drowning in reverie…!

You learn people by the way they wear things.

Not just their clothes, the cut, the labels, the price tags—but the small, private habits stitched into them. The way a shoulder hunches when they think no one’s watching. How a thumb rubs the seam of a collar when nerves creep in. How some faces bloom under fabric while others look like they were forced into the wrong skin.

You’ve been watching for years.

It’s the job. Has to be. Stylists aren’t just people who tug zippers and smooth hems; you’re translators. You read a body like it’s text. The slope of a shoulder tells you which jacket will sharpen it. The angle of a hip shows you how fabric will fall. You memorize who sweats under lights, who always rolls sleeves when restless, who only stands tall when pinned into structure.

Clothes lie. Bodies don’t. You’ve built a career out of catching the gap between the two and stitching it closed.

Your world has always been dressing rooms, garment bags heavier than people, the hiss of steamers, the sting of pins in your fingertips. You’ve learned to make silence comfortable inside a space full of mirrors. You’ve learned to smile when someone says, Anything looks good on them, because you know it’s not true.

You’ve worked with idols long enough to understand that most of them don’t even realize what they’re showing you. That the details they think are invisible; how they breathe in, how they flinch when you brush their wrist, how they lighten up the second they catch their reflection—are exactly the things you see most clearly.

“It’s just the job,” you tell yourself. Fabric and form, nothing more.

But some people don’t let themselves be dressed and forgotten.

Ni-ki was supposed to be one of the easy ones. Just a boy growing into his frame. Another set of limbs to measure, another body to learn. You were there when the first spotlight made him blink, when the first perfect jacket made him stand a fraction taller.

To you, he was simple, the baby of the group who wouldn't stop asking too many questions or taking off his shoes in the wrong place. You smoothed collars, pinned stray threads, lifted hems, and tucked stray strands behind ears with the kind of casual care you reserve for things you have watched grow. You never thought about what it meant to be watched back.

Until he started watching.

At first it was small. A fitting room held a minute too long. A muttered compliment in the chaos of a comeback week. A bag he insisted on carrying. You laughed it off the way adults laugh when kids mistake teasing for courtship. He was still a little boy in the calendar. voice cracking, hands smaller than they wanted to be, and you viewed him like that. A bright, unfinished thing.

But he tried. God, he tried.

He’d linger at the edge of your vision, tugging at invisible strings to stage moments only you were meant to notice. His shirt would stick to his back after practice, peeled off too slowly, sweat tracing down his chest. He wanted your eyes caught there. He wanted the slip, the fluster, the stumble.

And yes. Your gaze drifted. A second, no more. Just enough for him to feel it. Enough for his pulse to jump.

You clapped, sharp and mocking.

“Good job, baby. The gym’s paying off.”

Your smirk was calm, teasing, the kind of tone that turns a performance into a child’s play. His jaw twitched. His fists curled. He wanted to see you break. But you only stretched, loose and unbothered, and walked away.

So he pushed harder.

Backstage, he hovered. Eyes sharp when other men laughed too long at your jokes or brushed your arm in passing. He didn’t speak—he didn’t have to. The set of his shoulders said enough.

“Aw, don’t pout, Riki. You’re still my favorite.”

You said it so sweetly, like soothing a sulky child. Like he wasn’t eighteen, shaking with the need to be seen as anything but.

The breaking point came one late night.

He stormed into the dressing room, shirt clinging damp, hair falling into his eyes. You were bent over a table, folding stage clothes, humming like the world outside didn’t exist.

“Grumpy again? Don’t tell me you’re sulking because I didn’t notice your new hair today.” You don’t look up. You keep folding, fingers smoothing the fabric with infuriating calm. “It’s cute, by the way. Very fluffy.”

His palm slammed against the table. The crack echoed.

“Stop treating me like I’m some fucking kid.”

Finally, you looked up. “Then stop acting like one.”

He steps closer. Too close. You can smell the sweat and cologne clinging to his skin.“You keep laughing at me,” he snaps, voice rougher than he intended. “You think this is funny? Me wanting you?”

Leaning back against the table, you fold your arms, gaze dragging over him slow enough to make his skin prickle. You let a silence stretch between you, before your lips curve.

“Mhm. I think it’s cute.”

His throat goes dry. “Cute?” he chokes, as if the word itself is an insult.

You hum, a soft sound that vibrates in the air between you, and tilt your head like you’re studying him under glass. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

He burned. You stayed calm. The harder he pushed, the steadier you became. And that’s what broke him most—he could never win.

You thought it would fade. That he’d sulk, then move on the way boys his age do. But Ni-ki didn’t move on.

He latched.

His gaze changed first—hungry, tracking you across rooms. He lingered in doorways, stood too close, stared into mirrors until you met his eyes. He wanted you to know.

You noticed him stop laughing as much with the others. He’d sit quieter during group meals, fiddling with his phone, eyes flicking up only when you spoke.

During fittings, he wouldn’t fidget anymore; he’d stand still as a statue, tense and rigid, just so you’d touch him longer. A cufflink, a hem, your fingers brushing his wrist, and he’d live off it for days.

And when he was on stage, under lights, it was worse. He started performing for you. Subtle at first—the angle of his jaw when he turned toward your side of the stage, the way he dragged a hand over his chest when he knew you were watching. But soon it wasn’t subtle at all. He was stripping off jackets too slowly, staring into the cameras too long, moves threaded with the question he burned to ask: Are you watching me now?

Then came the bruises. At first, just a split lip.

“Boxing?” you asked, tone flat,  fingers hovering over the makeup sponge.

 He smiled too wide. “You noticed.”

After that, there was always something. A scrape. A burn. Knuckles swollen purple. And every time, he waited for your hands to hover, or your eyes to falter.

He lived off those seconds.

Then came the late night messages.

Almost every night, your phone would light up. A photo of his shoulder, mottled with bruises. Does it look bad?

 A shaky video of him, breath ragged after running until his legs gave out. Couldn’t sleep. You’d tell me to rest, right?

You stopped replying.

But silence didn’t starve him. It fed him.

Soon he was weaving others into the game.  He jokes with the manager until the manager slips, mentioning your name more than is professional. He stages small collisions with other staff, an “accidental” brush, a whispered complaint, and watches how you react. He learns who will cover for him, who will gossip, who will call him out. He builds his own scaffolding of allies and silence, and it always leads back to you.

 And of course, fan accounts caught on—photos of him watching you, rumors spun out of nothing. You are careful about public proximity, but the closeness during fittings is unavoidable.  

And you, god help you, begin to fear what attention might do to him. You know too well how hope can be an accelerant. If you comfort him, if you let one soft word slip, he will read tenderness as permission. He will drink it and then demand more. He will fold himself around the smallest proof and make it into a rule.

So you swallowed it down. You stayed still. You planned quietly. Report this if it spikes; keep records of messages; refuse the late night calls; push for professional help through the manager’s channels.

You do the grown up things that feel like nails driven into your ribs.

And still, he tightened around you.

It freaked you out, though you’d never say it out loud, not to him, not to anyone.

He wanted your care. Your worry. Your anger. He wanted anything you’d give him, as long as it was his.

The other members started noticing too—his temper sharper, his patience thin. If you were in the room, he was alert, awake, alive. If you weren’t, he was a shell.

You’d created a problem without meaning to. A boy who’d tasted rejection laced with sweetness, who’d felt your attention only in fractions, and decided fractions weren’t enough.

To him, you weren’t just a stylist anymore.

You weren’t even just a woman he wanted.

You were a drug. And he was hooked.

And the worst part—what curls your stomach with ice—is that he is not finished. He is learning how to weaponize his own hurt into performance, and he is very good at it.

You shake yourself free of the memory the way you smooth wrinkles out of fabric. Press, release, pretend the crease was never there.

Chrome Hearts isn’t a place to relax, but your work rarely allows that anyway. You move through racks with precision,You’re too deep in thought to notice how silent the store is, busy running mental inventory against your client list, already mapping what pieces might photograph well and what won’t.

So when a presence shifts behind you,  you don't register it until knuckles graze a hanger and make metal clink like an alarm.

You turned.

And there he was.

Dressed in all black, like the store itself had spat him out, his mask pulled high, his beanie dragging low, his figure cut sharp against the racks of leather and chrome.

Of course it’s him. Of course, he’d be here. If there was another thing he craved with the same single-minded compulsion he wasted on you, it was this. Collecting overpriced Chrome Hearts like charms on a rosary.

A sick, twisted part of you finds it adorable that someone who moves and starves himself on obsession until his bones show, can still turn boyish in his addictions. That beneath, he still has that impulse to collect, to want, to have.

And now, standing there, it feels like you’ve stumbled into the collection he wants most.

“Figured I’d find you here.” 

He closes the distance without waiting for permission, body eclipsing yours as if the store shrank just to fit the two of you in. He smells faintly of cologne, layered with the metallic tang of the racks around you. His hand dips into his pocket, while the other brushes too close, knuckles grazing the back of your wrist. Featherlight, but it burned everywhere.

You force your gaze up, higher than you remember needing to. He’s grown again, shoulders broad enough to blot out the rack behind him, the cut of his black jacket sharp against the pale sliver of throat peeking above the mask. And there, barely visible if you weren’t already cataloguing him like a pattern, his mole, the one tucked just beneath his eye, peeks out whenever the mask shifts against his cheek.

His eyes are the worst of it. Dark, steady, searching. He doesn’t look at the jackets or the silver. He doesn’t look at anything but you.

“You’re busy,” he murmured. “But not too busy to say hi, right?”

The line could be harmless. Friendly, even. Except his eyes flick down again, to your wrist, to the pulse hammering there, and then back up, catching yours in a way that makes the ground tilt.

It’s the same old sickness, you realize.

Chrome Hearts could burn down around him, and he’d still look at you like you were the only thing worth salvaging.

You clear your throat, shifting just enough to slip your wrist out of range.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you clipped back. “Half the press camps outside this place. If someone sees you—”

“They won’t.”  He cuts you off without hesitation, like the possibility doesn’t even exist. His gaze flickers once toward the window, then back to you.

You laughed under your breath, bitter. “You’re dressed like every other rich kid in Gangnam, that doesn’t make you invisible.”

But he didn’t move. If anything, he leaned closer, gaze cutting straight to your pulse.

“You’re worried about me.”

“I’m worried about the headline,” you hissed. “Idol sneaking with staff? You want that?”

“Let them write it.” His eyes glinted like the thought thrilled him.

“Riki,” you snapped, tugging a hanger free too hard, “you don’t get to decide that for me.”

For a beat, he just studies you, the muscle in his jaw ticking under the mask. Then his thumb lifts, barely brushing the hem of your sleeve.

“I just wanted to see you.”

You ignore him, and move down the aisle, skimming rings, pretending your pulse isn’t racing. He shadows you without hesitation, tall frame cutting through the racks.

“What are you even doing here?” you mutter, eyes locked on a chain displayed under glass.

“Shopping,” he says, but it sounds distracted. His gaze isn’t even on the jewelry. It’s on the way your fingers trace the glass.

You roll your eyes, stepping away. “Then shop. Don’t follow me.”

But he does. He keeps a perfect pace, hands tucked into his pocket, head tilted just enough that his beanie slips a little.

“Riki,” you sigh, warning in your tone.

“What?” He blinks at you, feigning innocence.

“You came here for something. Go find it.”

“I did,” he says, and the words are so soft, so matter-of-fact, you almost miss them.

