice was stern, not suggesting he was down for a debate, “Did I fucking stutter? Do what I say”.

He had the younger man gasp against his mouth, because of his words and the way he shoved his thigh forward, hiking it up and against Jisungs hard erection beneath the fabric of his pants.

“Yeah, ok”.

The grip around Jisungs jaw got tighter, more demanding and for a moment his eyes threatened to roll back into his skull from that intensity alone.

“Where are your manners, baby? I thought I taught you well”, Minho cooed with a sly grin, pressing a chaste kiss to his boyfriends pouting lips.

Jisung was already trembling, his heart rate definitely peaking more than it had been at the concert. The older man always got a huge ego boost out of his reactions. Whenever he would tease him on stage and just know Jisung was already leaking into his pants. Whenever he would corner him to the nearest wall in their shared apartment and make him whine out in frustration because he just did it for fun and wouldn’t even touch him.

“I’m sorry. Yes, hyung- I’ll be good”, Jisung gasped again, his voice cracking.

“Better”.

His chest was flaring up, he watched Jisung getting rid off his shirt from the couch in the dressing room, comfortably sitting down and just staring at him while he took his own shirt off, the heat was slowly getting to him. Jisung was still sweating, the reminder of adrenaline from the concert still making his muscles flex. His tattoos were on full display, shining in the dim light and the thin coat of sweat.

Minho had to fight the urge to pull him back in and lick it off his skin. But instead, he was composing himself, having the faintest smile on his lips as Jisung approached him once more, ‘misbehave’ plastered onto his stomach once again. He wanted to climb into Minhos lap but he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Pants. Off”.

Jisung did as he was told immediately, unbuckling the belt and opening his pants in a hurry, pulling them down all together with his underwear. Minho tilted his head, admiring his boyfriends body, obviously enjoying how his cock twitched under his attentive gaze.

“Want to behave properly now?”, Minho asked, Jisung nodded.

“Yes, hyung. Please-“, Jisung got closer now, hands bracing on his shoulders and lowering himself on his thighs.

“You think you deserve my cock? Really? Think again, kitten”, he grabbed Jisungs shirt, pulling it up a bit and groaning in frustration again, “You chose this for yourself, right? You wanted it to be that way. That fucking slutty top of yours- you gonna fuck yourself on my fingers first, like the whore you are”.

Minho could clearly see how Jisung flushed heavily, and he relished in this. His own dick was straining uncomfortably in his pants and his boyfriend noticed, already palming his erection with a heavy amount of clumsiness, the anticipation obviously gnawing at the younger man’s sanity.

Too slow, too torturously slow, he opened the black pants, letting his cock spring free so Jisung could wrap a hand around it.

“I want- Can’t you just fuck me, Min?”.

His voice was whiny, desperate, and it made Minhos cock jump in amusement.

“Are you even listening?”, his hand was back around Jisungs throat, pulling him closer, “I could just fuck you, yeah. But where’s the fun in that? You gotta earn that. Behave for your hyung, kitten”.

He positioned his free hand, two fingers already angled so Jisung could sit on them, wasting no time and slamming his ass down on them in a quick and fluent motion until they were tightly pressed against his prostate.

He cried out both in pain and relief, earning a kiss for his eagerness.

“Are we a little impatient, huh?”, the older man softly muttered against his lips, kissing him over and over again until Jisung almost forgot to answer.

“Sorry- feels good”.

“I bet it does, kitten. Move for me, come on”, Minho ordered.

He almost got lost in those chaste but intense kisses. Almost forgot he was here to teach his boyfriend a lesson. But these sounds - god, his sounds - and the way his hole clenched around his fingers nearly made him throw away his plan.

But as soon as Jisung was grinding his hips back and forth, shaking hands wrapping around Minhos neglected cock and unrhythmically stroking him, he got back on track.

Jisung stopped both with the movements of his body and hands every now and then, getting too overwhelmed with it as it went on. But Minhos hand around his throat gave him a little squeeze, the other hand was curling his fingers into another angle that had him sob pathetically to remind him who’s in charge now.

“You were feeling so bossy on stage, right? Where is that now? Is it gone? Answer”, Minhos grip on his blood flow got lighter, Jisung whined, “Thought you can dominate me? Wanted to try it out on stage, in front of the fans? Adorable. Everyone out there knows whose little slut you are”.

