wookie

Riku walks into the small practice room studio a little after 9 PM, the door clicking softly behind him. His hair is still a bit messy from the long day of schedules, dyed a soft light brown that catches the warm overhead lights.

He’s wearing a loose oversized hoodie and comfortable sweatpants, the kind he always changes into when he wants to feel normal again. In his hands he carries two convenience store bags, the plastic rustling quietly as he steps closer to where you’re sitting on the couch near the mirrored wall.

You look up from your phone, surprised but smiling. You work part-time helping with NCT WISH’s fan cafe coordination and sometimes stay late to organize small gifts or messages for the members. Tonight you stayed because Riku texted earlier saying he might drop by after practice if you were still around.

“Hey,” he says, voice gentle and a little shy. His Japanese accent wraps softly around the word. He lifts the bags a bit. “I brought snacks. Strawberry milk for you… and some onigiri and those chocolate cookies you liked last time.”

Your heart does a small flip at how thoughtful he is. “You didn’t have to, Riku. You must be tired after today.”

He shakes his head, sitting down beside you on the couch. The cushion dips under his weight and his shoulder brushes yours lightly. “I wanted to. Today was long but… thinking about seeing you made it easier.”

He says it simply, no big dramatic flair, just honest. His cheeks have a faint pink tint under the studio lights. You take the strawberry milk he offers, your fingers touching his for a second longer than necessary. The cold can feels nice against your warm skin.

For a while you both just sit together, eating quietly. The studio is empty except for the two of you. Soft background music plays from a small speaker he turned on. Riku keeps glancing at you between bites, his eyes soft.

“You worked late again,” he says after finishing one onigiri. He reaches over and gently brushes a small crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. The touch is feather-light and makes your face warm. “Thank you for always helping with the fan cafe stuff. I know it’s extra work.”

“It’s fun,” you reply. “Especially when I get to see you guys happy with the messages.”

Riku smiles, the kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He shifts closer until your thighs are touching. Then, a little hesitantly, he rests his head on your shoulder. His hair tickles your neck, and he smells like shampoo mixed with a faint sweat scent.

“Can I stay like this for a bit?” he asks quietly. “Just… us.”

You nod and lean your head against his. “Of course.”

His hand finds yours on the couch, fingers slowly interlacing. His palm is warm, a little calloused from dance practice, but the way he holds your hand is so careful and gentle. He squeezes once, then rubs his thumb in small circles over your skin. The simple touch sends soft butterflies through your chest.

After a few minutes he lifts his head, turning to look at you. His face is close now. You can see the tiny freckles across his nose and the way his lashes are long and dark. “You’re really pretty tonight,” he murmurs. Then he catches himself and laughs softly, embarrassed. “I mean… you always are. But especially right now.”

You smile and squeeze his hand back. Riku leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want. You don’t. His lips meet yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It’s gentle, almost careful, like he’s still a little nervous even after a few weeks of these secret moments. His lips are warm and taste faintly of the chocolate from the cookies.

He pulls back just a little, forehead resting against yours. “Um… was that okay?” he whispers.

“More than okay,” you answer.

That seems to give him confidence. He kisses you again, still soft but lingering longer this time. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking gently along your skin. The kiss stays cute and tender, no rush, just the warm press of lips and the occasional shy tilt of heads. When he pulls away, he’s smiling that bright, boyish smile that makes your stomach flutter.

Riku shifts so he can pull you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You settle against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart through the hoodie. His free hand plays with your fingers, tracing small patterns.

“Today during practice I kept messing up one part of the choreography,” he confesses quietly, voice rumbling under your ear. “Because I was thinking about how I wanted to see you after. Sion kept teasing me.”

You laugh lightly. “Poor Sion. You should focus more.”

“But I like thinking about you,” he says, completely sincere. He kisses the top of your head. “It makes me feel happy even when I’m tired.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. His eyes are warm, full of that gentle affection he always shows when it’s just the two of you. You reach up and brush his hair back from his forehead. He leans into your touch like a cat wanting more pets, eyes half-closing in contentment.

For a long while you stay cuddled together on the couch. Riku tells you small things about his day, how the new song is coming along, how excited he is for the next fan meeting, how much he misses simple days like this. You share your own stories, and he listens carefully, nodding along and humming softly in agreement.

At one point he sits up a little and pulls something from one of the bags, a small plush keychain of a tiny cartoon bear. “I saw this earlier and thought it looked like you,” he says, cheeks pink again. “Soft and cute. So… I got it for you.”