Still, he doesn’t leave.

When you reach for a hanger, his hand slips up too fast— as if he meant to take it for you, or maybe just wanted an excuse to touch your fingers. The back of his thumb grazes your knuckle before you yank away.

He doesn’t apologize. He just smiles under the mask, the curve of it tugging at the fabric, eyes narrowing in that boyish, infuriating way that says he’s proud of whatever he just did.

You try to shake him. Not because you’re scared—though, maybe, a little, but because you know the risk. Paparazzi could be anywhere, some stranger with a phone camera lurking between racks. The last thing either of you needs is a headline about him tailing his stylist through Chrome Hearts like a dog on a leash.

So you pick up your pace. Turn down an aisle stacked with leather boots. Double back through denim. Circle racks like you’re tracing a maze.

By the time you reach the register, your arms are stacked with a few carefully chosen pieces. You risk a glance back, expecting him to be lost somewhere.

But no.

He’s there. Leaning on the counter beside you like he’s been waiting all along, mask pulled down just enough to show the curve of his mouth, the faintest smirk. The mole on his chin catches the light, peeking out from under the edge of his mask, and his eyes—God, his eyes—are locked on you like you’re the only thing in the room worth buying.

“What did you even come here for?” you snap under your breath, shoving your card across the counter.

“You,”

You roll your eyes, and balance the bags on your wrist, muttering a quick thank you to the cashier before pushing out into the cool night air. The mask on your face feels suffocating now, too tight. You glance over your shoulder just once, praying he has the sense to stay inside.

But, of fucking course, he didn’t.

He’s right there, a half step behind you, the picture of calm.

“Are you fucking insane?” you whisper-yell, tugging your shopping bags tighter against your side as the door clicks shut behind you. “Do you want to get caught? Do you even know how fast people will spin this if someone sees?”

Your finger jabbed his chest, words spilling fast. “You can’t just follow me around stores, Riki. You can’t stand so close, can’t—touch me like that, can’t—”

And through it all, he stared. Eyes soft, warmed by your anger, like every harsh word was proof you cared.

When you stopped, breath ragged, he tilted his head.

“You brought your car?”

“…What?”

“Your car. You drove, right?”

“…Yes.”

“Good.” A pause. Then, calm as anything. “Give me a ride home.”

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“Chrome Hearts bags are heavy.” His eyes flicked to your wrist, then back. “Besides, you don’t want me walking. Someone might see.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

And the worst part? He’s right.

But you’ve already made up your mind. Screw him, you’re going to your car, alone, and he can figure out his own way back. You dig through your purse for your keys, chin lifted, while he trails behind you, quiet. Too quiet.

Then—“Fine,” a pause.“I’ll just wait here, then.”

You turn to look at him, brows furrowing. “…Okay?”

He shrugged, tugged his beanie lower, eyes sliding toward the alley where kids with phones lingered.

“I’ll just stand here. Let them take pictures. Maybe they’ll drive me home too.” He huffs. “Your choice, noona.”

You stare at him, actually speechless for a second.

The audacity. The sheer, unbothered confidence of a teenager who knows he has leverage and fully intends to use it.

“Do you realize what you’re saying?” you hiss, stepping closer, lowering your voice like that’ll somehow shrink the tension crackling between you. “If they get pictures of you here, do you know what happens to me? I’m staff, Riki. Staff. I’ll get dragged through the mud before you even blink.”

He shrugs again, and it’s infuriatingly nonchalant, like he’s debating what flavor of chips to buy and not threatening your entire career. “Sounds like a personal problem, noona.”

“Personal—?” Your voice pitches higher. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m also freezing. And tired. And the last train’s gone. So… car keys, please.”

You glared, pulse racing.

This was manipulation. You knew it. You should walk away.

But then his lashes caught neon light, head tilted, voice syrup-sweet.

“C’mon, noona. You’re not really gonna leave me out here, are you?”

“You are impossible,” you hissed.

And then that fuckass victory crinkle at the corner of his eyes.By the time you unlocked your car, he was already inside, mask tugged down, smirking.

“Good girl,” he murmured, buckling his belt. “Knew you wouldn’t leave me.”

Riki’s head thumped back against the seat, as your knees pressed into the leather. His breath hitched, hot against your collarbone, and you dragged his mouth back to yours with a fistful of his hair.

You straddled him, thighs squeezing tight, his hands bruising your hips as you rode him, the leather creaking under the push of your knees.

You were laughing—low, throaty, like you were drunk on him, as you tugged at his shirt, baring him down to damp skin. Every scrape of your nails down his chest tore a sound from his throat he didn’t even recognize.

“F-fuck, noona,” he gasped, forehead dropping to your shoulder as his hips snapped up hard enough to rattle the car, “Faster,” he begged, voice cracking, and you leaned close enough for your breath to burn hot against his ear.

“You can’t even handle me now, baby. How are you gonna survive when I really fuck you?”

You cupped his jaw in one hand, thumb smearing the sweat at his cheek, and dragged his gaze back up when it threatened to fall. You wanted him to watch. Wanted him to drown in the sight of you riding him like he was nothing more than a seat made for your body.

He could hardly breathe. Every thrust of your hips made the veins in his neck stand out, had his chest heaving as if oxygen was something you controlled.

“Look at you,” you purred, voice steady while his trembled. “All mine. You’ll never get enough, will you?”

His answer was a choked sound, a desperate shake of his head that only made you laugh, cruel and sweet at once. You tightened around him and he nearly lost it, a sob catching in his throat as he jerked up to meet you.

“Say it,” you demanded, nails raking down his chest again. “Say you can’t get enough.”

“I—I can’t,” he stammered, words breaking apart as his hips faltered, pleasure clawing at his spine. “Noona, I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

“That’s what I thought.”

The backseat rocked with the rhythm of you grinding him down to nothing, his vision blurring at the edges. He was coming apart, strung tight on the sound of your voice, the way you moved like you owned every part of him.

And then—white heat, gutting and violent, tore through him. He spilled with a broken cry, body jerking helplessly, thighs trembling beneath you. Your smirk was the last thing he saw before everything split open—

Riki woke up with a strangled gasp.

Darkness. Ceiling. No car, no heat, no you. Just his room. His sheets. His sweat-soaked shirt clinging to him like a second skin.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Couldn’t. His chest heaved, ribs straining like they might crack open under the pressure, and he stared at the ceiling as if it would rearrange itself into your face if he wished hard enough. 

His lashes fluttered shut, his breath shuddering out in a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh—too breathless, too bitter.

He’d lost count of how many times this had happened. How many times he’d woken up like this, wrung out, still trembling, your voice echoing honey sweet in his ears.

He should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve been ashamed.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

If anything, he wanted to sink deeper into it, wanted the dream to drag him under until he didn’t have to wake up again. The shame didn’t stick anymore; it melted straight into want, something thick and unbearable that left him grinding his teeth because it still wasn’t enough.

He shoved the blanket off, the fabric tangling at his ankles before falling limp to the floor. Cool air rushed over his skin, but he was still burning, cock twitching sticky against ruined boxers.

His hand flexed, restless and useless at his side. He thought about reaching for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in the dark. Just to feel like you were closer than the four walls of this suffocating room.

What would he even say?

Noona, I keep dreaming about you fucking me dumb. Do something about it.

Pathetic.

But true.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the taste of metal still sharp from biting too hard. He exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down his chest, smearing sweat. This had been happening for weeks, months maybe—he didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that it was always you. Always your voice, your hands, your laugh, your eyes pinning him down like a knife point.

And he was starting to think it wasn’t just in his head.

Finally, he forced himself upright. His shirt clung damp and cold to his back, boxers sticky and humiliating, every step toward the bathroom heavy. The mirror light stabbed through his skull when it flicked on, but he didn’t look away. He stared.

Messy hair sticking flat to his forehead. Skin slick, flushed like he’d actually been beneath you. Eyes glazed, swollen, desperate.

It almost made him laugh again. You’d put him in this state without even touching him.

He braced his hands on the sink, fingers curling tight over porcelain, head bowing forward. His breath fogged the glass.

And then he saw… a hair tie?

Black, simple, stretched a little thin from overuse.

He’d pocketed it yesterday when you drove him home, fingers sneaking it off the console while you were too busy scolding him about being reckless with paparazzi.

You hadn’t noticed—not when your hands gripped the wheel, not when your eyes cut to the road, not when your voice rose in that calm, stern way that always made his stomach flip. He’d rolled the band between his fingers the entire ride, listening to you, watching the curve of your jaw glow against the passing streetlights, until the urge to keep something—anything—of you had gotten too strong.

Now, standing in the bathroom with it pressed between his fingers, he couldn’t think past the fact that this was yours. It had been wrapped around your wrist, buried in your hair, warm with your skin.

He lifted it without meaning to, knuckles grazing his mouth. The scent was faint, barely there, but his chest stuttered anyway, lungs tight like he’d been punched. His lips parted against the soft elastic, a low, broken sound caught in his throat.

It was pathetic. He knew it. But it didn’t matter.

His knuckles tightened around the hair tie until the elastic bit into his skin. He shouldn’t feel this way over something so small. Over something so… ordinary.

But it wasn’t ordinary, not to him. It was yours. Again, he should’ve felt guilty—there was a time when he might’ve, but all he felt was the faintest shiver at the base of his spine. The knowledge that he could take from you and you’d never know.

He closed his fist around it, pressing until the edge dug half moons into his skin. Not enough. Nothing ever was.

The shower after that should’ve rinsed you off him. But it didn’t. When he finally cut the water, the steam had nowhere left to go but his lungs, thick and suffocating. He dragged a towel across his skin but it felt useless. He was still sticky, raw, and trembling like you’d just pulled him apart with your soft hands.

He dressed in silence. Black sweats, a shirt, nothing special. The hair tie sat on the counter like it was mocking him. He pocketed it before he could think twice, knuckles brushing it once for reassurance. Like he’s carrying you.

The rest of the day went by in pieces, none of them whole. Practice. Choreography. Someone calling his name twice before he answered. He caught himself rolling the hair tie between his fingers in his pocket when no one was looking, thumb rubbing at the seam.

By nightfall, he wasn’t thinking about whether or not it made sense. 

He was just standing in front of your building. 

He could see the faint outline of light under the door, hear the muffled sound of the TV inside.

You were home. He knew it.

His fist lifted before his brain caught up. The knock was too loud, a sharp, hollow crack against the wood that echoed down the empty hallway. He flinched at the sound, knuckles stinging. For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then the shuffle of footsteps, the soft click of a lock.

 The door swung open, and there you were. Not in his dreams this time. Real. Hair loose, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, pretty eyes widening in surprise.

You go to shut the door immediately. Reflex.

But his foot slides in before you can, sneaker wedged against the frame.

“Move.” Your voice comes out sharp and mean.

His gaze flickers down to where your fingers curl around the edge of the door, then back up. He doesn’t move his foot. Instead, he leans further in, palm braced against the frame just above your head.

“Why are you acting like I’m a stranger?” he murmurs, voice rough from disuse.

You push harder at the door. He pushes back with nothing but the weight of his body, casual like he’s not even trying, as if resistance only amuses him.

“Go home, Riki.”

“This is home.” His gaze doesn’t waver. The hallway light catches the sharp angle of his jaw, the damp hair clinging to his temples.

“Let me in,” he says, quieter this time. Not a request.

You shake your head, grip the door harder.

