Carah 💜

You were both idols. Faces on billboards. Names trending weekly. Smiles perfected for cameras.

But behind that?

Two people who loved hard and fought harder.

He hated how many people wanted you.

You hated how easily he let that insecurity turn into accusation.

Both of you were prideful. Neither of you liked apologising first. Every disagreement became a silent competition of who would fold.

And neither of you ever did. It was a constant cycle.

~

It starts after a music show recording.

The encore stage lights are still burned into your vision when you finally step off stage. Your ears are ringing, your throat raw from live vocals, glitter clinging stubbornly to your collarbones and the hollow of your throat.

Stylists buzz around you, wiping sweat from your temples, pressing tissues into your hands, fixing strands of hair that stuck to your lip gloss.

You barely have the energy to smile when you bow goodbye.

Backstage smells like hairspray and overheated equipment. Your body feels like it’s running on fumes and adrenaline.

Your phone buzzes.

You ignore it.

It buzzes again while you’re halfway through changing out of your stage outfit.

And again when you’re finally sitting in the waiting room, shoulders slumped, makeup half-smudged from rubbing your eyes.

You glance at the screen.

Mingyu: Where are you?

Mingyu: Are you done yet?

Mingyu: Answer me.

You inhale slowly.

You told him you had a schedule tonight. You told him it might run late because it was a live broadcast with extended interviews.

You’d even warned him the male MC would be hosting again, the same one he’d made a passive-aggressive comment about last week.

You lock your phone without replying.

You don’t have the energy for this.

By the time you finally step outside the broadcasting station, the night air hits your overheated skin like a shock. It’s cool, almost biting, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional shout from fans lingering across the street.

And there he is.

Leaning against his car.

Mingyu has a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, mask tugged down to his chin now that it’s late and the area’s mostly cleared.

His arms are crossed tight over his chest.

Jaw locked.

He’s been waiting.

You already know what kind of night it’s going to be.

“You ignored me,” he says the second you’re close enough.

No hello.

No kiss on the cheek like he usually sneaks when no one’s looking.

Just accusation.

You let out a breath through your nose. “I was working.”

“Working,” he repeats flatly.

“Yes. Like you knew I would be.”

“You had time to post on Instagram.”

Your head tilts slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I saw it,” he says. “You posted ten minutes ago.”

Your laugh is sharp. “You’re tracking my posts now?”

“I’m not tracking you.”

“That’s exactly what it sounds like.”

He pushes off the car, stepping closer. “I’m just saying it takes two seconds to text.”

“And it takes two seconds to not assume I’m doing something wrong,” you snap.

His nostrils flare. You see it, that flash in his eyes. Not pure anger.

Something uglier.

Something insecure.

“You were with that male MC again,” he mutters.

And there it is.

Your head snaps toward him so fast your earrings swing. “Are you serious right now?”

~

You don’t remember suggesting the park.

You just remember needing air.

The car felt too small. His presence felt too close. The silence between your sentences felt like it was pressing against your ribs.

So you open the door and walk.

Fast.

He calls your name once, sharp and disbelieving, then the car door slams behind him and his footsteps fall in line with yours.

You don’t look back.

The park a block away is dimly lit, street lamps casting long gold streaks across the pavement.

A few people linger, a couple sharing earphones on a bench, an older man walking a small white dog, two university students sitting cross-legged on the grass with takeaway cups between them.

It should be peaceful.

It should calm you down.

But it doesn’t.

“You don’t trust me,” you say before he can speak, your voice already raised, already trembling with adrenaline.

“I trust you,” he shoots back immediately. “I don’t trust other guys.”

You spin around so abruptly he nearly walks into you. “That’s not my problem!”

“It becomes your problem when you entertain it!”

Your laugh is incredulous. “Entertain it? I was doing my job, Mingyu!”

“And laughing that hard was part of your job?”

“Oh my god,” you scoff, hands flying up in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love that attention.”

That’s when something in your expression changes.

Your eyes go cold. Not fiery. Not emotional.

Cold.

“Don’t project your insecurities onto me.”

His jaw tightens visibly. A muscle ticks near his ear. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

The implication is clear.

Manipulative. Flirty. Leading people on.

Something inside you snaps clean in half.

“You know what?” you shout, the sound echoing slightly against the trees. “At least I don’t flirt with half the industry at after-parties.”

“That’s networking!” he yells back, his voice booming across the path.

A few heads turn now.

“Please,” you scoff. “You were practically sitting in that actress’s lap last month.”

He steps closer. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say what you’re implying.”

“Practically cheating?” you spit.

His eyes flash. “I wasn’t cheating.”

“You sure didn’t look unavailable.”

He takes another step toward you, invading your space, chest rising and falling hard. “Stop.”

“Or what?”

“Or don’t say things you can’t take back.”

The warning only fuels you.

“You don’t get to threaten me because you feel guilty.”

“I’m not guilty.”

“Then stop acting like it!”

You shove him.

It isn’t a full-force push. You’re not trying to hurt him.

But it’s enough.

Enough that his body rocks back a step.

Enough that it means something.

The couple on the bench goes quiet.

The university students stop mid-conversation.

“You don’t get to question me,” you shout, voice cracking now, “when you’re the one acting single every time we’re not together!”

“I act single?” he laughs harshly, disbelief bleeding into anger. “You’re the one who refuses to go public!”

“Because I know you!” you scream. “You can’t handle the pressure!”

“I can’t handle it?” he steps forward again, anger radiating off him. “You’re the one who runs every time things get hard!”

“Maybe I wouldn’t run if you didn’t suffocate me!”

The word hits. Suffocate.