You take the keychain, heart melting at how shy he looks presenting it. “Riku… thank you. It's so cute”. You attach it immediately to your bag so he can see.

He beams, clearly happy you like it. Then he leans in and gives you another kiss, this one a little deeper but still sweet. His lips move gently against yours, one hand resting on your waist while the other stays holding your hand. When he pulls back, he nuzzles his nose against yours in a cute eskimo kiss that makes you both giggle.

“You make me feel normal,” he whispers. “Not like an idol… just Riku.”

You cup his face with both hands and kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “You are just Riku to me. And I really like him.”

His arms wrap around you fully then, pulling you into a warm hug. You bury your face in his hoodie, breathing in his scent. He rubs your back in slow, soothing strokes. The music from the speaker switches to an even softer melody, filling the studio with gentle notes.

Riku starts humming along quietly, his voice smooth and comforting right next to your ear. After a minute he sings the words very softly, just for you. His Japanese and English mix in that charming way he has, and the sound vibrates through his chest into yours. You feel completely safe and cared for in his arms.

Time passes slowly like that. Soft kisses exchanged every few minutes, on lips, cheeks, forehead. Gentle touches: his fingers in your hair, your hand on his chest feeling his heartbeat, his palm resting on your lower back. Nothing rushed. Just warm, cute affection filling the quiet studio.

Eventually he checks his phone and sighs. “I should probably get back soon. Managers will wonder where I am if I stay too late.”

You nod, understanding. He helps you stand up, then pulls you into one last long hug. His chin rests on top of your head for a moment.

“Text me when you get home safe?” he asks.

“I will. And you rest well, okay? No more thinking about choreography mistakes.”

He laughs softly. “Promise. Only thinking about you now.”

Before leaving, he kisses you one more time at the studio door. This kiss is a little longer, full of that sweet passion he keeps gentle just for you. His hands hold your waist, yours rest on his shoulders. When he pulls away, his eyes are sparkling.

“Goodnight,” he says, voice warm.

“Goodnight, Riku.”

He waits until you gather your things, then walks you to the elevator even though it’s only a short distance. One final quick kiss on your forehead before the doors close.

On the way home you keep touching the little bear keychain, smiling to yourself. Your phone lights up with a message from him already: “I’m smiling the whole way back because of you. See you soon ♡”

The music from the collab stage was still echoing as the lights dimmed. You were breathing hard, smiling for the cameras, but your long stage dress had gotten tangled on a prop at the very end.

The hem was stuck, and the more you tried to move, the worse it got. You felt your face heat up under the makeup, praying you wouldn’t trip in front of everyone.

Then a hand reached out. Ryul, the hoobae from the new boy group, stepped in smoothly. He debuted just last year, while you’d been in the industry for five years. He crouched a bit, took your hand to keep you steady, and used his free hand to carefully pull the fabric free. His fingers brushed your ankle as he fixed the skirt so it wouldn’t ride up. Quick, professional, but gentle.

“Thanks, hoobae,” you whispered with a small laugh, keeping your stage face on.

Ryul gave your hand one last light squeeze before letting go and turning back to wave at the crowd like nothing happened. The fans screamed louder. A lot of them had definitely caught the moment.

Backstage was loud and messy. Your members surrounded you immediately. “Unnie, Ryul just helped you like a total gentleman!” one teased. Your manager looked stressed. “That’s going to be all over the internet in ten minutes.”

You shrugged it off at first. “It was just the dress. He was being nice.”

But the clips spread fast.

“RYUL HELPS HIS SUNBAE WITH HER DRESS 💕”

“Hand holding on stage!!”

“Protective hoobae moment with ____.”

Comments were everywhere, some calling it cute, some already starting dating rumors. Dispatch hadn’t jumped on it yet, but the fandoms were loud.

Later that night in your dorm, your phone lit up with a new message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hi sunbae, it’s Ryul. Got your number from the staff list. Sorry if I made things awkward out there. Hope your dress is okay now.

You smiled a little and replied.

"It’s fine. Thanks for the save. I would’ve fallen on my face otherwise lol. Don’t worry about the rumors".

Ryul: Okay good. My members are already teasing me nonstop. Let me know if your company needs any statement or something.

The texting started small. He was respectful, always calling you sunbae even in messages. You’d run into each other a few times before at music shows, he was the quiet but hardworking type who greeted seniors politely.