Jisung almost squeezed Minhos cock a little too harshly at this. He moaned out loud, his bottom lip quivering as if he was about to cry, but instead he just continued on moaning, sobbing out his hyungs name.

“I’m not, I just- I don’t know”.

He acted like he completely forgot how to properly jerk him off, those degrading words in combination with Minhos fingers stroking his prostate over and over again - it was mind blowing, truly wiping away every single coherent thought before it could form, his own dick leaking so much on Minhos chest and stomach without being touched at all.

“Ohh- hyung, soo good- gonna cum so hard for you”, Jisung got out in between shuddered breaths.

Minho clicked his tongue at his audacity, shaking his head. Jisung was drooling, saliva finding its way out between his parted lips as he fucked himself faster on the older man’s fingers.

“Don’t you dare. Cum on my cock or don’t cum at all”.

“I can’t hold it back, I can’t-”, Jisungs voice was so loud, he couldn’t control any function of it anymore.

The others surely heard them, but it wouldn’t be the first time and Minho didn’t care about that anyway. He always had Jisung being a whimpering mess in no time, and none of them could keep their hands to themselves for that long while they were on tour, things like this were inevitable at this point.

“You can and you will”, the grip on his throat got tight again and Minho leaned forward, catching Jisungs spit with his tongue before it was dripping down his chin, “Do what I say”.

When Minho pushed his tongue into Jisungs mouth, licking at him and claiming him with so much confidence and ferocity, it pushed Jisung over the edge. He really did try to hold it back. He did. But still, hot white ropes of cum were scattered up onto Minhos chest, dropping down on him and to be completely honest - Minho thought it felt so good, the feeling of it, how nasty it was, almost made him follow.

Almost.

Instead he separated himself from him, both breathing heavily. He even could feel Jisungs cum on his jaw, his throat. With a devilish grin, he let go of him completely, making Jisung whimper once more.

“Jisung”.

“Fuuuck- I’m so sorry, I-“, he started, but got cut off too quickly.

“Look at the mess you’ve made”, Minhos words weren’t stern, they were casual, almost gentle and lulling his boyfriend in immediately, “Clean it up”.

There was a moment of silence. The only thing to be heard was their in sync breath, heavy and quick. But then, Jisung leaned in, kissing Minhos jaw and darting his tongue out to wipe a droplet of cum away.

“Of course, hyung. Sorry-“, his voice slurred, still drunk from his orgasm.

Minho retreated his fingers, gripping Jisungs hips like a lifeline instead. He still had the control, still had the reins here, but damn he could swoon like this. Jisung literally groaned when he tasted his own cum, when he licked it off his boyfriends sweaty salty skin.

Every little sound, every gasp and muffled moan went straight to Minhos cock, it was almost painful. Jisung still had his hand wrapped around it, but he wasn’t moving it, wasn’t providing any stimulation he needed.

He felt his pulse peak in an embarrassing way, every time Jisungs eager tongue was touching him, his breath fanning over the wet spots where he was licking him. And the younger man was thorough with it, scooting back and leaning down to reach everything better.

“Good- fuck, such a good boy”, Minho purred, letting his head fall back both in satisfaction and anticipation when Jisung got off and fell to his knees immediately.

He crawled to sit in between Minhos spread legs, grinning stupidly, looking so deliciously fucked out when he placed a hand on Minhos hips and squeezed him there.

“Thank you, hyung”, he muttered, cheeks red from the praise, hot tongue wiping over his abs, lingering there for a second too long, “Can I taste your cock? I’ll behave for you”.

How could Minho deny that? He cradled Jisungs head and stroked his cheek with his thumb, he was gentle, loving and Jisung leaned into the touch.

“You wanna be that good for your hyung, huh? Cute”.

Jisung took it as an invite, to lean in and lick up the length - all the way up from the base to the leaking tip. The sound he made while doing it could’ve been enough to let Minho tumble over the edge already if he hadn’t focused on holding it in.

It was straight up pornographic, obscene, and no matter how eager Jisung had been to clean him up before, the mess he made there was something he couldn’t bear to look at.

He had to let his head fall back against the back rest, because Jisung just drooled onto him, lapping it up again as if he was starving and this was the first meal he had in ages. If he had looked at this, Minho would’ve cum in seconds.

“I want you”, Jisung whined, sucking on the head for a second, admiring how heavy it felt on his tongue, “Want to feel that dick inside me”.

“You do?”.

Jisungs free hand was raking lower, palming his own hardening dick while he opened his mouth some more to wrap his lips around the head.

