reblogs

Mingyu becomes your boyfriend and quickly realizes 3 things about himself: 1. He’s clingy. 2. Patience brings him nowhere. 3. He is not built for a long distance relationship.

mingyu x f!reader

wc: 2.2k

genre: fluff, suggestive, non-idol au, friends to lovers

content: (newly) established relationship, lots of kissing, making out, biting/hickeys, mentions of alcohol and food, terms of endearment (baby, babe, pretty girl, loverboy), some teasing/banter, they're kinda obsessed w each other, honeymoon phase but for ppl who aren't married yet, their friends are dramatic(?)

divider by hyuneskkami!

Patience has always been one of Mingyu’s best qualities.

Episode 35: “In This Together”

They were curled up on the studio couch, a playlist humming low and her latest painting drying just a few feet away.

Jackson glanced down at her, her cheek pressed against his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes on his arm.

“So… are we going to keep pretending we’re not something?”

Her head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing just enough.

“Define something.”

He gave her that crooked smile.
“You know what I mean.”

She sat up, legs crossed now, eyes searching his. The hesitation that used to live in her chest — the part that kept waiting for the catch — felt quieter today.

“Okay,” she said.
“We’re something.”

“More than something.”

“A couple?” she offered, slightly smug.

He leaned in, brushing her lips once.
“That.”

That night, he posted a carousel. Just a few slides.

1. A shot of his camera roll — blurry concert lights.

2. A selfie with Mark and some of the guys.

3. A flick of her hand reaching for a paintbrush — just her hand.

4. A photo of a table for two, a hoodie draped over her chair.

5. A candid of her painting, back to the camera.

6. The last slide: a mirror shot. Her in the background, slightly out of focus, smiling at something off-camera.

No tag.

No caption.

Just:
“Life lately.”

Her post came hours later.

1. A photo of her paint-streaked sneakers.

2. A glass of wine balanced on a sketchbook.

3. A cropped photo — just the corner of his face and his shoulder.

4. Her exhibit flyer on a bulletin board.

5. A hoodie over her chair — again.

6. And finally, a blurry photo of them both in a mirror — hers this time, both of them laughing.

Her caption?

“Feels like a soft launch.”

The internet clocked it immediately.

Fans noticed the overlaps. The matching hoodies. The soft smiles.

The comments?
Unhinged.
Delighted.
Some cautious.

And them?
They laughed reading them — curled up again, this time in her bed.

“Guess this is happening,” she whispered.

He kissed her shoulder.
“It’s been happening.”

——

It didn’t take long.

Within hours of their soft-soft launch, fan edits were circulating. A video showing side-by-sides: her hoodie in both posts, the matching paint-smeared sneakers he wore two weeks ago, the same café corner from his and her Story.

“Jackson Wang dating an artist?”

“Who’s the mystery girl with the brushstroke smile?”

“The couple we didn’t know we needed.”

No one had confirmed anything. No statement. No tag. Just vibes.

But the public?

They’d put the pieces together.

Her DMs filled up with new followers, curious eyes. Some sweet. Some weird. Some too deep in her business.

His feed? A circus. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

What she wasn’t used to, though, was the endless Reddit threads dissecting her art like it held all the answers.

“Is this one about him?”

“She’s way too cool for him tbh.”

“He looks at her like she hung the damn moon.”

Back in their world, they stayed chill.

Jackson didn’t flinch. He texted her mid-shoot:

“You good?”

She responded with a screenshot of a thirsty comment on his photo.

“I’m fine. But why is someone offering to bear your children under my painting?”

He sent back a voice note.

Low laughter, then:

“Tell them to get in line.”

By the time they met up that night — her exhibit’s closing drinks, semi-private — things had settled.

The Bebe girls showed up first, teasing but protective.

Bada gave her a look.

“So, hard-launch adjacent?”

MC shrugged, feigned innocence.

“If the shoe fits…”

Lusher leaned in, smirking.

“He’s lucky. Just don’t let the noise get to you.”

And when Jackson arrived — simple, casual, but unmistakably comfortable in her world — it was easy. He greeted her friends, exchanged inside jokes with Mark, even carried her leftover canvases out at the end of the night.

When a fan outside snapped a pic — her tucked under his arm, both laughing at something dumb — they didn’t flinch.

They didn’t pose either.

Just kept walking.

———

End of episode 35 & series

a/n: Thank you so much to everyone who read this story. When I started writing it, I honestly didn’t expect it to get the attention it did. If I’m being real, this was originally just something I wrote for myself — a place to keep the story somewhere I could easily find and come back to whenever I felt like writing.

Seeing people enjoy it and follow along with the characters was such a nice surprise, and I’m really grateful to anyone who took the time to read it.

As much as I wanted to keep going, I’ve been feeling a little uninspired with this story lately and have found myself wanting to explore completely different characters and ideas. Rather than forcing it, I think it’s best to end it here.

Episode 34: “That Close, Huh?”

It wasn’t anything serious.

Just a comment —
from some good-looking actor-slash-model-slash-creative guy on MC’s recent IG post.