You had once given him quick advice on how to control nerves before a live stage when he looked especially tense. He’d thanked you with a bow so deep it made you laugh.

Now the scandal made everything feel different.

A few days later you saw him at a broadcast building. You were waiting in the hallway for your turn on a radio show when Ryul walked by with his manager. He stopped and bowed properly. “Hello, sunbae.”

You nodded, keeping it professional in front of others. “Hey. How’s practice going?”

“Tiring but good,” he said, glancing at you with a small shy smile. His ears were a little red. When his manager stepped away for a call, Ryul lowered his voice. “The clips are still trending. My fans keep sending me edits. Some of them are… really edited.”

You laughed softly. “Mine too. They’re saying their oppa is so caring. Just don’t let it affect your schedules, okay? Hoobaes need to focus.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. But I keep thinking about it. I didn’t want you to trip or anything. That’s all.”

The conversation was short, but it felt nice. Normal. Over the next couple weeks the messages continued. He’d text after long practices asking how your comeback prep was going. You sent him a voice note once telling him to drink water and rest his voice after he mentioned it was sore. He replied with a photo of him holding a water bottle and a thumbs up.

Your companies were monitoring the situation but hadn’t forced any strong statements yet. The rumors stayed at a manageable level, mostly cute shipping instead of full scandal.

One night after a year-end rehearsal, it was freezing outside. Your van was delayed, so you waited in the parking area, arms wrapped around yourself. Ryul’s group was leaving at the same time. He spotted you and told his manager he forgot something inside. A few minutes later he came back with a thick hoodie.

“Here, sunbae. You look cold.” He held it out, a little awkward.

You took it and pulled it on. It was warm and smelled faintly like him. “Thanks. I’ll give it back next time we cross paths.”

“There will be a next time?” he asked, smiling a bit.

You raised an eyebrow. “We have more joint stages coming. Of course there will be.”

He nodded, but his expression stayed soft. The two of you talked quietly for a couple minutes about how exhausting this season was. He admitted he still got nervous sometimes even after debut. You told him it never fully goes away, but it gets easier. For once it didn’t feel like strict sunbae-hoobae. It felt like two people who understood the same pressure.

The hoodie stayed in your bag for days. You kept forgetting to return it on purpose.

The night everything shifted was after a big music show. Both groups had performed, and the backstage was crowded. You slipped away to the rooftop access door that someone had left unlocked for air. The city lights looked pretty from up there. You weren’t alone long.

Ryul appeared a few minutes later, hands in his coat pockets. “I saw you head up here. Is it okay if I join, sunbae?”

“Yeah, come on.”

He stood next to you at the railing. The cold made his cheeks pink. For a while you just talked, about funny mistakes during rehearsal, which songs were stuck in your heads, how some fans sent really sweet letters. Then it got quieter.

Ryul cleared his throat. “A lot of people are still talking about that stage. About me helping you.”

You nodded. “It was sweet. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He looked at you directly, a little nervous but determined. “Sunbae… I know I’m younger. And I’m just a hoobae. But I keep thinking about you. Not just because of the rumors. Talking to you feels easy, even when everything else is stressful. You’re really kind and you work hard. I like that.”

Your heart beat faster. You turned to face him fully. “Ryul…”

He continued before he lost courage. “When the rumors calm down a bit… would you want to go on a date with me? Just us. Somewhere quiet, maybe dinner or a drive. No cameras, no staff watching. I know the age thing and the industry stuff makes it complicated, but I really want to get to know you better. If you’re okay with it.”

He was asking you out. The twenty-year-old hoobae who had helped fix your dress on stage was standing there in the cold, asking his sunbae on a date. His eyes were hopeful but ready for rejection.

You smiled, feeling warm despite the winter air. “I’d like that. A lot.”

Ryul’s face lit up with a big grin he couldn’t hold back. “Really? Okay. Good. I was scared I was being too forward.”

“You weren’t.” You tugged the sleeves of his hoodie over your hands. “This is still with me, by the way. Smells like you.”

He laughed softly. “Keep it for now. It looks better on you.”

You stayed up there a little longer, talking about small things. Favorite foods for a possible date, which amusement parks you both secretly wanted to visit but never had time for, how hard it was to eat properly during promotions.

No pressure. Just nice feelings and open possibilities.

When you went back down separately, everything looked normal. But inside you felt lighter. The rumors were still floating around online. Fans were still making theories. Your companies were cautious. Schedules were packed as always.