“Yes, I- please, I’m being so good, right?”.

But he was jerking himself off now, shamelessly and quick, his hips even bucking into his hand. The wet slapping sound had Minho hypnotized for a second, but he reacted fast when Jisung took the first couple inches of his dick into his mouth.

The older man fisted Jisungs hair, pushing his head all the way down and thrusting upwards with a mean snap of his hips at the same time. Jisung gagged, but it quickly resolved into a blissful moan before he got pulled off again roughly.

“You call that being good? Did I allow you to touch yourself?”, he growled.

Jisung pouted, eyes big and round and glassy.

“I need it. I- please give me something-“.

Minho leaned forward while he pulled him up some more. Jisung let him guide him, followed the pull almost a bit too quickly. He was shaking, whole body trembling like leaves in the wind.

“Open your mouth”.

And Jisung did, as much as possible, tongue lolling out so pathetically it made Minho exhale for a second before leaning in. He let a thick glob of saliva land onto Jisungs tongue but he had the audacity to moan and let his eyes roll back as soon as he felt it.

“Swallow it, that’s the only thing you get from me when you ask me for something while misbehaving”.

He did, closing his mouth and audibly gulped.

“Thank you, hyung”.

“God- who trained you to be this pathetic- I would fuck that throat but you’d probably even enjoy that”.

Jisung didn’t answer, but the expression on his face said enough.

“Insatiable little thing, aren’t you? Wanna see how much I can edge you until you cry and beg me like a little whore?”.

Jisung shifted where he knelt, still being held in place by a harsh grip on his hair.

“But that wouldn’t be any fun, right? You love begging me. Why don’t you remind me again how prettily you can do that? Ask me to fuck you again and I’ll consider it”.

Jisungs hands came up to rest on Minhos legs and he managed to muster the strongest puppy eyes the older man had ever seen.

“Minho, I need you to fuck me- Use me as you wish, please-“, Jisung whimpered when Minhos fist closed some more, the sting on his scalp getting greater.

Minho sighed heavily, leaning back again and motioning his boyfriend to get on top once more. Jisung immediately climbed back onto his lap, hands on his shoulders to brace himself.

“You’re very lucky, you know that? Other people wouldn’t let you get away with your shit”, he growled.

Jisung smiled, that stunning cute little grin he almost always had when he looked at his boyfriend. His hands cradled his face fondly, fingers stroking his skin.

“I know I am”, Jisung whispered, but decided to taunt him with it, “No one else could fuck me this good”.

Minho hissed. Saying these words wouldn’t get to him at this point would be a lie. But he grinned, tilting his head. His hand shot out, grabbing Jisung by the throat again.

“You’re so right, kitten. Better scream my name when I do it, yeah?”.

His free hand was on his cock, positioning himself before shoving his boyfriends hips down. Both of them moaned at the same time, their faces so close that their hot breaths mingled together.

“Min- oh god”.

Minho had enough mercy to be slow, to let him sink down at his own pace. But Jisungs tight hole felt so good to him, he was very sure he would cum on the spot if he went in any faster.

“You feel amazing”, Minho literally purred- the soft growl in his chest not coming out completely, “Cute how when he bottomed out, hands shaking and nails scraping over Minhos skin to search for something to hold on. He whimpered, getting louder the more Minhos hand closed around his throat.

“Minho-“.

“That’s it”, the older man grabbed his ass, pushing him closer to encourage him to move, “A little louder, come on”.

And he did, Jisung moaned his name out so loudly, it could possibly be heard down the hallway. But he still didn’t move, he only did whenever Minho pushed and pulled him as he pleased.

“Move, kitten. You need to do something for your pleasure”.

“I- I can’t”, Jisung sobbed, his whole body seized up as if he already was on the verge of another orgasm, “Feels so good, I can’t-“.

His hands reached for his cock, but Minho shook his head, ordering him to cross them behind his back so he could hold them with his free hand. His fingers wrapped around his boyfriend's wrists so tightly, hand on his throat pulling him forward and locking his body in this position. Jisung slumped against him.

“Want me to do all the work? Tsk”, Minho clicked his tongue in disapproval, “Take it like the whore you are, then”.

The snaps of his hips were mean, fucking into him with sharp thrusts while Jisung could barely move, indeed just had to take what Minho would give him. Sweat trickled down through his messy hair, making its way along Jisungs temple, but Minho was quick to kiss it away.