Something about “muse energy.”
Followed by a flame emoji.
Then a story repost of her painting with his voiceover layered on top.

It wasn't new. MC had plenty of people who admired her — publicly, loudly.

But this one?
This one replied to her story.
And she replied back.
Playfully.

Jackson saw it before she could even mention it.

———

“Didn’t know he was your type,” he said casually, eyes on his phone.

MC turned, eyebrow raised.
“Since when do I have a type?”

“You tell me.”

The silence between them wasn’t angry.
Just tight.

She sighed. “Are we doing this?”

He shrugged. “Are you?”

———

Later, in the middle of a group hangout — music low, everyone loosened up — the guy showed up.
Apparently invited by Tatter.

MC didn’t look twice.

Jackson, though?

He watched.

When the guy leaned in to talk to her, Jackson’s arm made its way around her chair.
Light. Casual.
But unmistakably territorial.

She noticed.

Later that night, as they left together, she nudged him.
“You good?”

“Should I not be?”

She paused, smirk tugging at her lips.
“You know you don’t have to do all that.”

“Do what?”

“Stake claims. I’m not property.”

He stopped walking, turned to face her.
“You think that’s what that was?”

She didn’t answer.

So he added:
“I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about me — looking stupid for caring this much.”

Her face softened.

“You don’t look stupid.”

“Good,” he said, stepping closer.
“Because I’m all in. And I’m not used to sharing.”

She laughed, tension breaking slightly.
“Then stop being weird and act like you know you’re the only one I want.”

His reply?
A kiss so solid, so slow, it left no room for question.

———

Meanwhile online:
Another round of fan speculation bubbles.
Photos surface from the same hangout — MC and the actor talking. Jackson nearby.

The captions?

“Love triangle?”
“Jackson’s girl getting cozy with someone new?”
“New ship incoming?”

None of them comment.

But Jackson does post a blurry photo of MC’s hand holding his — in the car, late at night.
Just one word:
“Mine.”

———

Episode 33: “Still Him?”

The invitation came through her gallery’s assistant:
“Your ex is hosting a private art event. He personally requested your presence.”

MC almost laughed. The audacity.

She hadn’t seen him in over a year, not since the messy L.A. fallout. Now he was in Seoul, trying to “reconnect through art.”

Her first instinct was to decline.
Her second was to show up — not for him, but for herself. To prove she wasn’t the girl he left behind.

———

Jackson heard it from Bada.
Not MC.

They were all in the same room — casual night, low lights, half-finished drinks. Someone mentioned the event. Someone else mentioned the ex.

Jackson went quiet.

Later, when they were alone, he asked:
“Are you going?”

MC hesitated.
“It’s not like that.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“But it feels like you think it is.”

He didn’t reply. Just offered a small shrug — too casual, too careful.

———

She did go.

No fanfare, no big entrance. Just a quick in-and-out.

But the ex made sure they spoke.

“You look good.”
“I am good.”
“I didn’t come here to mess things up.”
“Then why are you here?”
He smiled. “To remember.”

———

Outside, as MC stepped into the cool night, she spotted Jackson across the street.

Not waiting. Just... there.

“Were you following me?”
“No,” he said. “Just wanted to see if you’d ask me to come.”

She didn’t respond at first.

Then:
“It’s not him I think about when things are quiet.”

He walked over, standing close. Not touching. Just there.
Present. Steady.

“I don’t want to be another version of him,” Jackson said.
“You’re not.”

“Then tell me you want this. Not just now. But with me. Long-term.”

She looked up, heart racing.

“I didn’t come out of that to play games,” she said.
“Neither did I.”

———

The kiss wasn’t fiery or stolen.

It was slow. Full. Quiet.

Like a door closing — and another opening.

———

Online, the fan edits were getting louder.

“Jackson’s been different lately…”
“Who’s the girl at the art thing?”
“Wait… that’s her sweater?”

They didn’t confirm anything.

But he did post a photo of her painting.
No tags. No faces. Just the caption:

“Yours is the only opinion that matters.”

Episode 32: What Came Before

Core Focus: Past relationships, new insecurities

It started with an unexpected tag.

MC was out with Bada, Lusher, and Tatter, sipping something fruity and pretending not to check her phone every ten minutes. They were talking nonsense, laughing about someone’s failed situationship, when Lusher’s brow raised mid-scroll.

“You didn’t tell us he was in town.”

MC’s stomach dropped before the name even passed anyone’s lips.

Her ex — the one from L.A. — was tagged in a post just blocks from her gallery. Same guy who once called her “too much” when she painted through heartbreak and “too ambitious” when she landed her second solo show.

MC didn’t say much. Just blinked and kept sipping.

———

Jackson came by that night.

Nothing serious — just a late run to the corner bodega, drinks tossed back on her couch, and quiet music playing while she finished touches on a piece.

But she was off. He felt it.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” she said too quickly.

“Liar.”

She sighed.

“Old ghost. Just...don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t push. But later, when she stepped out to take a call, her laptop pinged with a synced message to her phone — this time right next to him.