You’re both breathing hard. Shoulders heaving. Faces flushed under the streetlights. His eyes are glassy, not just with anger, but with something wounded. Yours burn with unshed tears you refuse to let fall.

“You always make me the villain,” he says finally, voice lower now but just as sharp. “Like I’m some toxic boyfriend who can’t control himself.”

“Because you don’t listen,” you whisper, the fight draining just enough for honesty to slip through. “You don’t hear me. You just react.”

He drags a hand through his hair, cap nearly falling off. “You think I like feeling jealous? You think I enjoy fighting with you?”

“Then stop.”

“Stop giving me reasons.”

You stare at him.

Then you let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

“You don’t need reasons, Mingyu,” you say quietly. “You create them.”

The hurt that flashes across his face is immediate. Unfiltered. It almost makes you regret it.

Almost.

But pride holds you upright.

Pride keeps your chin lifted.

You shake your head and step back, creating distance where seconds ago there was only head.

“Maybe we need a break,” you say.

~

The next morning your manager is pounding on your apartment door.

You know it’s bad before you even check your phone.

The video is everywhere, the park, the shouting, the shove. Headlines questioning if you and Mingyu are over. Comment sections calling you toxic. Screenshots catching the worst angles of both of you.

Your stomach churns.

You don’t text him.

He doesn’t text you.

An hour later, there’s a knock.

When you open the door, he looks just as wrecked as you feel, hoodie up, eyes tired, jaw tight. Neither of you say anything this time.

No apologies.

No explanations.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You’re still angry.

So is he.

But the anger isn’t clean. It’s tangled with want. With relief that he’s here instead of gone.

He steps closer first.

You don’t step back.

Your hands hit his chest, not to shove this time, but to feel him there.

His fingers slide to your waist like muscle memory. The tension between you shifts, sharp edges melting into something hotter.

You kiss him like you’re still mad.

It’s messy. Frustrated. Almost desperate.

He responds the same way, one hand tangling in your hair, the other pulling you flush against him. The fight dissolves into heat, into hands gripping too tight, into breaths that feel stolen instead of given.

This is how you always fix it.

Not with words.

Not with resolution.

Just skin and closeness and the illusion that if you can feel each other this intensely, then nothing is actually broken.

He backs you toward the bed without breaking the kiss. You tug his hoodie off roughly. He exhales your name like it’s both an apology and a warning.

For a moment, you pull back just enough to look at him.

There’s still hurt in his eyes.

Still pride.

Still all the things you never properly unpack.

But neither of you choose to talk about it.

Instead, you kiss him again.

Because it’s easier.

Because it drowns out the noise.

Because when you’re tangled together, bodies pressed close and fingers gripping like you’re afraid to let go, it feels like proof that you’re still choosing each other.

And maybe that’s the problem.

You don’t solve anything.

hongjoong- the sound of his soft giggles and the new track he's been working on fill the air. an amused smile with lips and teeth parted, never leaves his face as he felt you press another, then another, and another kiss, leaving bright red lipstick stains on his skin. he was suddenly glad he didn't have any schedules for today and didn't have any makeup on. you were taking care of that for him.

seonghwa- an eyebrow quirk and a smirk playing at his lips but he didn't say anything right away. he expected the kisses to stop after a while but when they didn't he did that thing that drove you mad. the tone of his voice and he spoke in satoori. "yah... what're you up to?" you didn't respond. you just giggled and kept going. it wasn't long before seonghwa leaned into it, wrapping his arms around you and curling himself into you when you placed a kiss into the crook of his neck. he let out a light laugh and pressed kisses of his own into your cheek.

yunho- he was stunned at first. wide eyes and downturned lips as he called out, "갑자기?" as you continued he melted into it a bit more, letting out a few giggles as you found that sensitive spot on his neck. "ah wae!" he whined out lightly. he didn't fully understand why you were doing this but he wasn't unhappy with the stains when he went to look in the mirror later.

yeosang- he was never one for affection, even with you so it didn't come as a surprise when he stiffened up to your touch. even though you couldn't see it, you knew his eyes were as big as saucers, looking around like he didn't know what to do with himself, but he still let you. never once did he push you away or ask you to stop. when you were finished, you stayed straddled on his lap and stretched over him just enough to snap a picture of your work. his hand on your thigh didn't get missed either. You cuddled into this chest and showed him, "see! so pretty!" he agreed, echoing the sentiment.

san- this boy was in absolute heaven. he didn't move an inch, just leaned back into the sofa, head resting on the back with the biggest, dopiest smile on his face. his eyes closing and opening to stare at you with complete adoration. after he was nearly covered in marks, he finally perked up and said, "ok, my turn!" before grabbing the back of your neck and bringing your crimson lips to his and pressing many... many firm kisses to them. god, he could tattoo those marks if ge could.

mingi- blissed out boy no. 2. he spent the whole time wondering what he did to deserve so many kisses. his eyes round in wonder as he felt on kiss, after another, after another graze his honey skin. bless his heart, he kept trying to give you kisses back but you were too quick, leaving a confused Mingi in your wake, lips still pursed in the air. "yah..." he said softly, only mildly frustrated. you ended the session with exaggerated kisses to his lips, earning that beautiful smile and laugh of his. "ah, you're my favorite."

wooyoung- you couldn't wipe that smug look off his face even if you wanted to--or kiss it off. also this boy was loudly and OBNOXIOUSLY (said with love) giggling. though one thing about him is that we was quicker than Mingi, getting in his kisses and if he didn't, he'd grab a hold of your chin to hold you in place so he could give some kisses of his own, not leaving the same marks as yours. the motherfucker took one look at himself in the mirror and without a second thought snapped a pic and posted it. not only showing you off in a small way but creating a frenzy online.