But the door was open now.

A couple days later your phone buzzed while you were in the practice room.

Ryul: When we both get a free evening, let’s do that date. I found a quiet restaurant, promise.

You smiled down at the screen.

You: Sounds good. But if anything goes wrong, you’re still helping your sunbae, right?

Keonho was the most popular guy in school. Tall, handsome, with that big smile that melted anyone and a way of walking that looked like it was in slow motion. Always surrounded by friends, always laughing, always the center of attention without even trying.

Everything about him made you nervous.

It wasn't that you hated him. Not at all. The problem was exactly that: you didn't hate him.

Every time you saw him, your pulse would speed up and your logical thoughts would turn into a mess. You, who could recite formulas from memory, would go completely blank if he was nearby. So your strategy was simple: avoid him at all costs.

If you saw him in the hallway, you changed direction. If he walked into the classroom, you focused so hard on your book you almost devoured it. If by chance his eyes met yours, you looked away so fast it seemed like you'd seen a ghost.

But Keonho didn't get it.

He had noticed you since the first day of class. Well, actually, since the day the teacher put an impossible problem on the board and you solved it in less than a minute, without even lifting your head much.

That left him intrigued.

And when something intrigued Keonho, he couldn't let it go.

He started watching you. Watching you without his friends noticing. He liked how you furrowed your brow when you concentrated, how you chewed on the cap of your pen when you were thinking, how you pushed your glasses up your nose when they slipped down. All of it seemed adorable to him.

But every time he tried to get closer, you bolted.

And that, for Keonho, became a challenge.

. . .

One day, in chemistry class, the teacher announced a partner project. Keonho saw his chance. He turned toward you with that smile of his and opened his mouth to ask you to be his partner, but you, faster than ever, were already pulling the arm of a classmate who was farther away.

You literally crossed the room to avoid being with him.

Keonho was left with his mouth open and one eyebrow raised.

"Did you just get rejected, bro?" one of his friends whispered, holding back a laugh.

"I didn't get rejected," he answered, crossing his arms, his pride a little wounded. "They just... beat me to it."

But inside he was frustrated. Why did you always run off? Did he have something on his face? Did he smell bad? He sniffed his shirt discreetly. No, he smelled fine. So what was the problem?

But even after that, he decided not to give up.

. . .

Over the following days, Keonho looked for you without his group noticing. He'd sneak away with any excuse to pass by your classroom during periods you didn't share and see you through the window.

He pretended he was going to the bathroom or that he needed to talk to some teacher, all just to watch you sitting at your desk, oblivious to everything, solving problems that probably had nothing to do with the class.

One day he saw you helping a classmate with an assignment. You were explaining things with a patience he had never had, pointing with your pen and gesturing with your hands. Keonho stood leaning against the door, watching you with a dopey smile.

"What are you doing just standing there, Keonho?"

His friend's voice startled him. He turned around fast, scratching the back of his neck.

"Nothing, nothing. I was going to the bathroom.

"I didn't know they moved the bathrooms to classroom 2-C."

"Oh, they didn't? How dumb of me. Well, I'm going." And he walked off quickly, feeling his ears burning.

. . .

But Keonho wasn't the type to give up easily. If he liked something, he went for it.

And he liked you.

He liked your intelligence, your concentration, that way you had of being in your own world. He wanted to get to know you, talk to you, find out what you liked besides math.

So he planned a more direct attack.

One day, during literature class, your eyes met by accident. You were looking at the time on the wall clock that happened to be right behind him. Keonho took that second to smile at you. When you realized, you turned bright red and looked away so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.

Keonho smiled wider. He liked seeing you all nervous like that.

That same afternoon, after the bell, you saw him again in the hallway. He was walking your way with his hands in his pockets and that carefree stroll of his. Instinctively, you turned around and started walking the other way.

"Yah!" he murmured to himself, and started following you.

You noticed. You clearly noticed. You picked up your pace. He did too. You were almost running when you turned a corner. He turned right after, but you were gone. You had disappeared into some empty classroom.

Keonho stood in the middle of the hallway, hands on his hips and a smile somewhere between amused and resigned.

"Unbelievable..." he said under his breath.

. . .

Keonho understood he needed a more drastic plan. Something that wouldn't give you a chance to escape. Something that would force you to stay put.

And then, a crazy idea crossed his mind.