The screen lit up: “Hope you’re well. Didn’t expect to be in your city.”

Jackson didn’t open it. He didn’t need to.

———

Back inside, she caught his look. Quiet. Still.

“You saw?”

“Didn’t read it.”

“I wouldn’t have hidden it. I just...I didn’t know it would get to me like this.”

She sat next to him, knees touching.

“He made me feel like I was hard to love,” she said finally.

“That’s wild,” Jackson murmured.

“No. I get it. I can be intense. Focused. I paint for days and disappear. I shut down when I’m anxious. I’m cautious now because he made me scared to be all of me.”

Jackson took a slow breath.

“And here I was thinking I’m the messy one.”

They both laughed quietly — but he was still staring at her, a bit differently.

“I don’t care what he made you feel,” Jackson said.

“I care what you feel now. With me.”

MC leaned in — not for a kiss, not yet. Just resting her forehead against his.

“I feel safe.”

———

Later, as he left, she caught his hand at the door.

“Don’t go ghost if I get in my head,” she said.

“I’ll just show up with food and make you talk,” he replied.

“Aggressive.”

“Effective.”

———

Online, fans were still speculating, stories still stacking.

But that night, she painted something new — soft lines, quiet colors. A piece called “Held.”

And Jackson reposted it.

No caption. Just a heart.

Episode 31: Puzzle Pieces

MC wasn’t trying to be obvious.

She posted a story from a rooftop. A quick trip in Paris. A glass of wine. The soft hum of music in the background.

No people. Just vibes.

An hour later, Jackson posted.

Different angle. Same city. Same skyline. He was laughing at something off-camera.

Fans noticed.

“Wait a minute…”
“Don’t play with me rn is that the same rooftop??”
“We know a Jackson Wang thirst trap when we see one — but whose patio is that??”

The next morning, MC posted a photo carousel from her night: a new painting in progress, a slice of cake, someone’s hand in the corner of the frame — rings that definitely didn’t belong to her.

By then, Twitter was already deep in the theories.

Fan account @JacksonUpdates:
“Not saying anything BUT—

MC’s wine glass
Jackson’s IG Live last night had the same background music
That’s the same countertop from her studio tour vlog last year
I’m just saying.”

Comments:

“So we soft-launching a queen??”
“Respectfully, I ship.”
“This better not be Na Rae’s doing again.”
“He looked extra happy in that live, just saying.”

———

Jackson wasn’t oblivious.

He saw the theories. Skimmed the edits. Heard the murmurings from his own team.

But he didn’t flinch.

In fact, a few days later, he posted another photo — a close-up shot of his hand sketching something on a napkin. No context. But the unmistakable smudge of paint on his sweater sleeve had fans spiraling.

MC reposted it to her story with a single word:
“inspo.”

———

They still hadn’t confirmed anything.

No photos together. No tagged dinners. No red carpet appearances.

But by the end of the week, the comments were full of soft theories and fully unhinged ships.

Even Vogue’s social intern got in on it with a playful tweet:
“If this is who we think it is… we support.”

———

And then came the most obvious one yet.

MC posted from an art gallery opening — her work, naturally. The last slide in her carousel? A candid shot of a hand gently adjusting the sleeve of her jacket. Only half his face in frame.

But the Internet recognized that jawline anywhere.

Caption:
“Thank you for seeing me.”
No tag. Just chaos.

———

Later that night, curled up on her couch, MC scrolled through the noise with a glass of wine. Jackson was stretched across the rug, reading something on his phone.

She glanced down at him.
“They know.”

He looked up, cocked a brow.
“Should we care?”

She smiled.
“No.”

He held up his phone — a tweet with a meme of the two of them edited onto a k-drama poster.
“Guess this is happening.”

She laughed, reaching over with her foot to nudge his leg.
“It’s kinda cute.”

“Wanna break the internet?”

“Nah,” she said, taking another sip. “Let them figure it out.”

End of episode 31.

———

Episode 30: Now You Know

It wasn’t planned.

There wasn’t a grand reveal. No dramatic announcement. No nervous build-up.

It just happened.

They were at Bada’s place — casual get-together, no pressure. The usual crew was there: Mark, Bada, Tatter, Lusher, a few others they trusted. Music low, drinks flowing, laughter bouncing off the walls.

MC had been tucked into Jackson’s side most of the evening — his hand resting on her thigh under the table, her fingers playing with the chain around his wrist. No one said anything. But everyone noticed.

It wasn’t until Bada made a joke and MC leaned forward, giggling, that Jackson looked at her with that soft gaze. Like the kind that made Lusher nearly choke on her drink.

Then, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world — he leaned in and kissed her head.

Not long. Not showy. Just… honest.

A quiet, shared moment in a room full of people.

Then he pulled back and went back to his drink like nothing happened.

Dead silence.

Until Mark — bless him — raised a brow and muttered, “So… that’s happening.”

Jackson grinned. “Yeah.”

MC just shrugged, trying to act unbothered, but her cheeks gave her away.