“I love you, hyung”, Jisung whined out, followed by a particularly loud and needy whine when Minho finally angled his hips to hit his prostate.

Minhos heart did a flip, his muscles flexed as he groaned - his orgasm was closer than he expected and liked.

“Fuuuuck- Why you gotta say shit like that?- fuck”, he grunted, the confession going straight to his dick, but he pulled Jisung closer to him to claim his mouth once more either way, “I love you too, kitten. You’re doing so well”.

The sounds Jisung made were echoing through the room, bouncing off the wall and probably following their bandmates into their dreams.

It was filthy, only halfway swallowed by Minhos greedy mouth, broken cries and sobbed out names in combination with more whispered love confessions.

“Min- please- ahh”, Jisung wriggled in his grasp, shivering when he noticed he couldn’t get out.

“Yeah?”, the older man’s hand vanished from his throat, steadying his hips to thrust into him with more precision, “Asking for even more? Greedy”.

“I need to cum, oh god- please”.

Minhos pace slurred, slowing down on purpose to punish him for his audacity. Jisung grinded against him pathetically to have the bliss of the friction again.

“You already did, isn’t that enough?”.

“Noooo-“, Jisung shook his head while Minho watched him bouncing on his cock as best as his weak and trembling thighs allowed him, “More- please”.

Minho let go of him completely, freeing his hands and leaning back against the couch with a grin.

“Make me cum and you can have what you want, kitten”.

Jisung slung his arms around Minhos shoulders, bracing himself and holding on for leverage while Minho got hold of his waist. Jisungs movements were desperate, hips slamming down sloppily - the filthy wet sounds enhanced by sweat and precum were making Minho deaf to everything else. He’d always think his boyfriend was so hot like this, especially when he wanted him so much like this.

These might be the times his dominant facade would crack, because he couldn’t fight the urge to worship him in moments like this.

“So pretty- so perfect for me, Ji- fuuck”, his head fell back, his cock was twitching - the climax being in arms reach embarrassingly fast, “Tell me you want me to fill you up- tell me where you want my cum, kitten”.

Jisung dived in to kiss him, their shared breaths turning into heavy and lustful groans way too soon. They were both at their limits, the concert and this whole situation had wrung them out - Jisung was sure he wouldn’t be able to walk after this.

“Inside- oh god, please cum inside me- I’ll lick you clean and you can cum again in my mouth”.

Minho couldn’t hold it, he held onto Jisung with a bruising and tight grip, thrusting in as deep as he could while he could already feel his orgasm coming in.

He came so hard, it was almost painful how much he clenched his muscles, and the fact that Jisung was squeezing him through it as he came on the same time just made it even worse.

“Oh fuck- take it”, Minho gasped, fucking his cum into him with quick and deep thrusts, completely ignoring how sticky he felt as he pulled Jisung against him.

The younger man gasped, feeling so full as he clawed at his boyfriend, mouthing at Minhos neck because he was too fucked out to comprehend what a kiss even was. His own cock was trapped in between their bodies, still leaking, still sensitive, but he didn’t care, not as long as Minho was still moving.

“Thank you, hyung”, he moaned, blinking away the tears threatening to form out of overstimulation.

Minhos hands were stroking Jisungs back, rubbing soothing circles onto it under the fabric of that damn shirt that started it all.

“You promised me something”, Minho hummed with a grin, still holding his boyfriend close.

“Hm?”, he answered before lifting his head to look at Minho with what probably was the most devoted and exhausted look ever.

“Didn’t you beg me to fuck my cum down your throat after this?”.

Jisungs look changed from devoted to heated, lustful dilated pupils staring up to him.

“I did”, he huffed, “You’d like to do that, hm?”.

Minhos hand came up, closing around Jisungs jaw like he did on stage. He gave him a soft and gentle kiss, lingering there.

“You gotta be unable to walk and to speak for a few days, kitten. We’re far from done here”.

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it wasn’t until he talked it over with you on the phone. you listened intently—you always did—but katsuki could tell you didn’t agree with him on the matter. however, for some reason he always found it difficult to disregard anything you said, so he listened too. he heard your concerns and acknowledged them. you had offered him a solution.

“try rehab for a session or two, and if you hate it then you can stop,” you said, voice static as it cracked through the speaker of his phone. katsuki was laid out on his bed, arms behind his head, quiet as you continued.