That week, during history class, Keonho sat right in the seat next to you. It was the first time he had been this close to you without you being able to run off. You felt the air grow thicker. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

You tried to focus on your notebook, but it was impossible. Especially because Keonho started doing something you didn't expect.

He stained your desk.

He grabbed his marker and drew a little line in the corner. You ignored him. He made another one. You kept focusing on your book. He drew a little star. You clenched your jaw. He drew a smiley face. You closed your eyes, praying for patience. He drew another smiley face next to it, this time with heart eyes.

It was too much. You turned to look at him, brow furrowed and lips pressed tight.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, trying to sound annoyed, though your voice came out more nervous than anything.

Keonho looked at you with those big, expressive eyes that made you forget even your own name. He pouted. One of those pouts that left you completely defenseless.

"You just won't pay attention to me," he answered, with an almost childish tone.

You felt your face burn. Damn it. He was way too cute for his own good. And for yours.

"I'm busy," you said, going back to your book, even though you couldn't read a single word.

Keonho didn't give up. He started drawing more things: a sun, a cloud, a cat that looked like some weird creature. You pretended not to see, but your cheeks gave you away.

Then, suddenly, you felt a weight on your shoulder. Keonho had rested his chin there. Right on your shoulder. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Your brain went blank. Your whole system collapsed. The equations, the formulas, everything you knew vanished in that instant.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice barely a thread. You meant to sound firm, but it came out more like a strangled squeak.

Keonho, with his chin still on your shoulder and his eyes looking up at you from below, lifted his gaze. You were so close you could count his eyelashes.

"Tell me, what are you doing?" he asked. "You're always solving weird equations. What are they?"

You swallowed. You tried to regain your composure. You cleared your throat. "They're... equations," you answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, even though your brain could barely form words. "Differential equations."

Keonho blinked. "And what's that for?"

"To... solve problems."

"Ah..." he said, without lifting his chin from your shoulder. "So you're solving problems?"

"Yes."

"Well, I have a problem I can't solve." You looked at him, confused. Keonho smiled that lopsided smile, the one you liked so much and avoided so hard. "The problem is that I've liked you for months and you always run away," he said, with a casualness that left you breathless. "Can you solve that?"

You felt the world stop. Literally. The sounds of the classroom faded out. It was just you, Keonho, and his chin on your shoulder.

You didn't know what to say. You, who always had the right answer, were completely blank.

And then, the teacher cleared his throat. "You two. Stand up."

You turned around so fast you almost hit Keonho with your head. The teacher was standing in front of you, arms crossed and a look that said he was not happy.

"You've been talking for a while now. Do you think I don't notice?" he said sternly. "Detention. Both of you. You're staying after class to clean the classroom."

Keonho stood up without protesting, with a smile he was trying to hide but couldn't. You, on the other hand, were red as a tomato and wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

Detention? You? You had never gotten detention in your life.

You were the perfect student. The one who never talked in class. The one who always paid attention.

And now, thanks to Ahn Keonho and his chin on your shoulder, you had detention.

The worst part was that he didn't seem sorry at all.

. . .

The classroom emptied out when the bell rang. Everyone rushed out to enjoy their freedom, while you and Keonho stayed behind, surrounded by desks and with brooms in hand.

The silence was overwhelming. At least for you. Keonho, on the other hand, was sweeping like it was nothing, quietly whistling a tune you didn't recognize.

You tried to focus on cleaning, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Specifically, on what he had said right before the scolding.

"I've liked you for months."

Was he serious? Was it a joke? Some kind of social experiment? Because, honestly, you didn't understand why someone like him would notice someone like you.

"Hey," Keonho said, breaking the silence. "Are you mad?"

You glanced at him sideways. He was leaning on his broom, head tilted and wearing that pout you both loved and hated at the same time.

"No," you answered, dryly.

"You seem like you are."

"Well, I'm not."

"Then look at me."

You took a breath and lifted your gaze. Keonho was staring at you intently, and a light blush covered his cheeks. It was the first time you'd seen him nervous.

"Why do you always run away?" he asked, his voice softer. "Do you not like me or something?"

You shook your head. "No... it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

You pressed your lips together. How were you supposed to explain that he made you so nervous you'd rather flee? That you liked him so much you couldn't look him in the eye?

"It's just..." you started, searching for the words. "You're you and I'm me."

Keonho raised an eyebrow.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we're not on the same level, Keonho. It might sound cliché, but you're the handsome guy, and me... I like solving differential equations."