Bada broke the tension with a loud “FINALLY,” and just like that, everyone relaxed. Cheers went up, someone made a toast, and suddenly the weight of secrecy lifted from their shoulders.

———

Later, Lusher pulled MC aside. “So… does this mean we can start double-dating or are y’all still in the ‘whatever this is’ phase?”

MC laughed. “Let’s just say the soft launch window has officially closed.”

End of episode 30

Episode 29: Blurred Lines

Jackson didn’t post her.

Not directly. Not yet.

But people noticed the hoodie.

MC was photographed coming out of a late gallery walkthrough, hood up, no makeup, a giant iced coffee in one hand. The hoodie in question? Clearly Jackson’s — from a recent ambassador campaign he was photographed in. Same oversized fit, same energy.

She didn’t flinch at the camera flashes. Just smiled, kept walking.

Within an hour, Twitter had questions.
“Is that Jackson Wang’s hoodie???”
“Why does she look like she just woke up in his bed (respectfully)”
“They’ve been in the same city for how long now? It’s giving something.”

Meanwhile, Jackson did post — just not of her.
A story from the gallery.
One of her canvases in the background, no tag.
Just: “This one made me stop.”
He didn’t say her name. He didn’t have to.

———

Their friends noticed too.

Lusher caught her sipping from a water bottle Jackson had left in her bag. “You know this man’s scent is practically permanent on you now, right?”

MC rolled her eyes. “It’s just a hoodie.”

“It’s a hoodie you slept in.”

“It was cold.”

“Right.”

Tatter caught the two of them leaving an event together and just raised an eyebrow. Jackson waved. MC blushed. Nothing was said.

“Y’all do what you want,” Tatter told Bada later. “But they’re one dinner away from soft-launching and hard-launching at the same time.”

———

But MC still hadn’t defined it.

Not out loud.

Not even to herself.

They hadn’t said what they were. They were just… this.
This thing that felt good. Comfortable. Charged.
The look he gave her when she talked about a new series.
The way he touched her lower back when they walked through a crowd.
The fact that he showed up at her studio one afternoon with takeout just because he missed her.

“Are we just doing this now?” she finally asked one night, curled on his couch while he rubbed a thumb over her ankle. “Like, publicly?”

He looked at her for a beat, quiet. Then:

“Unless you don’t want to.”

She didn’t answer with words — just leaned forward and kissed him, slow and certain.

When they broke apart, she whispered, “That answer your question?”

Jackson grinned. “Loud and clear.”

End of Episode 29

Episode 28: Slipped

MC didn’t say anything at first. Not when she saw the story. Not when Bada nudged her phone and said, “Did you see this?” with her brow slightly raised. Not even when Tatter made a low whistle and mumbled, “She’s bold.”

But it stayed with her.

Na Rae’s story wasn’t even that revealing. Just a quick, blurry clip of a drink raised in toast — Jackson’s voice barely audible in the background, a familiar laugh anyone who followed him could recognize. The caption? “Late nights with my favorite people.” A stretch. A vague flex. A direct hit.

“She wants you to see it,” Lusher said simply, scrolling through her own phone. “That’s not subtle.”

MC just shrugged, lips pursed. “Then I won’t give her the satisfaction.”

She dipped her brush into crimson, dragging it across canvas in long, sure strokes. Her studio was calm, music low, a bottle of wine open in the corner. But her girls weren’t letting it go.

“You okay?” Bada finally asked, watching her closely.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You’re allowed not to be,” Tatter replied, sitting on the floor and starting on the snacks they'd brought. “I’d be pissed.”

“I’m not pissed,” MC said, not looking up. “I just… I don’t like games. And if that’s what this is, she can keep him.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Bada said carefully, “You don’t mean that.”

MC’s stroke faltered for half a second. “I know.”

———

Later that week, Jackson texted.

Jackson: you around this weekend?
Jackson: I have something I wanna show you
Jackson: no cameras. no crowd. just you

She stared at the messages, then tapped out a short reply.

MC: depends. are your favorite people invited too?

It took him two minutes to respond.

Jackson: okay. i deserve that.
Jackson: no. just you. not even mark.
Jackson: pls come

She took a deep breath before replying.

MC: send me a time

———

He didn’t bring her to a restaurant. Or a fancy studio. Or anything flashy. He brought her to a tucked-away rooftop garden above an old building in Itaewon, fairy lights strung between rusted pipes, a little setup of drinks, snacks, and his favorite speaker playing something mellow in the background.

“You did this?” she asked, walking slowly toward the spread.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. My stylist’s cousin owns the place. She let me borrow it for the night.”

She looked around, touched by how intimate and quiet it was.

“I wanted you to know I see you,” he said gently, walking up beside her. “And I’m not entertaining anyone else. That post? That moment? It was a group thing. I left early.”

“You don’t owe me explanations,” she said, keeping her tone even.

“I want to explain,” he countered. “You matter. And I don’t like that she made you question it.”

MC blinked at him. “You could’ve just said that.”