But then his hand moves—slowly sliding down from the frame until his fingers brush over yours. Barely a touch. Enough to make your whole arm jolt.

“You don’t even believe yourself,” he says. Eyes locked on yours, he curls his fingers around yours, and pulls your hand away from the door. 

You stumble forward half a step, the gap widening. He slips inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The lock slid back into place, and you stood frozen, pulse hammering, your back pressed to the door like it could still shove him out if you just willed it hard enough.

Riki didn’t look around. He didn’t say anything. He just watched you. 

Watched the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed, the way your hands fisted at your sides, the way your eyebrows are slightly frowned.

“Take your shoes off,” you snapped finally, because it was the only thing you could think to say.

Slowly, his mouth twitched. A smirk, faint but there, as he bent to tug at his laces.

“You always nag about the shoes,” he murmured, straightening up. “Even now.”

“Because even now, I’m your stylist,” you shot back. “Not your—” You bit down hard before the word could tumble out.

His head tilted. “Not my what?”

You ignored the question, skirting past him, arms folded tight against your chest.

He trailed you into the living room, steps silent on the hardwood. When you finally stopped, spinning to face him, his gaze dragged slowly over the room before landing back on you.

“Why are you here?” you demanded.

He shrugged, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders loose in a way that made your skin crawl because you knew it was an act. “I told you. I wanted to see you.”

“It’s midnight.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t just show up at people’s doors in the middle of the night like—like—”

“Like what?” His voice was soft, too soft, as he took a step closer.

“Like this,” you snapped, heat rising up your neck. “You can’t keep—”

“Keep…?” He closed the distance in one fluid stride, forcing you back until your calves hit the edge of the sofa, a jolt shooting through you at the sudden halt. He was so close now, body cutting into your space, gaze heavy ready to peel away every flimsy excuse you clung to.

“Keep—” The word strangled in your throat, your mouth dry.

His head tilted, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Hmm?”

You swallowed hard, forcing steel into your spine even as your pulse betrayed you. “Keep showing up like you own the place!”

A humorless hum slipped from him, low in his chest. “Feels like you don’t actually want me to stop.”

Your breath caught, a sharp flare of heat burning its way up your neck. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that the air shifted between you. His hand lifted, slowly, hovering near your waist but never quite touching. “You twist them yourself. Every time you look at me like that and then pretend you don’t.”

This time, it was your turn to ask. “Like what?”

His eyes flicked down, lingering for a heartbeat too long before snapping back to yours, unblinking. “Like you’re afraid of what might happen if you don’t send me away.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile, not a smirk either. Something darker, unhuman even. “Tell me to leave, noona,” he said softly. “Mean it, and I will.”

You opened your mouth, ready to spit the words out, ready to shove him back into the hallway where he belonged—but then his hand finally settled. Just the faintest press of his fingers against your hip, the heat of his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of your pants.

His touch wasn’t even firm, not insistent, more like… a test? He could’ve grabbed you, could’ve dragged you closer, but instead he stayed there, patient, watching your every flicker.

“Say it,” he murmured again, thumb brushing the curve of your hip bone. “Tell me to stop.”

You could push him away. You should. But your fingers only clenched uselessly at your sides, nails biting into your palms.

He leaned closer, lips nearly grazing your ear when he whispered, “Can’t say it, can you?”

The shiver that shot down your spine betrayed you before you could even breathe a denial.

“Thought so,” he murmured, his mouth curving against the shell of your ear.

Your jaw clenched, but it was useless. you couldn’t disguise the way your chest rose too fast, the way your pulse kicked hard enough to make you sway toward him.

“Riki,” you warned,  but your voice came out thinner than you meant.

His hand tightened, not by much, just enough to anchor you there.

 He wasn’t dragging you closer, wasn’t forcing anything, and that was the problem. Because it meant you were the one leaning into him.

“Say my name like that again.” His breath ghosted over your cheek, warm. “Like you did in my dream.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

This time he did smile, slow and lazy, eyes never leaving yours.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Riki’s smile sharpened. Then, before you could blink, his hand slid higher, from your hip to your waist, fingers curving firm, almost daring you to flinch. The air left your chest in a shaky rush.

“You’re not kicking me out,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his nose brushed the edge of your jaw. “You could, but you won’t.”

 You pressed your hands flat against his chest, meaning to push, but the muscle under your palms was hot and solid, and your fingers curled before you could stop them.

“See?” His voice dropped, rougher now, vibrating against your skin. “You don’t want me gone.”

You shook your head fast, too fast, but the words tangled useless in your throat. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you a fraction closer until your toes brushed his.

“Riki—” you tried again, sharper, but it cracked at the edges.

“You keep saying my name like that,” he whispered, lips grazing your cheek, “and I’m not gonna stop.”

Your stomach swooped, knees going soft. Every nerve in your body screamed to move, push, pull, something—but you just sat there, fists trembling against his chest, betraying you with every second you didn’t shove him away.

You’d spent years—YEARS—telling yourself this could never happen. Not with him. Not when the world would twist it into something ugly, and shameful. He was younger, always had been, and if anyone ever saw this—if they saw you, they’d say you’d been grooming him, waiting, and lurking. They’d call you a predator before they ever called you human.

It wasn’t even that much. Four years, hardly anything when you said it out loud. He was grown now, nineteen, pushing twenty, not a child, not someone you had any power over. If anything, the years had flipped the balance. He stood taller than you now, broader, stronger, looking down at you like you were the one being cornered.

But none of that would matter, not to anyone else. All they’d remember was that you’d known him when he was smaller, younger, not yet a man. And that was enough to damn you. Enough to make every step you took toward him look wrong.

The thought made bile crawl up your throat, panic prickling your skin. You’d rather be skinned alive than admit you’d always felt something, that sometimes, in your weakest moments, you caught yourself looking too long, caring too much. That some secret, shameful part of you had wanted this long before you could ever allow yourself to think it.

But then his thumb dragged slow circles into your waist, grounding, steady. His body leaned into yours, not crushing but surrounding, and the fear blurred at the edges.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your cheekbone. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”

And fuck, it got you, the tiniest spark of heat flickered low in your stomach.

You hated it. Hated the way your thighs pressed together like you could smother it, hated the way your chest rose too sharp against his, hated that his words, so damn gentle, made your pulse trip harder instead of slowing it down.

“Not scared,” you managed.

“No?” His lips ghosted lower, skimming the corner of your mouth. “Then why are you trembling? Hm?”

Your hands fisted tighter in his shirt, nails digging crescents into the thick fabric. He was too close, too warm, too gentle. You felt caged, not by force but by choice, like your body had already decided for you.

When his thumb slid higher, grazing the underside of your breast, your breath stuttered hard enough to give you away. His gaze flicked down, caught it, and the smirk that curved his mouth nearly undid you.

“Not scared,” you whispered again, weaker now.

“Yeah? Then what?” he pressed, voice low, rough, curling under your skin. His nose brushed your jaw, his mouth grazing your pulse point. “Excited? Turned on?”

Heat surged to your face, a hot, ugly rush of embarrassment, but your hips shifted minutely against him before you could stop yourself. His grip at your waist tightened instantly, like he’d been waiting for that single slip.

He groaned  against your neck, a sound too raw, and needy. “You have no idea what you do to me, noona.”

The word split you open— literally. Your head spun, stomach plunging as the flicker of heat inside you roared, fed by everything you swore you’d never want.

Your legs parted just slightly, enough for his thigh to slot between yours. The friction was subtle, barely there, but it was enough to drag a shaky breath out of you, enough to make your fingers finally stop pretending they meant to push.

“Fuck,” Riki hissed, the sound breaking against your throat as he pressed harder, grinding his thigh up into the heat of you. “Knew it. Knew you’d feel so good like this.”

“Don’t—” You tried, the word collapsing into a gasp as your hips betrayed you, rolling against him without permission. Your nails clawed at his chest, not to push him back but to hold on.

“Don’t what?” His voice was wrecked now, no trace of teasing left, only hunger. His hand slid under your shirt fully, palm rough against your bare skin, dragging higher until your bra gave way beneath his touch. “Don’t make you feel good?”

Your head fell back when his thumb brushed over your nipple, the sharp spark shooting straight down to where you ground helplessly against his thigh. The noise that slipped past your lips didn’t even sound like you—it was too needy, too raw, too much like the thing you swore you’d never be with him.

He swallowed all, kissing you hard, messy, teeth clashing, tongues sliding. His other hand fumbled at the hem of your sweats, tugging until the waistband dipped low on your hips.

“Riki—” It came out strangled, a last-ditch warning, but he didn’t stop.

He only tore his mouth from yours long enough to pant against your lips, “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

But you couldn’t. Your hips moved faster, chasing the relief, chasing him. Shame burned hot in your chest, but the ache between your thighs drowned it out, begging for more.

“Yeah?” he rasped, catching the silent answer in the roll of your body. “That’s what I thought.”

He shoved your sweats down with a harsh drag, the fabric pooling at your knees, leaving you bare against the press of his thigh.

“Shit,” he groaned, grinding up harder, desperate. “So wet already… all for me.”

Your head spun, heat flooding so thick you could barely think.

But then he shifted, pulling back just enough to make your chest heave at the loss of him. Before you could protest, his hands slid down, gripping your hips tight.

“Move,” he muttered, voice shredded, and when you blinked in confusion, he was already sinking back onto the sofa with a grunt.

The world tilted. You landed straddling his lap, thighs spread over his, your knees digging into the cushions on either side of him.

Just like his dream.

“Yeah,” he whispered, head tipping back as his hands spanned your waist, holding you there, pressing you down until the hard length of him strained against the thin barrier of his sweats. “Exactly like I said.”

Your hips rocked once, tentative, and the sound he made, half groan, half curse shot straight through you.

“Noona…” His head fell forward, mouth dragging along your collarbone, teeth scraping before sucking at the skin there. His grip on your waist tightened until you couldn’t stop your core from grinding against him, slick already dampening the fabric between you.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging for balance as his lips chased higher, jaw, throat, chin, then finally crushing back against yours, wet and messy, tongues tangling like neither of you had ever learned how to stop.

The shame whispered wrong, wrong, wrong in the back of your head, but his hands were hot on your skin, his cock straining against you, his voice breaking when he moaned your name—and the part of you that had spent years denying him finally snapped.

Your hips rolled harder, and Riki’s grip on you turned bruising. His head tipped back against the sofa, jaw tight, throat working as a guttural sound tore out of him.

“Fuck—” He cut himself off, biting his lip, eyes blazing up at you. Then his hands were on his waistband, shoving the sweats low enough that the heat of him sprang free, thick and heavy against your stomach.

The shock of it made your breath hitch. Flesh on flesh, no fabric left to save you from how hard he was.

“Feel that?” he rasped, dragging your hips down against him, your heat sliding over his cock. “That’s what you do to me.”

A broken whimper slipped out before you could choke it back. He groaned at the sound, grinding up to meet your slow, shaky roll, the head of him catching perfectly against your clit.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, useless and desperate. “Riki, this—”

“This is mine,” he snapped, rougher now, panting as his lips found your throat again, sucking bruises into skin you’d have to hide tomorrow. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

You gasped, arching into him, pulling him closer. His teeth grazed your collarbone, sending sparks down your spine.

“Say it,” he begged, teeth grazing your ear. “Say you want me.”

And maybe it was the years of denial, maybe it was the weight of his hands on your waist, maybe it was the filthy way his cock slid against you—but the words tore free anyway, ragged and raw.

“I want you.”