“but if it helps you, then i think you should consider doing it for the full twelve weeks.”

so he did.

he hated his first session.

he barely lasted 5 minutes on the treadmill before he was hunched over, heaving, trying to catch his breath. the nurse had guided him off the machine and sat him on a nearby bench, offering him some water. he reassured him gently that this was normal and he would get better with each session. at the time, katsuki wanted to sock him in the mouth, but then he remembered your words, the concern you had, and he gritted his teeth.

he continued to show up after that, participating in each activity and exercise without so much as a complaint. by the time he was halfway through the program—as much as he hated to admit it—he already felt a million times better. katsuki always called you after every session, and you had the same set of questions everytime:

how did it go?

are the exercises getting easier?

did the ekg show anything?

how was your heart rate?

any chest pain?

katsuki answered with an annoyed tone followed by a roll of his eyes, but he answered every time. he knew you were planning on going into nursing school once you graduated, and you had a particular interest in the cardiac side of things—whether it was because of him or not, he didn’t know.

post war!katsuki who is out on patrol when he receives a video call from you on his cell. he answers and immediately relaxes when your face pops up on the screen, eyes tired, but he just assumes that’s from all the late-night studying you’ve been doing.

it had been about a year since you started in the nursing program and about two since you guys graduated from high school. you are currently in your third semester.

“did ya need something, brat?” he asks gruffly, smirking when you scrunch your nose at him.

“am i not allowed to call you?” you retort back.

“i’m patrolling dummy. if you need something, make it quick.”

you huff out a sigh, adjusting your phone so it angled on your face better. katsuki’s attention catches onto your scrubs and realizes you’re at the hospital, doing your clinicals.

“today’s been a shit show,” you lament. “i just wanted to see your face, thought it’d make me feel better.”

katsuki breathes out a laugh, wincing a bit when a sharp pang hits his chest. your expression immediately perks up in alarm and you lean forward.

“katsuki? you okay?”

“m’fine,” he groans, rubbing at the spot over his sternum. “just been getting these sharp pains in my chest lately—and before you say anything, yes i let my doctor know.”

you stare at him exasperatedly through the screen, and he feels a pang again, but it’s not the sharp pain anymore—it’s guilt. he hates making you worry, and he knows that’s dumb and he should be glad someone cares this much, but he can’t help it, especially when he knows you already have so many other things on your plate to worry about.

post war!katsuki who ends up having severe chest pain while he’s out working and is immediately brought to the hospital. 

the ED doctors do a full cardiac work up—ekg, chest x-ray, blood work, ct scan—most of which come back unremarkable. while he’s waiting on the bed for the final results to come back from his bloodwork, he hears a set of frantic footsteps and then suddenly the curtain flies away, revealing you standing there, panting, as if you had just ran all the way here.

katsuki blinks tiredly, not surprised that you’re here since you work only a few floors above, and drops his phone onto his lap as you walk over to the bedside. your hair is haphazardly pulled up into a messy updo but you pay it no mind and instead cup his jaw with one hand.

“how are you feeling?” you ask softly as katsuki covers your hand with his own, caressing the inside of your wrist with his thumb.

“better,” he answers roughly. “they gave me some aspirin to chew on, the pain’s gone now.”

“any tests?”

“imaging was clear, ekg was fine. just waiting on the repeat troponin result, but the last one came back normal.”

this is not the first time katsuki’s been back in the hospital since the war, so he is familiar with protocol whenever he comes in for chest pain. most of the time, it turns out to be nothing and they discharge him with instructions to follow-up with his cardiologist.

that doesn’t change the fact you panic every time he calls or texts you, saying he’s in the ED again. 

you stay by his side, hand never leaving his, even as the doctor comes in and explains that the rest of the results came back normal. as they work on his discharge paperwork, you ask him if he needs a ride back home.

“i’ll be fine. i already called my dad and he’s on his way,” he brushes you off. “you need to go back to work.”

you click your tongue in annoyance but don’t push it, knowing that wasn’t going to get you anywhere. once they wheel him out to his dad’s car, katsuki tugs you close and presses a tender kiss to your temple, his way of reassuring you that he’s okay.

“i’ll see you after work, okay?” he mumbles into your skin. you nod against him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“take it easy today,” you say.

“no promises,” he teases, chuckling when you lightly smack his arm.

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a/n: who caught the malcom todd reference 🦅🦶⚾️ bakugou won the poll i posted so he gets to have a smau first!!! hopefully this was cute :P