“I figured showing you would say it better.”

She looked up at him, eyes warm and unreadable all at once.

“Okay then,” she said. “Show me.”

He smiled. “Challenge accepted.”

———

Back at the studio, Lusher, Bada, and Tatter were in a group chat of their own.

Tatter: they’re definitely a thing
Bada: I mean, he did a whole rooftop picnic. the man is gone
Lusher: i give it two weeks before he’s doing “boyfriend soft launch” content without realizing it

End of Episode 28

Episode 27: Inside Joke, Outside World

Jackson’s story goes up at 2:12 PM.
Just a five-second video.
The camera pans over a half-full studio, muted chatter in the background, and then settles for a moment on her — tucked into the corner couch with her knees pulled up, sketchbook in hand. She's laughing at something off-camera, the kind of laugh that makes her whole face scrunch up. The kind of moment you’d only post if it meant something.

No tag. No caption.
But the internet notices.

———

Earlier that day

“You’re really gonna draw during my shoot?” Jackson leaned against the wall, shirt half-buttoned for a behind-the-scenes lookbook collab, watching her smudge a pencil line with her thumb.

“Your outfit is uninspired,” she said without looking up. “I’m doing a public service.”

Jackson scoffed. “Unbelievable. I brought you here for moral support.”

She finally glanced up. “And I’m supporting you by staying awake.”

He tossed a hoodie at her head. “You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

He did. God, he really did.

———

Elsewhere, the timeline was lighting up.

Her story from earlier that day — just a photo of Jackson’s back — was equally low-effort. No tag, no caption. Just vibes. But fans weren’t stupid. They started matching timestamps. Outfits. Backgrounds. The speculation was loud, fast, and messy.

“Are they together or are we delulu?”
“She posted him. He posted her. What are we doing??”
“Why is she always the coolest girl in the room?”
“She’s friends with Bada, that doesn’t mean—WAIT NO SHE’S AT HIS SHOOT NOW??”

Mark texted them both in a group chat titled “Don’t Be Dumb”:

Mark: ur not slick
Mark: soft launch is soft launching
MC: it's not that deep
Jackson: i’m just a muse
Mark: lmao ok picasso. don’t say i didn’t warn you when dispatch rolls up
Jackson: let them roll. we cute
MC: deleting this chat 💀

She tucked her phone away, cheeks warm but playing it cool. “You know this is gonna get worse, right?”

Jackson leaned over the back of the couch, lowering his voice. “I know.”

She looked at him, eyes searching. “And?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “They’ll get used to the idea. I already have.”

———

Later That Night

They ended up at her apartment, curled up under the soft glow of the living room lamp. Leftover pasta, a half-empty wine bottle, his head resting against her shoulder as they scrolled through the chaos online.

“'Jackson Wang’s Mystery Girl'… they’re really running with it,” she muttered, chewing on a piece of garlic bread.

“‘Mystery Girl’ has a ring to it,” Jackson replied, mouth full.

She nudged him. “So does ‘In Trouble with PR.’”

He glanced up, eyes soft but serious. “They know. My team’s known for weeks. Yours too, right?”

She nodded. “They’re cool with it. Quietly cheering, I think.”

“Same.”

The video ended — a fan edit already made of them from today’s posts, set to a dreamy lo-fi track.

She blinked, then laughed. “Guess this is happening.”

Jackson leaned in, lips brushing her jaw before he said it — low, honest:
“Yeah. It really is.”

End of Episode 27

Episode 26: Almost Us

Lines in the sand. Or on the timeline.

Na Rae’s story went up at 2:17 a.m.

It was blurry, the kind of “oops” photo that wasn’t really an accident.
Jackson in the corner of some rooftop lounge — glass in hand, sunglasses at night — the kind of cool that always hit too smooth.

She wasn’t next to him, but she didn’t have to be.

The caption?
“Same energy, different city 💋”

MC saw it that morning while brushing her teeth, phone balanced on the sink.
It was a gut-punch disguised as a coincidence.

She didn’t react.
Didn’t reply.
Didn’t even blink.

But her next painting?
The reds were louder.

———

Later that day, Jackson pulled up to her studio with takeaway coffee and a quiet “hi.”
She didn’t turn to face him at first, just muttered, “Na Rae says hey.”

The pause was immediate.

“...What?”

“You didn’t see her story?”

He blinked. “I didn’t check anything yet—what did she post?”

She tossed her phone onto the table with the story still up.

He watched it once.
Then again.
Then dropped his head back with a groan.

“She wasn’t even with me. That was Seong’s rooftop. I left early.”
He turned to her. “You think I’d let her pull that if we were—if we’re—”

She cut him off with a tight smile. “Whatever we are?”

Silence.
It stretched.

“I like you,” he said finally. Voice low. No smirk this time.
“I’m not trying to hide it. But I also know what this looks like from your side — the online stuff, the flings, the way people talk.”

She softened — but only slightly.
Because he was right.
Because it scared her.

And still, she said, “So show me.”

———

That night, he did.