His groan was instant, his whole body shuddering beneath you. “Fuck—say it again.”

“I—” Your hips rocked down hard, clit catching against him just right. Your voice broke on the moan that followed. “I want you, Riki.”

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he gasped, bucking up against you, cock sliding wet and perfect through your folds. “Been waiting for this.”

Something snapped inside you.

Your hand slid up, fingers curling tight in his damp hair, yanking just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth. You pulled back, watching his lips part, glossy and swollen, his chest heaving.

“Slow down,” you murmured, breath ghosting over his mouth. Not a suggestion.

The noise he made shot straight to your core. His hands tightened on your waist, like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. His hips stilled under you, trembling with restraint, waiting for you.

That was when it hit you. The control you hadn’t wanted to admit you had.

You rolled your hips deliberately slow, grinding down against him. His head fell back against the sofa, another strangled sound ripping out of him, and you smiled—sharp, watching him come apart with nothing but the drag of your body over his.

“That’s better,” you breathed, nails dragging down his chest,“Look at you.”

His eyes cracked open, glassy, unfocused, searching for you. “Don’t—fu—don’t tease me.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice steady even while your own thighs trembled. “I’m not teasing baby. I’m showing you how to take it.”

His entire body shuddered at that. You felt it under your palms, the way he melted and strained all at once, like he didn’t know whether to worship you or beg.

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, drawing a wrecked groan from his chest. “Good boy,” you whispered before you could stop yourself, the words slipping free, too natural.

Riki choked on his breath, hips jerking helplessly up into you, like that single phrase had shattered him.

Your hands slid up from his chest to his throat, not squeezing—just resting there, thumb brushing lazily over the frantic beat of his pulse. His breath stuttered, eyes wide, and the sound that crawled out of his throat was half-moan, half-plea.

“Sensitive,” you murmured, tilting your head, watching the way he shivered beneath you. “You like when I touch you here, sweetheart?”

His answer came out broken. “Y-yeah.”

Your hips rolled again, slow, dragging slick over the length of him. His body arched up into yours, and your grip at his throat firmed—not to choke, just to keep him still. “Then stay still for me.”

He whimpered, actually whimpered, as his nails dug into your thighs. But he obeyed. His eyes squeezed shut, teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to draw blood, but his hips stayed pressed to the sofa just like you told him.

The sight made your cunt clench around nothing, desperate. You shifted, angling your hips, and with one slow push, you slid down onto him, inch by inch, stretching around the thick length of his cock until you were full, and stuffed nicely.

His hands flew to your waist, but you caught his wrists, pressing them down into the cushions, pinning him there. His chest heaved, eyes blown wide, staring up at you like you were something holy.

“Fuck—noona—”

“Shh.” You rocked your hips once, shallow, just enough to make him choke on the word. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your hips dropped hard, swallowing him whole, and Riki’s strangled cry ripped through the room. His head thudded back against the sofa again, and again, throat exposed, hands flexing uselessly under your grip where you pinned them down.

“That’s it,” you breathed, grinding down on him, feeling every twitch, every pulse. “Take it.”

His eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack as a wrecked moan poured out of him. He tried to thrust up, tried to meet you, but you kept him pinned, rocking on his cock at your own pace—slow, then sharp, rolling your hips until he was gasping.

“Look at you,” you whispered, leaning down to bite at his throat, your breath hot against his skin. “All those years acting grown, acting like you could handle me. And now?” You circled your hips, and his entire body shuddered, cock pulsing deep inside you. “Now you’re shaking.”

“I—fuck—I can’t—” He broke off with a sob, wrists twitching beneath your grip, but you only pushed harder, grinding down until he was whining into your shoulder.

“Yes, you can.” You let go of his wrists only to drag his hands higher, pinning them above his head this time. Your nails dug into his skin, claiming. “You’ll take everything I give you, Riki. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes,” he gasped, eyes glassy, mouth falling open. “Wanted it so bad—fuck—I dreamed about it, noona, I—”

“Dreaming about me?” You bent low, your lips brushing his, your pace never faltering. “And what did I do to you in those dreams, hm?”

His chest heaved under yours, sweat slick and burning hot. His eyes fluttered shut, a low sound ripping from his throat as you ground down on him, hard, coaxing it out.

“Tell me,” you demanded, your hand slipping from his wrists to curl around his throat again.

“I—I shouldn’t—” His voice cracked, strangled, but his cock twitched inside you again, betraying him.

 “You already gave yourself away. Now say the rest.”

His head tipped back, throat arching beautifully beneath your palm. “I dreamed—fuck—I dreamed you… rode me. Just like this.” His voice broke into a moan when you slammed down harder, milking every word from him.

“Yeah?” Your laugh was breathless, taunting. “You dreamed of me using you like this? Keeping you under me, making you take it?”

“Yes—yes!—” he gasped, hips jerking uselessly beneath your hold. “You wouldn’t stop—you made me—”

“Made you what?” Your nails dug lightly into his skin, hips grinding faster, chasing both of you toward the edge.

His eyes snapped open, wild and glassy, his mouth spilling the filth you knew he’d been hiding. “Made me cum in you. Over and over. Didn’t let me go. Said I was yours.”

The words slammed into you, molten and devastating. Your thighs trembled, a broken moan clawing its way out of you as you rode him harder, harder.

“And you liked it?” Your voice was sweet, your lips brushing his ear as you pushed him deeper inside. “Liked me using you like my toy?”

His answer was a sob, desperate and raw. “Loved it—love it now—fuck, noona, please—don’t stop—”

“Look at me,” you demanded, your voice ragged but sharp.

He obeyed instantly, his gaze snapping to yours, dark and desperate, pupils blown wide. Sweat dripped down his temple as he panted, "I'm looking—fuck—I'm looking at you." His hips jerked, trying to thrust deeper, but you tightened your thighs around him, controlling the pace, letting him feel every inch without letting him take more.

Your hand slid from his throat to his jaw, fingers digging in as you ground down hard, drawing a guttural cry from him. "You think you deserve to cum?"

His hips bucked helplessly beneath you, cock twitching deep inside where he was buried to the hilt. "Only—only if you let me,"

You leaned down, your lips brushing his ear as you rolled your hips in slow, agonizing circles. "Then beg properly." Your free hand slid between your bodies, fingertips finding your clit. "Show me how much you need it."

His breath hitched, eyes locked on yours as his hips trembled beneath your control. "Please," he choked out, voice cracking. "Please let me cum, noona. I need it—need you—fuck, I'll do anything—"

Your fingers circled your clit faster, matching the punishing pace of your hips. "Louder," you demanded, grinding down until he cried out, the sound raw and broken. "Tell me why you deserve it."

Riki's back arched off the sofa, muscles straining as he gasped, "Because I'm yours—all yours—" His voice shattered on a moan as your thumb pressed hard against your clit. "Please—I'll be good—I'll be so so good—"

His words dissolved into ragged cries when you slammed down onto him, grinding deep, the wet slap of skin echoing in the small apartment. You’re definitely gonna get a noise complaint.

you hissed against his mouth, your hand still cupping his jaw, nails biting just enough to leave crescents in his skin. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours—” he gasped, voice gone high and ruined, “all yours—noona, please—”

His fingers dug into your hips, desperate, but you caught one of his wrists and pinned it to the sofa above his head again, keeping him open, helpless. With your other hand you slid back down between your thighs, circling your clit as you rode him.

He let out a broken moan, eyes wide and wet. “Pleasepleaseplease—need to cum—”

“You’ll cum when I say,” you murmured, your voice breaking on a groan of your own as the pleasure built low in your belly. You bent down until your nose brushed his, eyes locked. “Do you understand?”

His throat worked, a strangled sound escaping as he nodded frantically. “Yes—yes, I understand!”

Your thumb flicked your clit harder, faster, your hips moving in a brutal rhythm now, squeezing him tight with every thrust. “So good for me,” you breathed, the words ragged, almost surprised as they left your lips, and his whole body shuddered at the sound, eyes rolling back for a second.

A strangled sob tore from his throat, his muscles trembling under your weight, his cock pulsing deep inside you. “Noona—please—please—need it so bad—”

You rocked down hard, harder, until your clit dragged perfectly over his pubic bone, a gasp escaping you at the sudden rush of heat spiralling up your spine. “You want to cum?” you demanded, your voice shaking with it now. “You want to fill me up like you did in your dream?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—” he almost screamed it, his voice cracking, his body arching beneath you like a bowstring pulled too tight. Sweat slicked his chest, his eyes wild and unfocused, pupils blown black with need. His cock throbbed deep inside you, pulsing with every ragged breath he took, and you knew he was so close—right on the edge.

“Then do it, baby” you commanded, your voice low and ragged. “Show me how much you want it.”

The words broke him. His back arched off the sofa, a hoarse cry ripping from his chest as he spilled into you, hips jerking helplessly beneath your grip. The feeling of him pulsing, filling you, dragged your own release out of you, your nails digging into his jaw as you rode it out, grinding down on him until he whimpered, oversensitive.

You stayed there, panting, forehead pressed to his, still holding his face in your hand. His eyes were blown wide, glassy, his lips parted in a dazed little smile.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The room was too small for the sound of your breathing, too quiet except for the wet slide of your bodies as you finally sagged forward, boneless, still full of him.

Riki’s hands trembled where they’d crept up to your waist, fingers flexing like he didn’t know whether to hold you closer or let go. You could feel his pulse hammering through his chest, hot against your palms where you still cupped his jaw.

“Hey…” His voice was a rasp, almost a whisper. His thumb brushed a damp strand of hair back from your cheek, hesitant, like he was scared you’d flinch. “You’re shaking.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. Now that the heat had passed, reality seeped back in, heavy and cold. You became aware of everything at once — the sweat cooling on your skin, the faint bruises his hands had left on your hips, the way his cock still pulsed inside you with every shallow breath.

“I know,” you managed, your voice low, and shaky.

He searched your face, eyes wide and dark but not demanding anymore. Just watching. Waiting.

“You okay?” The question was soft, almost boyish, a crack of vulnerability that twisted in your gut. “Tell me you’re okay.”

You shut your eyes for a beat, breathing him in — his scent, his warmth, the way he still hadn’t tried to move. Not forcing. Not dragging. Just… there. Waiting for you to decide.

Your nails eased out of his jaw. You let your forehead rest against his again, breaths mingling. “I’m okay,” you whispered, even if the words didn’t feel real yet.

His hands loosened on your waist, sliding up to your back instead, palms broad and warm as they stroked you once, twice, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. “I didn’t mean to—” he started, but you cut him off with a soft shake of your head.

“Don’t,” you breathed, your voice breaking. “Don’t say sorry.”

Riki went still, eyes searching yours. “Then what do I say?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not yet. The shame was still there, coiled in your chest, but so was the aftermath of your orgasm, the heat of his body, the way his face had looked when he begged. It was too much to take in all at once.

You shifted slightly, wincing at the sudden sensitivity, and he hissed, hands automatically tightening on your hips to steady you. “Easy,” he murmured, the word almost tender.

That single sound almost undid you more than everything else.

You leaned back enough to look at him, to really see him. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his lips swollen, his pupils still blown wide. But his expression — god, his expression — was open, unguarded, a little scared. Like he was waiting for you to scold him.

Your throat ached. “Riki…”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

You almost told him it couldn’t happen again. You almost climbed off his lap, almost shoved the shame back into the box you’d kept it in for years. But your hands betrayed you again, sliding up to cup his face, thumbs brushing his rosy cheeks.