Keonho stayed quiet for a moment. Then, he let out a little laugh.

"You're the smartest person I know and you say the dumbest things." You felt a little offended. But Keonho kept talking. "That's exactly why I like you. Because you solve equations in seconds. Because you furrow your brow when you concentrate. Because you chew on your pen when you don't understand something. Because you get all nervous and run the other way when you see me. I like all of that."

You felt your heart was going to explode. Keonho took a step toward you. His broom lay forgotten in some corner.

"So stop running," he said. "Because I'm planning to follow you until you pay attention to me."

You were about to answer something, anything, when Keonho leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your cheek.

It was barely a brush. A second, maybe two. But enough for your brain to shut down completely and your cheeks to burn like fire.

Before you could react, Keonho had already pulled away and was running toward the back of the classroom. He dropped into the last seat, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

And you saw it. You saw how his ears were red. Red just like yours. He was blushing too, even though he tried to hide it with that awkward laugh.

You shrank a little in your seat, hands on your cheeks and heart racing a million miles an hour. You couldn't believe what had just happened.

Keonho, from the back, watched you and laughed softly, amused and nervous at the same time. He had acted on impulse. Without thinking. But he didn't regret it.

A brilliant, sleep-deprived student working the graveyard shift who hates the smell of coffee, carries a heavy book, and wears faded red Converse.

She doesn’t know he is about to become the most famous boy in the country. He doesn’t know how to tell her without shattering their perfect, quiet bubble.

But the idol industry is a cruel machine, and soon, Seonghyeon will have to choose between the dream he bled for and the girl who taught him how to live in the real world.

“I turned off the stars just so you could fly.”

GENERAL INFO:

Pairing: Eom Seonghyeon x Original Female Character (Song Minsi)

Genre: Secret Identity / Idol AU, Romance, Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers.

Length: Multi-chapter fic

Status: Ongoing

Updates: [Every monday & friday]

WARNINGS⚠️: Pre-debut stress, secret relationship, agency manipulation/strict management, insomnia/sleep deprivation themes, minor swearing, and the crushing weight of reality.

STARRING:

Eom Seonghyeon: The boy hiding behind the black mask.

Song Minsi: The genius girl with the red Converse.

Seonghyeon liked to think he was a professional. A serious, dedicated professional who never got distracted at work. Well, almost never.

The set was wrapped in that chaos that had become totally normal in his day-to-day. The blinding lights pointed at the white backdrop, assistants rushed around with walkie-talkies in hand, and the air smelled like freshly brewed coffee and that expensive perfume they always used for shoots.

He was already ready, wearing the first outfit of the day: a navy blue suit that was a little snug. But his attention wasn't on the clothes, or the cameras, or the director giving instructions.

His attention was on the girl a few meters away, organizing her makeup kit.

His girlfriend.

Well, his official makeup artist, but also his girlfriend. Even though they tried to be discreet, sometimes Seonghyeon forgot how that whole discretion thing worked.

He watched her move brushes and powders around, and felt a dumb smile escape without permission. She had her brow slightly furrowed because she always concentrated hard before starting, and to him, that was the most adorable thing on the planet.

With how cute she was, how could he not want to be near her all the time? The problem was that "all the time" included some not-so-appropriate moments.

The day went by in a blur of flashes, outfit changes, and touch-ups. Every time she came over to mattify his face or fix that rebellious strand of hair that fell over his forehead, he took the chance to look into her eyes a second longer than necessary.

He loved watching her try to keep a professional composure while a spark of complicity slipped through her gaze. During one of those touch-ups, when she tapped him on the shoulder to get him to stop moving, he whispered very quietly, "You look so pretty today." She rolled her eyes, but a tiny smile appeared on her lips before she walked away. He considered it a win.

But Seonghyeon wanted more. He needed more. A brush of hands, a quick squeeze, something that wasn't just stolen glances in front of twenty people.

So his brain, clouded by feelings, came up with a plan that, at the time, seemed brilliant to him.

He took advantage of a longer break, the kind they gave for lunch. The set emptied out a little; some went to the catering area and others just stepped out to get some air. He saw his girlfriend heading toward the makeshift dressing rooms, probably to drop off her equipment before going to eat.

He saw his chance.

With the agility of a cat but the subtlety of an elephant, he followed her.

He caught up with her in a narrow hallway that connected the set to the dressing rooms. It was a low-traffic area and, most importantly, the light was off.