No hood, no ducking behind tinted windows.
He picked her up for a friend’s birthday — not a public event, but one public enough.

She wore all black and silver earrings that caught the light just right.
He kept looking at her like she was the whole spotlight.

Inside, people watched.

They whispered, yes. But they also smiled.
The Bebe girls exchanged knowing glances.
Mark clinked his glass against hers and simply said, “About time.”

Jackson didn’t hold her hand all night, but he stayed close.
And when someone snapped a pic that ended up on a fandom page later, there was no denying it.

Jackson Wang spotted at a Seoul event with a new mystery girl.
They looked close. And happy.

———

At her door that night, he hesitated before leaving.

“You know this’ll get louder now.”

She nodded. “I’m not scared of the noise.”

His smile was slow.
“I am.”

She blinked.

“Scared of messing this up,” he said, brushing a finger against her jaw.

And just like that, the tension softened.

She pulled him in by the shirt and kissed him like a confirmation.

Soft launches and hard truths.

It started with a mirror selfie.

Just a blink-and-you-miss-it flash in the background of Bada’s IG story — Jackson’s distinct silhouette next to a familiar braid and that white tee she always wore when painting.

Nothing obvious.

Nothing loud.

But the internet? The internet sees everything.

———

The next was on his page.

Not the grid — that would’ve been too much.

But his story? Casual.

A photo of his morning coffee with a hand-painted mug in frame.

No tags.

No location.

No captions.

But people clocked it.

Quick.

——-

“Soft launch,” Mark whispered the next time they all met at a late-night BBQ spot.

“Real cute.”

She threw a napkin at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please,” Bada chimed in, scrolling her phone. “Someone made a TikTok compilation of all your matching outfits. You’re trending under ‘art boy & his muse.’”

Jackson smirked behind his beer bottle. “They’re not wrong.”

She glared at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He leaned in close, voice low enough just for her.

“I’d enjoy it more if I could post your full face.”

———

That week, she had her exhibit.

A small gallery opening — minimal promo, mostly artists, photographers, a few quiet names in the Seoul scene.

Jackson showed up late, no entourage, hood up — but everyone saw him.

Not because he made a scene.

Because he stood in front of her piece for 20 minutes without speaking.

Because he took a photo — not of the work, but of her, standing across the room mid-laugh with one of the Bebe girls.

He didn’t post it.

But she caught him saving it.

———

Back at her place that night, they watched it unfold in real time.

A friend had sent her a TikTok titled:

“Is Jackson Wang dating this mysterious painter?”

The video zoomed in on their linked pinkies in the background of someone’s clip.

It cut to a blurry shot of her laughing at something he said.

Then a screen-recorded scroll through her Instagram.

Then—

“Okay but if they are dating, she’s so pretty and artsy, like this just makes sense.”

Jackson let out a laugh, head dropping to her shoulder.

“I’ve never been shipped this hard without even kissing someone on camera.”

She raised a brow. “You want to?”

He turned to her slowly, amused. “What, kiss you for the camera?”

“No,” she said, fighting a grin. “Just kiss me.”

He leaned in — not rushed, not intense, just there.

Sure. Easy.

She met him halfway.

———

After, limbs tangled under the covers, he watched the screen go dark.

“Guess this is happening.”

She looked up at him, her thumb brushing his cheek absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Guess it is.”

Episode 24: Muted Confessions

You don’t always need to say it out loud for the room to hear it.

It was supposed to be just another night.

Studio late night. Bada and a few of the Bebe girls running choreo. Mark sitting on the floor eating chips straight from the bag.

And her — sprawled out with her sketchbook on her lap, headphones in but one ear off so she could still hear the banter.

Jackson showed up halfway through.

Not planned.

But not unexpected either.

These days, he was just around.

Not in a clingy way.

Just... present.

———

He had this thing now —

subtle, quiet familiarity.

Taking her water bottle and drinking from it without asking.

Ruffling Mark’s hair like they’d grown up in the same house.

Sitting behind her on the floor and looking over her shoulder while she painted in her sketchbook, chin brushing her shoulder, warm breath close to her ear.

He didn’t say much.

Just sat there.

Close.

And she let him.

Even leaned back a little, like gravity was starting to cheat in his direction.

———

Later that night, it was just them two.

Everyone else had dipped.

They stayed — her still scribbling, him flipping through her playlist like it was his.

“You always let people into your world this easily?” he asked, half-teasing.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act brand new. You invited yourself in.”

Jackson grinned. “And you let me.”

She didn’t answer.

But he caught the smile pulling at her lips.

———

There was a pause.

Comfortable, but heavy.

Then he said it — not a full confession, but close enough to shift the air.

“I like this with you,” he murmured.

She looked at him sideways. “This?”

“This.” He gestured to the two of them. “The no-pressure. The always laughing. The looks you give me when you think I’m being extra.”

“You are always being extra.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning just a little closer, “but you never leave.”

That silenced her.

Because she had thought about it — walking away before it got messy, before it got real.

But she didn’t.

———

He didn’t kiss her.