For a moment he just melted into the touch, eyes fluttering shut, leaning into your palms.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, your voice thin and cracked. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

He opened his eyes then, slow and careful, gaze steady even as his breath shook. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly,  almost shy. “If you want to.”

Your stomach flipped. He was still inside you, still hardening again already, but he didn’t move. Didn’t push. Just waited.

For the first time since he’d touched you, you felt like you were breathing on your own.

Of course when you first joined, FNC had been skeptical. You didn’t have much experience with the fast-paced TV-style content most idol agencies wanted. Your portfolio leaned more toward short films and visual storytelling filled with cinematic scenes. You weren’t sure they’d go for that.

But when you had proposed making more cinematic videos focused more on showing the boys in their element with minimal talking, they decided to give your idea a chance. Once they saw your early edits, they realized they’d hired someone special, especially when the fans began to notice, and the comments were full of praise.

You’d also been with the team long enough to learn everyone’s quirks and preferences. 

Mina, the lead producer, refused to talk to anyone before she could have her morning coffee. No one dared to break that rule.

Jisoo from styling was a perfectionist, always anxiously fixing the boy's hair whenever a strand would go out of place, even when it was unnecessary.

And Jun, one of the newer camera operators, had a habit of humming under his breath while filming, which you found weirdly comforting even though it drove everyone else insane.

Perhaps that's why you were well liked on the team. You were very observant and good at reading people, knowing what to say and to who. You knew how to read the room and helped things run smoothly, which was always valuable in an industry as busy as this one. The way everyone functioned had become familiar and predictable.

Then there was you of course, who just preferred to get the job done. 

You weren’t unfriendly. You said good morning, bowed when you passed your coworkers, even laughed politely when anyone would make a joke. But you kept a comfortable distance, there was a reason you preferred being behind the camera. 

No one really minded your closed-off nature, though because you always delivered exceptional work. 

The same went for the boys.

Keeho was the easiest to get along with. He was always joking, and had a talent for making sure everyone was comfortable, his leader position fit him well. You’d caught yourself quietly chuckling at his antics more than once, which he’d immediately point out just to fluster you.

Jiung was endlessly polite, always thanking you after shoots, genuinely grateful for your hard work.

Soul didn’t talk much, which was a trait the two of you had in common. You’d often find yourselves at the same table during breaks, eating in silence.

Intak was pure energy, he couldn’t stay still for longer than five seconds, but he always made the mood on set lighter.

Jongseob was surprisingly mature, especially for his age, often checking that you’d eaten on longer days. It reminded you of a little brother you never had.

Theo was... different.

He was a little too much for you at times. He was the kind of person who made it hard to stay in a bad mood because his laugh carried through a room like sunlight filtering in through blinds.

He was nice to everyone, in a genuinely real way. You could tell when people’s smiles didn’t reach their eyes, but his always did.

Still, you never knew how to act around him. There was something disarming about how easily he got through to people, his soft voice wrapped in a blanket of warmth when he spoke. It irked you because … you just weren’t built for that kind of softness.

You didn’t mind keeping to yourself. In fact, you preferred it. While the other staff chatted easily with the boys or joked around behind the cameras, you were content staying on the sidelines and doing your job quietly and efficiently. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, they were good guys. You just… didn’t see the point in trying to befriend people you’d eventually have to move on from. 

You’d been in enough environments where getting too close only made it harder when everything ended. The most you’d done is have dinner with Jiung one time after you spent the whole day filming him. He’d practically forced you into it and you appreciated it, but the whole night all you could focus on was the familiar ache in your chest whenever someone tried to get close. You went home as soon as you finished eating. 

They all continued to treat you the same way they treated everyone else, not offended by your lack of reciprocation. They pretty much just let you be.

Well, except Theo. You’d caught him watching you a few times before, usually when you were behind the camera, adjusting a lens or checking lighting. He always had this curious look on his face, like he was trying to figure you out. You never gave him the chance. A simple raised brow or flat expression was usually enough to make him look away, a small smile tugging at his lips as if he found your indifference amusing. You didn’t think much of it until today.

You were traveling with them on tour, currently in New York. The morning was chilly, sunlight slipping through the tall glass windows of the hotel lobby where everyone had gathered. Mina stood at the front, tablet in hand, running through the filming schedule. 

She announced they were trying a new concept, one you had actually proposed a few weeks back. Each member would explore the city alone, and the videographers would capture their personal experiences for a more intimate vlog series. You hadn’t expected them to approve it, but Mina had liked the idea right away.

Now, as she listed off the filming pairs, your name came up with Theo’s.

You simply nodded, camera strap slung over your shoulder. You could feel his gaze on you from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t look his way.

Mina finished running through the logistics, reminding everyone to check their mics, stay in touch, and have fun. “And please,” she added, half-laughing, “don’t get lost.” She gave Soul a pointed look.

Theo was the first to approach you once Mina dismissed everyone.

“Hey,” he said brightly, walking over with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Guess we’re partners today.”

You adjusted the strap on your camera, giving him a small nod. “Looks like it.”

“Well, is there anything specific you want to do?” He asked, rocking back and forth on his feet.

You looked up at him, blinking. “You’re supposed to decide what you want to do.”

“Right, but I mean—” he tilted his head, squinting playfully. “You’re gonna be stuck with me the whole day. There’s nothing you want to see while we’re out?”

You shook your head almost instantly. “It’s not about me Theo. Where do you want to go?” 

You could see him deflate a little at your answer, but he quickly brushed it off. “Honesty, I kinda just want to go with the flow and walk around, see where the day takes us.”

You nodded easily at him and handed him a camera on a mini tripod so he could film himself throughout the day. “Sounds good.”

You both said quick goodbyes to the others before heading towards the hotel doors.

Theo held it open for you, stepping aside with a small flourish. “After you.”

You gave him a brief, unimpressed look, but walked through anyway. The cool New York air hit instantly, crisp and alive, the city buzzing. Theo pulled up the hood of his jacket and fell into step beside you, hands tucked back into his pockets with a light smile on his face. 

“So,” he said as you started walking down the street, “We should probably eat breakfast first. Any ideas Sunshine?”

You shot him a sharp look the moment the word left his mouth. “I asked you to stop calling me that.”

Theo only grinned wider, clearly unbothered. “Yeah, I know. But the annoyed face you make every time I do gives me joy.”

You let out a huff through your nose, opting to ignore the comment he made entirely. “There’s a good bagel place close by,” you said instead, quick to redirect. “It’s my favorite.”

That caught his attention immediately. “Wait, you’ve been to New York before?”

“Used to live here,” you said, eyes on the busy crosswalk ahead. “When I was younger. I have family that still lives here, so I visit sometimes.”

Theo’s head snapped toward you, genuine surprise flashing across his face. “Seriously? You never told me that.”

You shrugged, tightening your grip on the camera strap. “Didn’t think it matters.”

“Of course it matters,” he said, slowing his steps just a little, his voice softer now. “That’s kind of a big thing to just… not mention.”

You looked at him briefly, then away again. “I don’t really talk about myself. There’s not much to say.”

Theo tilted his head, eyes scanning your expression like he was trying to read between the lines. “Now that I think about it,” he said slowly, “you’ve been with us for a while, but we don’t actually know that much about you.”

You exhaled quietly, gaze fixed ahead. “There’s not much to know.” you repeated, this time more firmly.

That was enough for him to get the message. Theo nodded once, falling back into silence beside you. As you crossed the next street, camera swinging lightly against your hip, he glanced at you again and found himself wondering what it was that was making you act so guarded.

When you entered the bagel shop, the smell of toasted bread and roasted coffee wafted around you were hit with a feeling of nostalgia.

Theo looked around with wide eyes, hands buried in his jacket pockets. “This place is cute.” he said, tone bright as always.

You glanced at the menu above the counter. “What do you want? I’ll order.”

He blinked. “You’ll—oh, uh, okay.” He studied the list for a moment before pointing. “Egg and cheese bagel?”

You nodded, already turning toward the cashier. “One egg and cheese bagel, please.”

Theo froze for a moment, taken off guard by your naturally fluent English as you conversed with the cashier. It gave him a bit of whiplash, hearing you speak an entirely different language. It was then that he decided it would be his mission to learn more about you that day. 

You finished with the cashier and moved aside to busy yourself with filming clips of Theo and some b-roll of the shop. He leaned against the wall, glancing at the people bustling outside the window. “So… did you come here a lot when you lived here?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you miss it?”

You shrugged, adjusting the lens. “Not really.”

“Why’d you leave?”

You hesitated for only a second. “Family moved to Korea.”

He nodded slowly, watching your face as you lowered the camera. Each answer was clipped and neutral, but he wasn't going to give up so easily. 

Before he could try again, the cashier called your name. You grabbed the brown paper bag and led the way to a small table near the window.

Theo sat down across from you and opened it up, the smell of warm bread filling the air. He reached inside and pulled out a singular bagel.

“There’s only one..” he said, brow furrowing.

“I’m not hungry.”

Theo blinked at you. “Did you eat before we left?”

“No.”

He scoffed under his breath, tearing the bagel in half and sliding one piece across the table toward you.

“Really Theo, it’s fine.” you said, not even looking up from your lens.

“I hate eating alone.” he said easily, though the small smirk tugging at his mouth gave him away.

You looked at him for a long moment, exhaling through your nose before taking the bagel half. 

He leaned back in his seat, a grin blooming across his face in victory. 

You rolled your eyes and took a small bite, pretending not to notice the way his expression softened as he watched you with quiet satisfaction.

Theo took a bite of his half as he watched you eat with downcast eyes and that’s when he realized that cracking through your walls might take time, but he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

He finished eating (his stomach still growling with hunger that he ignored) and wiped his hands on a napkin, glancing toward the window. “So,” he said, his voice casual but laced with excitement, “how about Central Park next?”

You looked and nodded. “That could work. I can get some good footage there.”

“Perfect,” he said with that usual burst of energy, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Lead the way, New Yorker.”

You rolled your eyes but did exactly that, weaving through the crowded sidewalks with ease. The city was busier than usual that day, but you moved through it with muscle memory as you sidestepped tourists without breaking pace. You occasionally walked backwards so you could film Theo, who was following close behind, his hood pulled up and his camera in hand, constantly getting distracted by random things he saw.

“That shop has a 2 for $50 deal!”

You didn’t even glance over. “Those souvenir shops overcharge Theo.”

He pouted but continued walking. 

After several more blocks, you descended the steps into the subway station. Theo’s eyes darted around curiously as the rumble of trains echoed through the tunnels. You filled your MetroCard and motioned for him to follow, moving quickly.

You entered the car just before it closed and it was packed. You immediately adjusted your camera strap and glanced for space. Theo spotted a single open seat near the center.

“Sit.” he said, nodding toward it.

“I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “You’re carrying the camera. Sit.”

You sighed but obeyed, sinking into the seat. He stood in front of you, one hand gripping the metal rail above, the other with the tripod resting against his side as the train lurched forward.

You looked up at him, intending to tell him to hold onto something properly, but your words caught in your throat. The way the low subway lights hit his face, the faint grin playing on his lips, and the loose strands of hair falling into his eyes made him look unfairly attractive. 

Theo caught your gaze almost immediately. His grin widened just a little and he caught the way your lips parted slightly before you changed your expression and turned toward the window.

“Something interesting over there?” he asked, voice light but teasing.