Only a faint glow came through the door left ajar at the end, creating a small corner of semi-darkness. Perfect, he thought.

A dark, secluded, romantic spot... or at least the most romantic thing he could find in a place like this.

"Why aren't you eating?" she asked, turning around when she felt his presence. Her voice was a mix of suspicion. "You're gonna start complaining later that you're hungry."

He didn't say anything. He just smiled, that lopsided smile he knew she liked, and moved forward until he had her gently cornered against one side of the hallway. In the dim light, he could see the confusion in her eyes, but also that spark of anticipation.

Before she could protest or ask if he'd lost his mind, he had already tilted his head and was covering her lips with his.

It was a sweet kiss, not demanding at all, the kind that says "I missed you." The kind of kiss that sticks in your memory because it's tender and warm.

She relaxed for a second, kissing him back with the same softness. His hand found her waist, and the other pressed against the wall, as if he wanted to create a little bubble just for the two of them in the middle of a photoshoot's chaos. The kiss was just starting to deepen when a voice cut through the moment like a bucket of ice water.

"Eom Seonghyeon!"

The shout wasn't exactly a shout. It was a furious whisper, full of disbelief and panic that someone else might hear them. Martín's unmistakable voice.

Seonghyeon and his girlfriend pulled apart instantly, like two magnets suddenly repelling each other. He turned around, eyes wide and the classic expression of a kid who'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

There, planted at the end of the hallway, with the set lights behind him creating a dramatic halo, was Martín. Arms crossed, brow furrowed, and a folder in one hand that seconds later he brought to his forehead as if a sudden migraine had hit him.

Beside him, she had covered her mouth with her hands, her cheeks burning. But unlike Seonghyeon, who only saw the scolding of a lifetime coming his way, her shoulders started to shake slightly.

She was holding back a laugh.

Martín pointed an accusing finger at Seonghyeon and then gestured at the empty hallway, the walls, the ceiling, like words were failing him and he had to express himself through hand signals to keep from exploding.

Finally, he let out a huff and strode over.

"Okay, okay, okay..." Martín started, rubbing his temple with his fingertips. "You wanna explain to me what this is?"

Seonghyeon swallowed hard. He ran a hand over his shirt collar, which suddenly felt way too tight.

"Hyung, I..." he tried to say, but his friend shot him a death glare.

"No, no, no. Shut it." he cut him off, with that tone that was a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. Which was worse than if he'd actually yelled. "Tell me, do you think this is a motel? Or your private lounge? It's a hallway, Seonghyeon. A hallway in a studio full of people. People who are working! People who could walk by at any moment!"

As he spoke, he gestured with open hands, and the folder swung dangerously from side to side. Seonghyeon, head hanging low, looked three centimeters shorter. He clasped his hands in front of him, in a pose of total repentance.

"I'm sorry, hyung." he murmured, using that closer, more respectful term he knew softened Martín up a little. But this time it didn't work.

"You're sorry? What if a photographer had seen you? Or one of those gossip reporters that sneak in sometimes? What do I do if tomorrow the headline is 'Cortis' Seonghyeon in Love Scandal'? In a hallway, Seonghyeon! It wasn't even a nice place! The gossip wouldn't even be glamorous!"

She couldn't take it anymore. Little stifled giggles escaped despite her best efforts. She pressed her lips together and stared at the floor, but her shoulders were bouncing.

The situation was just too absurd. There was her boyfriend, an internationally famous artist, a man over 170-something centimeters tall with a presence that filled any room, getting scolded like he was five years old and had drawn on the wall.

And the worst part was he totally deserved it.

The image of poor Seonghyeon, with the styled hair she herself had fixed an hour ago now slightly messy, staring at his own shoes while nodding along to everything Martín said, was too much for her heart.

"Yes, hyung... you're right... I'm sorry..." Seonghyeon kept repeating, his voice barely a thread. His tone was so submissive he even seemed like a different person.

Martín stopped and took a breath. His voice lowered a little, but it didn't lose its intensity. It was as if, instead of being angry, he was disappointed, which was way more effective and devastating.

"Look, I know you're in that honeymoon stage, all rainbows and butterflies, that you love each other a lot and want to kiss on every corner. I get it, I really do. But you have to learn to control yourself. What would've happened if the manager saw you, instead of me? Or a client? Your image is your job, Seonghyeon. You think brands want a model who goes around making out in hallways with his makeup artist? No. They want someone they can present in a serious meeting without worrying he's gonna go looking for some dark little corner for... that."