Not right then.

He just reached for her hand, played with her rings, and said softly, “You know you don’t have to say it first, right?”

She looked up.

He wasn’t being pushy.

He wasn’t even asking.

He was just… there.

The ball, finally, in her court.

She swallowed. Let out a breath.

“I think I like this too,” she admitted.

Then added, without meeting his eyes,

“But I’m still figuring it out.”

He squeezed her hand.

No hesitation. No insecurity.

“Then I’ll wait.”

End of Episode 24 — Muted Confessions

Episode 23: Almost Us

It started the same way most problems do these days —
with a Story.

A clip.
A lazy boomerang of someone’s hand — manicured, familiar — resting on the edge of a couch.
The caption?
“Still a vibe.”

In the blurry background, if you paused at the right time, zoomed and adjusted the contrast, you’d catch it:
A silver chain. A hoodie she’d seen before.

Jackson’s hoodie.

She wouldn’t have known it was his.
Except she did.
Because she'd worn it once.
And because he had posted a mirror selfie in it last week.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t scandalous.
But it was Na Rae.
And it was intentional.

MC sat back on her couch, phone still in her hand, thumb frozen mid-scroll.

It didn’t hurt, exactly.
But it stung.
Like a paper cut.
Quick, sharp, shallow — but irritating in a way that was hard to explain.

She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t double tap.
Didn’t text Jackson either.

———

He noticed.

That night, her replies were delayed.
Dry.
Too measured to be real.

“You good?” he texted, around midnight.
Nothing for a beat.

Then:
“All good. Just tired.”

He stared at it.
Thumb hovering.

Then he called.

“Come with me tomorrow.”
His voice was low, a little serious.

“To?”

“A thing. Private. My people.”

“You sure?” she asked.

He didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah. I want you there.”

She paused. “What kind of thing?”

He smirked, though she couldn’t see it. “Not a date-date. No red carpet. Just people I f*ck with heavy. People who matter.”

She didn’t respond right away.
But when she did, it was a soft:
“Okay.”

———

The next evening, she pulled up in all black — simple, sculpted, effortless.

The kind of look that didn’t scream anything but made everyone look twice.
She always looked good — but tonight she was dangerous.

Jackson whistled when he saw her.
“You trying to ruin me?”

She smiled, eyes flicking over him. “Just tired of being mistaken for the plus-one.”

He raised an eyebrow at that.
Clocked.

———

Inside, it was a lowkey dinner party in a stunning rooftop loft — candlelit, curated, quiet luxury.
His team was there. A few close artist friends.
Not cameras.
Not Na Rae.

She watched him float through the room — confident, warm, the kind of man everyone gravitated toward.

But he always came back to her.
Touching the small of her back.
Pouring her wine before she asked.
Letting his knee rest against hers under the table and never moving it.

It was unspoken.
But understood.

———

At one point, she caught him staring.

“What?” she asked, playful but guarded.

He leaned in slightly, dropped his voice.
“I saw that story.”

She blinked. Didn’t pretend she didn’t know.

“I don’t care what anyone else posts,” he said. “But I care how you feel about it.”

She didn’t say anything.

Then, like it was nothing, he added, “I asked her not to come tonight.”

That caught her off guard.

He shrugged. “Wanted it to be chill. No noise. Just the real ones.”

Her breath hitched.
Not visibly. But enough.

———

They left together.
Again.

Same car.
Same silence.
Same buzz in the air.

But this time, before they reached the lobby, she reached for his hand first.

They didn’t say much the rest of the night.
They didn’t need to.

Episode 22: Out of Step


No longer denying it. But still far from saying it out loud.

Since the call, he’d shown up.

Not publicly — no grand gestures or dramatic IG unfollows.
But privately, where it mattered.

He started texting more.
Checking in before his day got wild. Sending her little photos of whatever city he was in — sometimes food, sometimes a mirror selfie with a sly “you’d hate this outfit huh?”

He started liking her older posts too. Quietly.
Nothing too obvious. Just enough that she noticed.

The repost rumors slowed down. His fans moved on to someone else's drama. But what lingered was... different.

More deliberate.

———

Mark noticed first.
They were all out for dinner — the usual group, her Bebe girls, Mark, Jackson, and two others from his team.

Nothing intimate, nothing couply. But something shifted.

Like how Jackson asked her if she wanted a bite of his pasta without a second thought.
Or how her legs were crossed toward him under the table. Or how he brushed a stray curl from her cheek before she even realized it was there.

And maybe Mark was imagining it.
Or maybe he’d just known them both too long.

Because when Jackson got up to take a call, Mark leaned in.

“You good?” he asked her, low enough not to be heard.

“Yeah, why?”

“You seem… softer around him.”

She blinked, a little surprised. Then smirked. “And if I am?”

Mark shrugged. “Just don’t let him coast. You’re not a pit stop.”

The look she gave him in return — sharp, appreciative — said she wasn’t planning on it.

———

Meanwhile, the Bebe girls weren’t subtle.