“Just checking how many stops we have left till we need to get off.” you said quickly.

“Mhm.” he hummed, clearly amused, and he swore he could see a light blush dust your cheeks.

When the train stopped at the next station, the doors slid open and a group of passengers shuffled out, pushing Theo closer toward you. He braced himself with one hand on the railing, his legs bumping lightly against yours.

You froze for a second, pretending to focus on an ad but your heartbeat betrayed you, a steady, quickened thrum.

Theo didn’t say a word, but the small, knowing smile on his face said everything. He knew you liked to pretend like nothing affected you, but he could see clearly that this was, and he was loving every second of it.

You shifted in your seat, crossing one leg over the other to create some distance. You told yourself that you were just being polite, it wasn’t about him, or how good he looked hovering above you, or the way your pulse hadn’t slowed since he first caught you staring.

Because you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that he was attractive, all the members were in their own way. 

But something about Theo just bothered you.

That was the excuse you gave yourself, anyway.

The train slowed again, and the crowd thinned. Theo shifted back slightly, giving you space, though his gaze never wavered.

When you finally stood, your voice came out a touch tighter than you intended. “Our stop’s next.”

He smiled, effortlessly casual. “Lead the way, Sunshine.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother to correct him, mostly because your throat felt too dry to even try.

It was warmer by the time you reached Central Park, the sounds of the city fading into the soft pounding of joggers’ feet, and the occasional bark of a dog. Theo stopped beside a stand of rental bikes, eyes lighting up like a kid at an amusement park.

“Bikes,” he said, pointing at them as if you couldn’t already see. “Can we ride them?”

“We can do whatever you want Theo.”

As you paid for two bikes, he glanced over with a trace of concern. “Are you sure you’ll be okay filming while riding? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You gave him a dismissive look. “Don’t worry about me.”

He chuckled under his breath, watching as you adjusted your camera strap and climbed onto your bike. “Okay, but if you wipe out, you have to put it in the behind-the-scenes reel.”

“Not gonna happen.” you said, pushing off before he could get another word in.

Theo rode ahead so you could record him, arms stretched out like he was flying, the wind catching in his hair. You followed close by, catching quick shots of him turning around to flash you a grin or shout something you couldn’t quite hear over the breeze.

“Come on, slowpoke!” he called once, circling back to ride alongside you.

“I’m literally filming.” you said flatly.

“Put the camera down for a second. Let’s race!” he teased as he sped off.

You muttered under your breath about his happy energy and how annoying his loud laughter was. 

At one point, you slowed near a quiet stretch of path lined with trees turning gold. Theo rode ahead a little, the sunlight catching on his face as he threw his head back and laughed.

You lifted your camera instinctively. Through the camera he looked so carefree, you felt something stir in your chest. The corner of your lip twitched just barely.

When he turned and caught you filming, he grinned and waved at the camera. He then motioned for you to catch up with him.

As you neared him he called out to you, posing dramatically. “Did you get my good side?”

“Which one?”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest in mock offense. “That was cold.”

“It was a genuine question.” you corrected.

Theo laughed, the sound bright and effortless as the two of you came to a stop near a large patch of open grass. “Alright, alright,” he said between breaths. “You win. My ego and my legs are officially tired.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be athletic?”

“Don’t mock me. I’m delicate.”

You huffed and pointed toward a shaded area beneath a tree. “Let’s sit there. It’ll look good on camera too.”

Theo followed you over without complaint, tossing himself dramatically onto the grass as you recorded him. You knelt to frame a few shots of him leaning back, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight dancing across his face. You recorded different parts of the park as well. 

You got a few clips of him gazing off toward a couple playing with a frizz bee before he turned his head to you. “You should sit. You’ve been filming nonstop. You’ve earned a break.”

“I’m fine.” you said automatically, still adjusting your lens.

“Sit.” he said again, more firm this time.

You sighed but finally lowered yourself onto the grass a short distance away, keeping a comfortable, professional gap between you. You glanced down at your camera, already flicking through clips.

“Of course,” Theo muttered with mock exasperation. “Do you know what break means.”

You ignored him.

That is, until his hand suddenly reached out, plucking the camera right from your grasp.

“Hey—!” you started, eyes wide.

He held it just out of reach, smirking. “Enjoy the moment. Look, trees, birds, fresh air! Enjoy nature, Sunshine.”

You scowled. “I’m here to work, not to relax.”

“I don’t care.” he said simply, lounging back onto one hand and holding your camera away like a taunt.

“Theo, seriously. Give it back.” You reached for it, but he quickly shifted, laughing.

“Say please.”

You glared. “Give. It. Back.”

“Didn’t sound like ‘please.’”

You leaned in again, trying to grab it, but he kept moving it just out of reach, his laughter getting louder every time you missed. Finally, he leaned farther back, bracing on his elbow with that infuriating grin still plastered on his face and before you realized it, you were leaning over him, your hair falling slightly forward as your fingers grazed the edge of the camera. 

You froze. Your eyes flicked up to his, close… too close, and for a split second neither of you moved. His smirk softened, eyes flickering over your face like he’d just realized the same thing.

Your breath caught, and you quickly pulled back, muttering, “Fine. Whatever.”

You sat down again, arms crossed tightly over your chest, refusing to look at him.

Theo chuckled softly, victorious. “See? Isn’t this nice?”

You shot him a sharp glare but he only grinned wider, leaning back on his elbows again in satisfaction.

Theo stretched out on the grass, letting the sunlight warm his body, before finally turning toward you. “So… did you use to come here often when you lived in New York?”

You shook your head, looking out at the path ahead. “Not really.”

He tilted his head, curiosity still in his voice. “And… do you prefer Korea over—”

You cut him off, voice low and serious. “Theo.”

His grin faltered, and for a fraction of a second, the usual brightness that seemed to radiate from him dimmed slightly.

You met his gaze. “Why do you keep asking about my past?”

He exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I want to get to know you.”

You let a small shrug escape, eyes returning to the trees. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to pretend to care.”

That seemed to hit him harder than you expected. He blinked, mouth opening slightly, caught off guard. “I’m… not pretending.” he said quietly, the faintest edge of hurt in his tone.

“Then… why do you want to get to know me better?”

He had no answer. The silence stretched, the air suddenly thick with tension. Theo chewed the inside of his cheek, clearly searching for words.

You noticed it immediately and softened slightly, though your expression remained serious. “Really, it’s okay.”

“I… I’m sorry,” he said finally, quiet and sincere. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with the questions. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to overstep your boundaries.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak, watching his posture tense slightly. Then, after a moment, he stood abruptly, brushing off his hands on his pants. He forced a smile back onto his face, a little too wide and manufactured.

“Anyway,” he said, stepping toward your bikes. “we should return the bikes and go get lunch.”

You followed silently, feeling a twinge of guilt twist in your stomach. You’d shut him down quickly and dismissed his curiosity as if it were nothing, even though… maybe he was genuinely interested.

As you pedaled back toward the exit, your thoughts ran wild. Maybe he really had wanted to know you. Maybe he cared.

And then, just as quickly, the familiar walls in your mind came back up. He was just being kind, you told yourself. He didn’t actually care about you. It was just… politeness.

You tightened your grip on the handlebars, forcing your face into a neutral expression, convincing yourself that it was fine.

But a small, stubborn part of you couldn’t shake the quiet pang of regret at his forced smile. 

You returned the bikes and Theo bounced slightly on his feet as he asked, “Are you craving anything.”

You shrugged. “If we’re in New York, we should probably eat pizza.”

His eyes lit up. “Pizza? Perfect. Lead the way.”

You guided him through the bustling streets toward one of the city’s iconic 99¢ pizza joints. The smell of baking dough and melted cheese hit immediately as you stepped inside.

You set up your camera as he grabbed a slice, the gooey cheese stretching almost ridiculously as he lifted it. He made exaggerated faces while taking a bite as you recorded the cheese pull.

After finishing, you wandered through the streets again, following him with your lens. Theo dragged you into a few stores, letting you film as he tried on all sorts of ridiculous things. He kept laughing at himself in the mirror and sometimes at you, clearly enjoying the chance to just be a normal person for a while.

Then you spotted a small vintage guitar shop tucked between a cafe and a record store. You pointed it and Theo’s eyes practically sparkled. “Let’s go in here.”

The bell above the door jingled as you entered, and Theo looked around in amazement. The worker noticed and said, “Go ahead, play whatever you want.”

He didn’t hesitate. He picked up a Sunburst Stratocaster first, strumming a few chords before moving on to a more worn acoustic. You stayed off to the side, camera in hand, watching as his playful energy lulled to a calmer one.

He looked so at peace while he played. You could tell just from watching him how passionate he was and how natural it felt for him. The shop’s amber lighting wrapped around him, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the soft focus in his eyes as his fingers moved effortlessly across the strings.

You adjusted the camera, zooming in slightly, trying to pretend that this was purely for work. But the truth was, you couldn’t look away. He felt different in this moment compared to the Theo he’d been the rest of the day. You felt like you were getting a real glimpse into him. 

He started humming a song under his breath and you lowered the camera slightly, caught off guard by his soft vocals.

When he finished the song, his fingers stilled on the strings, and the last note lingered in the air like a held breath. He looked up and met your eyes.

You realized you’d been staring, but you didn’t look away this time.

His lips stretched into a small, almost vulnerable smile that made you blink slightly. 

Then, as if it were completely natural, he returned his attention to the guitar, letting the strings sing under his fingers some more.

You swallowed hard, trying to shake the flutter in your chest. You felt ridiculous. You were supposed to be documenting his trip, not… whatever this was.

You lifted your camera again, hoping it could hide your expression. 

“You sound good.” you managed to let out, voice quieter than you intended.

Theo looked up again, a spark of amusement lighting his face. “Yeah?” he asked, still strumming. “You think so?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone casual even as your heart betrayed you. “Not too shabby.”

He grinned at that, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “High praise from you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling bubbling in your stomach. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” 

Then he looked back down at the guitar and started to play a lighter, happier tune this time. You turned around when you felt yourself smiling, and he caught sight of your reflection in a glass case, his pulse racing at the fact that he made you smile. 

It hit him then, how strange it was that someone could feel like a storm one moment and like calm the next.

And as you turned back to watch his fingers glide effortlessly over the strings, you thought, maybe for the first time in a long time, that letting someone in might not be as terrifying as it used to be.

—

You left the shop with Theo grumbling over wishing he could buy the guitar.

“Well if you wanted it so bad you should have bought it.”

“But I already have one I have to carry for tour.” he said dramatically, glancing back at the storefront as if the instrument might levitate to him.

“Okay well too bad then.”

“You’re mean…” he muttered.

You continued your walk of the city, filming Theo as you go. 

When you turned a corner, a crowd had gathered around a group of street dancers, and you stopped to watch.

“Whoa…” Theo muttered, eyes wide with amazement as he took in the performance.

His smile stretched from ear to ear, that kind of unfiltered happiness that made him look slightly juvenile. When one of the dancers pulled off a particularly impressive spin, Theo turned toward you, eyes bright. “Did you see that? That was insane!”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by how animated he looked. The corners of your lips twitched, a thought sneaking in before you could stop it, cute.

You immediately shook it off. Nope. Not going there.

He tossed a few bills into the open guitar case at their feet. As you continued your walk Theo spotted a coffee shop and turned to you. “Want to grab some coffee?”

You sighed. “Whatever you want.”