"That." The way he said it, with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance, was the final trigger for her.

A silent cackle shook her. She had to bite the corner of her lip to keep from letting out a loud one. A tear of pure laughter escaped and she pretended it was allergies, scratching her nose.

Seonghyeon, out of the corner of his eye, watched her laughing silently and didn't know whether to feel more embarrassed or die of tenderness. There she was, the culprit behind his distraction, laughing at his misfortune.

And still, he loved her. He was a lost cause.

"And you're laughing?" Martín said, but this time his voice wasn't harsh. It sounded almost amused, though he was trying to hide it. He shook his head. "Seriously, I don't know what I'm gonna do with you two."

"It won't happen again, Martin sunbae. Promise." she chimed in, her voice still shaky from laughter, trying to put on her best serious face. She wiped the rebellious tear with the back of her hand.

"That's exactly what Seonghyeon said last time... Last time it was in the hospital waiting room, remember? It was dark there too. Are you gonna wait until every place is pitch black so you can act like a teenage boyfriend? Get a schedule. Outside of work. At your place. Like normal people."

Seonghyeon nodded vigorously. He didn't dare look up. He was sure his ears must've been bright red. But then, in the tiniest voice ever, still staring fixedly at the floor, he said.

"Anyway, hyung... it's just... she looked so pretty. And she smelled nice."

She let out an instant pout, and her heart did a huge, utterly ridiculous leap. She stopped laughing for a moment.

Damn Seonghyeon and his comments, as unexpected as they were adorable. How was she supposed to keep helping Martín scold him if he said things like that?

Martín opened his mouth, but closed it again. He stood speechless for a second, processing his client's ridiculous defense. Finally, he let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh of defeat.

"Ah, Seonghyeon..." he said, with no venom left in his voice now, just resignation. "I look at you and I don't know whether to give you a hug or smack you. I really don't know."

He turned around, muttering something about "kids" and "lack of judgment." Before disappearing through the hallway door, he turned one last time. He pointed at both of them with the folder.

"Ten minutes. You've got ten minutes to be presentable and at your spots. And apart. Far apart. I don't want to see you anywhere near each other for the rest of the session, understood? And you..." he said, pointing at the girl. "...no makeup touch-ups. Let Yoora do them. For your sake and mine."

They nodded in unison. Only when Martín's footsteps faded into the distance did they dare to breathe normally again. The hallway fell silent, broken only by the distant hum of the set lights.

Seonghyeon turned to her, still rattled. But the sight of his girlfriend leaning against the wall, eyes shiny with tears of laughter and a huge smile she was trying to hide with her hand, erased any trace of displeasure.

He looked at her, his expression still a bit shell-shocked, waiting for her verdict.

She was the one who broke the silence, finally letting out the laugh she'd been holding in. The laughter bubbled out of her, bright and contagious, filling the dark hallway with a light far warmer than the set lights. She was laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach.

"Ah, Seonghyeon..." she said between laughs, wiping another tear. "'She looked so pretty and smelled nice.' That was your defense? Seriously? That's what you came up with?"

Seeing her laugh like that, it started to spread to him too. An embarrassed but genuine smile slowly erased his scolded-puppy expression. He shook his head, in disbelief at himself.

"It's true, though." he defended himself, shrugging, his ears still red. "You're so pretty. I didn't think. It just... happened."

She stepped closer, getting on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, right on his high cheekbone.

"Well, you heard Martín. No touch-ups. You'll have to survive with Yoora, and she leaves your foundation way too thick." she teased, giving him a little poke on the chest.

"I'd take your brush strokes a thousand times over." he said, with a pout.

"Well, for being a rebel, you lose them. Punishment." she sang, starting to walk toward the hallway exit with a happy stride, leaving a desolate and happy Seonghyeon at the same time, watching her walk away.

He swallowed, adjusted his suit, and smoothed down his messy hair with the palm of his hand. He sighed.

Martín was right.

He had to control himself.

He had to learn to be more professional.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and took a firm step toward the set. Today, he'd be a model of good behavior.

But then, just before crossing the door, she turned around for a second and, with a mischievous smile only he could catch, touched her lips with a finger, a silent promise of "later, at home."

And Seonghyeon, poor, hopeless Seonghyeon, forgot everything he'd just promised himself.

He was definitely a lost cause.