After dinner, as the girls huddled into a back room of the studio, painting nails and swapping gossip, the topic came up casually.
Too casually.

“So… how’s Wang?” Tatter asked, flipping through a playlist.

MC didn’t look up. “Which one?”

“Oh please,” May rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You glowed different when he offered you that bite of pasta. It was giving married energy.”

MC laughed. “You’re all insane.”

“Sure, but you didn’t deny it,” Lusher sing-songed.
The room howled.

Eventually, she cracked.
“Okay, maybe there’s something. But it’s new. And messy. And not for the world yet.”

“Girl,” May said, grabbing her hand. “No one’s asking for a soft launch. We just want you happy. And if he’s part of that? Cool. Just don’t let him dim you.”

———

The next few weeks were… different.

They didn’t go out-out. But he started coming by more — to her studio, late night, sometimes with Mark, sometimes alone.

He’d sit and watch her paint. Not say much, just exist with her.
Sometimes, he’d bring food. Sometimes he’d talk her ear off until she had to throw a paintbrush at him just to shut him up.

But there were kisses now. Real ones. Long ones. Ones that felt like whispered confessions and slow promises.

They didn’t need to say much.

———

One night, in between lazy kisses and stolen laughter, she finally asked:

“You ever gonna tell people?”

He didn’t miss a beat.

“When you say I can.”

That answer — that small show of deference, respect, trust — was better than anything he could’ve posted online.

She kissed him again.
And this time, didn’t pull away.

End of Episode 22.

Episode 21:The Misstep


The moment where the public inches a little too close — and someone gets burned.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.
Just an exhibit. A quiet gallery opening in Itaewon. One of her creative friends had invited her to show support — so she went. No photos, no press, just a calm night dressed in oversized black leather, silver hoops, and her signature smirk. Simple.

She didn’t even know Jackson was going to be there.
He arrived later — different entrance, different circle. She noticed him across the room, looking sharp in that black tee and slouchy trousers combo that he somehow made look expensive. Mark had texted her that he might come, but she didn’t expect it to line up like this.

They didn’t hang out. Barely exchanged a look.
She played it chill. He played it careful.

But paparazzi don’t care about caution.

By the next morning, “two seen at the same event” turned into “Jackson Wang leaves late-night gallery with mystery woman.”
A blurry photo — her back turned, head down — but it was unmistakably her.

And Jackson’s car pulling out from the back entrance? That was the nail.
The headline: Is Jackson Wang dating artist MC?
And that was the only name they got right.

———

At first, she laughed. Like — audibly. At her kitchen counter with a spoon of cereal in her mouth.
“Not even the same car,” she muttered, sending the article to Mark with a single eye-roll emoji.

Mark:
“LMAO they’re reaching. You good?”
MC:
“Unbothered™️. But your boy better clear it before his fans eat me alive 😭”
Mark:
“I’ll check in w him.”

The thing is… Jackson didn’t clear it.

No story repost. No cheeky denial tweet. Nothing.
And with every hour that passed, the comments under her last post tripled — “are you dating?” “is that him in your story?” “she’s not even his type.” “she’s so pretty omg” “can she dance tho lol”

It spiraled faster than she expected.

———

By the third day, she’d muted her IG notifications.
Not because she cared what people thought. But because he hadn’t said a word.

She wasn’t asking for a press release.
But something. Anything.

That night, she cancelled plans. Stayed in her studio longer than usual.
Painted half a canvas with quick, frustrated strokes — dark reds and wine-toned smears she didn't care to name.

She didn't cry. But it was the first time she felt something she couldn’t shrug off.

———

Jackson finally texted. 9:47PM.

Jackson:
“Hey. You alright?”

She stared at it. The simplicity of it pissed her off a little.

MC:
“I’m good. Just wondering if I should start selling ‘Jackson’s mystery girl’ t-shirts.”

No reply for five minutes.

Then:

Jackson:
“I’m sorry. I should’ve handled that better.”

MC:
“Wasn’t expecting a press conference. Just didn’t think I’d have to handle it alone.”

Jackson:
“I didn’t want to draw more attention. You know how it is. I was trying to protect you.”

MC:
“Felt more like silence than protection.”

———

The dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.

Then her phone lit up.
Jackson Wang is calling.

She stared at it for a second too long.
Picked up.

“Hey.” His voice was softer. Like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome. “I get it. I do. You’re right. I didn’t think it through.”

“You didn’t,” she said, no venom, just truth.

“I didn’t want the mess. But I get now that it left you with it. And that’s on me.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he added, “If it helps, Mark chewed me out already.”

A small smile cracked through her irritation. “Good. He’s the only one keeping you humble.”

He chuckled, low and real. “So what now?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“I’m not mad,” she said eventually. “Just... aware now.”

“Aware?”

“Of what this is. And what it could be. Or not be.”

Another pause.

“I want it to be something,” Jackson said quietly.

Her heart kicked. She leaned back against her stool, eyes drifting to the half-done painting in front of her.

“Then don’t just say it,” she said. “Start showing it.”

End of Episode 21.