He led you to the shop without a response. Theo held the door open for you, giving you a cheeky little bow when you passed.

“Such a gentleman.” you said unimpressed.

“Only for you.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was cheesy.”

“So,” he said, stepping up to the counter. “Some cheesy things are nice.”

You shook your head at his words, and went to grab a table while he ordered. You set your camera down and quietly began replacing the drained battery.

By the time you snapped the new one into place, Theo was back. He slid into the seat across from you, placing a drink in front of you with a casual grin.

You looked up at him, then down at the green liquid in confusion. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

“I know,” he said simply, already sipping from his own straw.

You blinked. “Then why—”

He just shrugged, eyes twinkling with that annoyingly smug satisfaction.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the drink. “How do you even know I like matcha?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You always drink it on shooting days.”

You hated how he said it so casually, as if it was totally normal to pay attention to something like that.

“Oh.” you said simply, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

You wrapped your hands around the cup, hesitating for a second before taking a small sip. It was exactly how you liked it, not too sweet, perfectly smooth.

Theo leaned back in his seat, watching your reaction with a small, knowing smile.

“It’s good, right?” he said, all too pleased with himself.

You took another sip, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s fine.” you muttered, but the satisfaction in your tone betrayed you.

A few quiet seconds passed, as you sit in silence. Then under your breath, you mumbled, “Thanks.”

Theo smiled wider. “You’re welcome, Sunshine.”

You sighed deeply at the nickname, but this time, you didn’t have the energy to correct him. You just took another sip of your matcha, pretending not to notice the way he was still looking at you, like he’d just uncovered something about you no one else had.

—

When you exited the coffee shop, Theo sighed beside you, stretching his arms above his head.

“I can’t think of anything else to do,” he said, glancing at the sky that had begun to turn orange.

You slowed your steps, hesitating. There was one thing you thought of. A place you hadn’t been to in years since your last visit. You looked down at your watch. If you left now, you could just make it.

Theo noticed your expression immediately. “What’s up?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, debating for a moment before saying, “I know a spot to watch the sunset.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“If we walk fast, we’ll make it in time.”

Before he could ask anything else, you turned sharply. “Come on. No time to explain, just follow me.”

Theo blinked, startled, but quickly fell into step behind you, laughing under his breath. “You’re very mysterious today, Sunshine.”

You ignored him, weaving through the evening crowd, your pace brisk. Every few blocks, he asked where you were going, and every time, you just shook your head. “You’ll see.”

As the sun dipped lower, you started jogging lightly. Theo laughed, his breath coming out in short bursts beside you. “You’re seriously making me run through Manhattan right now?”

“Do you want to see it or not?” you called back, holding your camera steady as you slowed just enough to capture him mid-laugh. His grin was wide and loud, pure, genuine happiness. You had to bite back a smile of your own.

You turned down a narrow alleyway and stopped in front of an old brick building. The door was padlocked, but you knelt and pulled it open just enough to slip through. Theo stared at you, eyes wide.

“You’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “Relax. I’m not gonna kill you.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” he muttered, but followed anyway.

The stairwell was dusty and smelled faintly of old paint. You climbed quickly at first, but by the fifth flight, you were pausing to catch your breath.

“This better be worth it.” Theo huffed behind you, dramatically leaning on the railing.

“Stop whining,” you said, panting a little. “We’re almost there.”

When you finally reached the top and pushed open the heavy metal door, a rush of golden light spilled through and Theo fell completely silent.

“Holy…” he breathed, stepping forward.

From the rooftop, the city stretched endlessly in every direction, the skyline bathed in a soft amber glow. The sun was halfway gone, sinking between the skyscrapers, turning every glass surface into molten gold.

You smiled faintly, your chest tight but full. “Told you it was worth it.”

Theo turned to you, his eyes wide, a disbelieving grin on his face. “This is unbelievable.”

You lifted your camera and began shooting him immediately.

After a few minutes, you let the camera hang from your neck and stepped up to the ledge, leaning against the barrier as the city stretched beneath you. Theo joined you know, clearly full of questions.

He glanced at you. “How’d you find this place?”

You froze for a moment, that old, familiar tension flickering in your chest. But before he could take it back, you said softly, “I spent a lot of time alone as a kid. Did a lot of exploring.”

He nodded slowly, but didn’t interrupt. The fading light air brushed your skin in a pretty red hue, and he found himself memorizing the moment and how calm and open you looked, even if it was only a little.

You exhaled softly, almost to yourself. “It really never gets old. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” he said, gaze fixed on you.

He turned back to the skyline as silence settled between you again, but this time it was comfortable. The hum of the city below was distant and muted as if the world had shrunk to just this rooftop and the two of you.

After a moment, you spoke, your voice quieter now. “Hey… about earlier. At Central Park.”

Theo blinked, caught off guard. “What about it?”

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the edge of the rooftop. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You were just trying to be nice, and I—” You sighed, searching for the right words. “I overreacted.”

Theo’s expression softened. He leaned slightly closer, resting his forearms on the barrier beside you. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said gently. “I was being nosy.”

“You were being curious,” you corrected, glancing at him briefly. “There’s a difference.”

He smiled faintly at that. “Still. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You shrugged, staring out at the skyline again. “You didn’t. I just… don’t really open up to people that easily.”

“I noticed,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head as he laughed, leaning forward to rest your chin on your hands. 

Theo took a deep breath beside you, then with a certainty that made you glance his way, he said quietly, “You will.”

You tilted your head, one brow raised. “I will what?”

He turned to meet your gaze, his plump lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smile of his. “Open up to me eventually.”

You blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” he hummed, the corners of his mouth tugging higher into a confident grin. “Im very charming. You’ll break soon enough.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You’re insane.”

He threw his head back and laughed, loud and carefree, the sound echoing faintly against the nearby buildings. When he looked back at you, there was a spark in his eyes.

“You’ll see.”

He sounded so sure of himself. You shook your head, pretending to focus on the skyline again, adamant on holding back a smile.

If he noticed, and you were sure he did, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there beside you, both of you bathed in the last light of the setting sun.

—

When you both got back to the hotel, the sky was dark and lit up by the city lights. 

Theo stretched his arms above his head with a groan. “Well,” he said, glancing at you with that familiar lopsided smile, “Thanks for your hard work today.”

You took the hand held camera from him and replied casually, “Just doing my job.”

He made a low sound of protest, shaking his head. “You seriously can’t just take a compliment, can you?”

You shot him a small, amused look but didn’t answer.

Inside the elevator, the two of you stood side by side. The soft hum of the mechanics filled the silence until Theo spoke again.

“I had a lot of fun today.” he said, his reflection catching yours in the mirrored walls.

You stayed silent, staring straight ahead.

After a moment, he turned so he was standing directly in front of you, brows raised. “What?” you asked flatly.

He tilted his head. “Did you have fun?”

“It was alright.”

Theo squinted, unconvinced. “Alright?”

“Yeah.”

He folded his arms, that playful stubbornness glinting in his eyes. “Be honest.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “I am honest.”

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you immediately tried to step past him but he shifted just enough to block your way.

“Theo,” you muttered warningly.

“Just answer the question!” he insisted, his grin threatening to break through.

You rolled your eyes, gave him a light shove, and managed to squeeze past. As you walked off, he called your name.

You turned, eyebrows raised.

Theo’s expression eased, the teasing fading. “Did you have fun with me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, hopeful and shy beneath the confidence.

You blinked at him, heart skipping for just a moment. The elevator doors began to slide closed, and before they shut completely, you managed a simple, “Bye, Theo.”

He stood there, staring at the metal doors long after they’d sealed shut.

When he finally made it up to his shared room, Jiung was sitting on his bed reading a book. He looked up immediately. “What took you so long?”

Theo blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The rest of us got back hours ago.” Jiung said, giving him a surprised look.

Theo paused, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Guess we lost track of time.”

He washed up and got ready for bed, the earlier events replaying in his head. 

He had just climbed into bed when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it lazily then froze when he saw your name on the screen.

A single message.

I did.

Theo smiled so hard his cheeks ached. He flopped back onto his pillow, phone pressed to his chest, and muttered into the dark, “Knew it.”

—

In your hotel room, you sat at the tiny desk, plugging in your sd card, the familiar chime echoing as your folders began populating the screen. Theo’s card sat beside yours, waiting its turn.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your sore shoulders as progress bars filled the screen. The silence in the hotel room felt peaceful compared to the hustle and bustle of the city. As your mind drifted, you caught yourself thinking that, surprisingly, the day really hadn’t been half bad.

You turned back to your laptop just as the first few clips appeared in the preview window. You clicked on a random video and watched Theo’s grin as he strummed the guitar happily. He looked so carefree and in the privacy of your room you watched as you smiled. 

Then you slid Theo’s SD card into the reader.

Folders popped up instantly and you began transferring the footage. As they loaded, one of the thumbnails caught your eye.

You leaned forward to look at it and you froze, it was you.

Curious, you double-clicked.

The video opened to shaky footage of you riding your bike through the park, your hair whipping in the wind as he followed behind, laughing softly under his breath. You could hear his voice faintly. “Look at her go…” he mumbled, amused.

Your heart stuttered.

You scrolled down to another video. This time, you were crouched in the park, capturing b-roll of the scenery. Theo’s camera zoomed in slightly. You heard him hum quietly, almost absentmindedly, before whispering something you couldn’t make out.

One clip turned into two, then three. Each one was the same, him filming you without you realizing.

You furrowed your brows, your stomach tightening at the unexpected discovery.

You hovered over your phone for a moment, thumb ready to type out a message. But after a long pause, you set it back down and shook your head.

“Don’t overthink it.” you muttered to yourself.

You finished the transfers, organized the folders, and shut the laptop with a soft click. The room dimmed, lit only by the amber glow of the table lamp.

As you slid beneath the sheets, the quiet returned. But your mind didn’t rest. It replayed flashes of laughter, of sunlight over his hair, of that boyish grin that shouldn’t have been stuck in your head as much as it was.

The last thing you thought about before sleep took you was his voice humming softly.

—

The next day you were able to sleep in a bit before heading to the venue that they were playing at that night. You arrived with your camera slung over your shoulder and ready to shoot some BTS content. 

You got to their dressing room, stepping in and bowing while greeting the staff and the boys that were present. 

A chorus of hellos greeted you back, but your gaze stopped when Theo’s head lifted from where he was sitting on the couch. His face brightened instantly, that familiar grin stretching wide.

“Hey,” he called out, motioning you over with a wave.

You walked over, trying to ignore the way you could feel your cheeks warming under his gaze. You mentally cursed your body for the reaction.

“Morning.” you said, keeping your tone neutral as you fumbled with your camera.

“Morning,” he echoed, eyes bright. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” you replied quickly.

He nodded, his grin lingering. “How’s the footage looking?”

“Really good,” you said honestly. “I think the video’s going to turn out great.”

He looked pleased by that, leaning back against the couch. You hesitated as you debated whether to say what was on your mind.

Finally, you did. “By the way… I noticed some of the footage you took yesterday.”

“Oh yeah,” he said casually. “Actually, can you give me the SD card when you’re done with it?”

You blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I want to save the videos.”

You tilted your head, confused. “Why?” you repeated.

This time, his grin widened, lazy, playful, and it made your stomach flip.

“Because,” he said simply, eyes locking with yours, “you looked happy in them. Pretty too.”

The room suddenly felt smaller, but you could sense Jongseob and Jiung were listening to your conversation. You blinked, caught completely off guard, and Theo just smiled. 

Your cheeks heated instantly. You shifted your weight, trying to mask the way your pulse jumped at his words. “I still don’t understand why you’d want to keep them.” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Theo tilted his head, like he was debating whether to tease you or give a real answer, but before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door and their manager poked his head in. “Soundcheck in five.” he called.

Theo stood, brushing off his pants. “Guess that’s my cue.”

You crossed your arms, watching him warily.

He turned just before leaving, that same faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t delete them, alright?”

You scoffed, trying to play it off. “I will.”

“Don’t.” he said, voice gentle before he turned to go.

As he walked out of the room, Jiung and Jongseob exchanged looks with silent amusement. You rolled your eyes and huffed out a breath but your face still felt warm long after Theo disappeared down the hallway.

You made your way down to the venue floor with a few of the staff, camera in hand and badge swinging against your chest. The arena was mostly empty, lights half-dimmed, the sound of instruments being tuned echoing faintly through the space.

The boys were already on stage, mics in hand, testing the sound as the techs adjusted their levels. Theo’s laughter carried easily, rich and warm through the speakers, and before you realized it, your lens was pointed directly at him.

They ran through a few verses, Theo’s voice effortlessly smooth and he turned to joke with Intak between songs. The sight made something tighten and twist pleasantly in your stomach. You hated it.

You lowered the camera slightly, pretending to check your settings, but your eyes still drifted back to him and his grin and the faint sheen of sweat on his temples under the stage lights.

God, why did he have to look like that doing nothing?

You shook your head, willing the thoughts away. You were here to work. You forced your attention to the rest of the members, capturing shots of the band and stage crew, anything to keep yourself focused. But your camera always seemed to drift back to Theo.

And when he finally caught your gaze from the stage, he grinned and waved at you and you quickly turned the camera away, heat rising to your cheeks.

Annoying. That’s what he was. Completely and utterly annoying.

The rest of the day, you did your best to avoid him.

It wasn’t exactly easy and  Theo seemed to appear everywhere, but you kept your distance, keeping conversations short and professional, always pretending to be too busy to talk.

By the time you got back to your hotel room that night, exhaustion had set in. You pulled your laptop onto the bed and started editing. Hours passed without you realizing and the coffee you bought to keep you awake had gone cold. The clock blinked 12:57 am when your phone buzzed beside you.

You picked it up, squinting at the screen.

Did you eat yet?

You frowned. 

Why?

A few seconds later, his reply came.

You ask that too much. Just answer the question.

You rolled your eyes at the reply.

No. I’ll eat later.

He read the message immediately but didn’t respond.

You sighed and tossed your phone aside, muttering under your breath, “Why is he even texting me?” You tried to refocus on the footage again, dragging clips into the timeline.

When a knock suddenly echoed from your door a few minutes later, you froze.

You glanced at the clock, 1:04 a.m. Who would knock at your door this late?

Another knock.

Setting your laptop aside, you got up and padded over to the door, looking through the peephole.

You furrowed your brows and cracked the door open. “What are you doing here?”

Theo looked annoyingly energetic for someone who’d just performed in front of thousands of people. “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ You said you’d eat later. It’s already 1 am.”

Your eyes widened. “You came all the way here to—”

“Come on,” he interrupted, grinning. “Let’s grab something quick. I checked google and there’s a 24-hour diner a few blocks away.”

You blinked at him, confused. “Aren’t you tired from the concert?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to read whatever ridiculous logic was fueling this. But part of you figured… maybe a quiet walk through the city one last time before heading to the next stop wouldn’t be so bad. You knew you wouldn’t be back in a while.

“Fine.” you said finally.

Theo’s face lit up instantly. “Good. Let’s go. You don’t need to bring anything.” He turned to leave, clearly expecting you to follow.

“Wait—I just need to change.” you said quickly.

He stopped, turning back to you with one brow raised only for his gaze to drop automatically. His eyes flicked over the oversized hoodie you were wearing, down to your long bare legs, and his mouth twitched into a smug grin.

“Yeah… you probably should put on some pants,” he said casually. “It’s pretty chilly out.”

You scowled at the insinuation that you weren’t wearing anything underneath, grabbing the hem of your hoodie and yanking it up just enough to show the pair of shorts you had on. “I have shorts on.”

That only made his grin widen. His eyes darted back down lingering a second too long and your cheeks burned at his gaze. “I’ll be back.” you muttered quickly, and before he could tease you again, you slammed the door shut. 

You pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants, ran a quick hand through your hair, and opened the door again.

Theo was leaning against the wall across from your room, phone in hand, but he immediately looked up when you stepped out. His lips curved into that now too familiar smile. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He straightened and led the way down the quiet hall. The sound of your footsteps echoed faintly against the patterned carpet as you entered the elevator.

“Is anyone else coming?”

He shook his head. “Just me.” Then, a moment later he added, “That okay?”

You simply hummed in reply.

True to his word, the diner was only a few blocks away. The air outside was crisp, the streets nearly empty except for the occasional taxi or late-night wanderer. The neon sign of the diner flickered in warm red and white, reflecting faintly on the wet pavement from an earlier rain.

Inside, it smelled like coffee and pancakes. There were only a few other people scattered around, an old man reading a newspaper, a couple sitting close in a booth, two tired-looking students sharing fries.

You and Theo were seated by a window. The vinyl seats creaked as you sat down across from each other, menus sliding between your hands.

Theo leaned forward, brows scrunched as he focused on the English words. When the waitress came over, he asked her a couple of questions about the burger he wanted, stumbling through his phrasing with that charming determination that made him oddly endearing.

When she left, you couldn’t help but comment. “Your English is getting better.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Barely.”

You let the silence settle after that, both of you gazing out the window. A man walked past, hands in his pockets, followed by a couple laughing quietly as they disappeared down the street.

Eventually, your food came. The clinking of plates broke the calm as you each thanked the waitress quietly.

Theo took a bite of his burger, then leaned back. “So,” he began, “how are you liking touring so far?”

You swallowed a bite of your sandwich before answering. “I’m grateful,” you said honestly. “It’s… nice, getting to travel, especially for free. And I like how busy it keeps me.”

He nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you find it stressful?”

You shook your head. “No. Especially not compared to you guys.”

He tilted his head curiously.

“I mean,” you continued, “I can only imagine how much pressure it is to perform every night and meet everyone’s expectations.”

Theo’s lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. “It’s gotten easier over the years,” he said. “But yeah. In the beginning? It was tough. Really tough. It took a while before we felt confident enough on stage to not be nervous for every performance.”

You nodded, listening quietly, your gaze flickering between his face and the reflection of city lights in the window. You could tell by the way he spoke that he really loved what he did.

“This is also our longest tour yet,” he added after a moment. “Do you ever feel homesick?”

You paused mid-bite, then slowly shook your head. “Not really.”

His brows lifted slightly. “You don’t miss your friends or family?”

You hesitated, eyes dropping to your plate. “There’s not… many people to miss.” you said quietly, then bit into your sandwich again, hoping the motion would end the conversation.

Theo’s expression softened instantly. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than before, just a little bit sad.

You let out a small, awkward chuckle, hoping to shake off the heaviness that had settled over the table.

“You don’t have to look at me like that.” you said lightly, trying to sound nonchalant.

Theo blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” you clarified, giving him a half-smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could, you tilted your head, studying him. “Is that why you’re talking to me more than usual?”

His reaction was immediate, “No, not at all!” he said quickly, leaning forward slightly as if to make sure you believed him.

You hesitated, then asked, softer this time, “Then why?”

It reminded you of the park the day before when you’d asked the same question but with sharpness in your tone, trying to push him away. This time, though, it came out quieter, genuine, and curious.

Theo chuckled under his breath, the sound low and easy, diffusing the tension that had crept between you. “Is it that hard to believe that I just want to get to know you?” he asked, eyes glinting under the warm diner light. “And to be friends.”

His words made your chest feel oddly tight. You looked away from his gaze, focusing instead on your plate. “Well, I’m not good at having friends.” you murmured.

He shook his head immediately. “That’s not true.”

You looked up, and his expression was firm. “I get it,” he continued. “It might be harder for you to open up. That’s okay. But I just… genuinely want to be your friend. I think you’re cool, you know?” he spoke with a shrug.

That made you blink. “It’s that simple?”

He grinned, leaning back against the booth. “Yeah. It’s that simple.”

You found yourself nodding slowly, still processing his sincerity.

Theo took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully before looking back at you again. “You know, I know you like to keep your distance from everyone at work.”

You frowned slightly, unsure where he was going with this. He noticed and added quickly, “I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just… you’re always so formal. Professional. Like there’s this invisible wall between you and everyone else.”

You picked at a fry, pretending not to care even though his words hit closer than you wanted to admit.

He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you with quiet sincerity. “But you don’t have to be like that all the time. Not with us.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, his tone gentle. “I don’t know why you are like that,” he said honestly. “But I do know that there are a lot of people who’d also want to be friends with you. You just have to take it easy sometimes… not be so closed off.”

You felt your throat tighten a little. In your head, a dozen memories flashed, all the moments that shaped the way you were. The times when being too open had backfired. When your kindness was mistaken for weakness. When trusting people only led to disappointment.

You wanted to tell him all of that. To explain that it wasn’t just a choice.

But instead, all you managed to say was, “It’s hard.”

Theo nodded immediately, as if he understood more than you expected him to. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know. But just try, okay?”

You looked back at him and at his small, encouraging smile. The reassurance in his eyes told you that he wasn’t asking for anything in return, just your effort, and something inside you eased just a little.

“So,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he reached for his burger again, “friends?”

Your cheeks warmed at his tone, half teasing and half earnest. “Sure.” 

“Good.” he said, satisfied, and took another bite of his burger.

Back at the hotel and in the elevator, he clicked the button for only your floor. You reached out to click the button for his and he stopped you, saying he wanted to walk you to your room.  You tried telling him it was unnecessary, but all he did was shoot you a look, lips twitching. “Shhh.”

You sighed but didn’t argue, too tired to. The silence in the elevator only made you more aware of how close he stood next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. 

When you reached your floor, he followed right beside you until you stopped in front of your door. You turned to face him, feeling a little awkward now that you arrived and he was still standing there.

“Okay,” you said, fumbling for your keycard. “You can go now.”

Theo let out a small laugh, clearly amused by your stiff tone. His eyes sparkled as he tilted his head slightly. “You’re so awkward, it’s really cute.”

Your eyes widened. “What??”

He just grinned. “Goodnight.” he said, taking a few steps back before turning around and walking down the hall.

You stood there for a second, processing, before shaking your head. “Irritating.” you muttered under your breath.

Inside, your suitcase sat half-open on the floor, clothes spilling out in a mess of exhaustion and procrastination. You looked at it and groaned softly. “I’ll wake up early.” you told yourself, kicking off your shoes and climbing into bed.

The room went quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. You lay there staring at the ceiling, and without meaning to, your mind drifted back to the sound of Theo’s voice.

So friends?

You sighed, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

Why not, you thought. You’d known been with the team for months already, and everyone else on the crew seemed so close.

It wouldn’t hurt to be more friendly with them.

Only a little, you told yourself.

—

The next few weeks of tour passed by in a similar manner. It was a blur of early mornings, flights, and busy schedules. The change in your demeanor was gradual after your conversation with Theo. You were still your same old self,  focused, reserved, and brooding, but it showed in small ways. 

You started hanging back more with the crew instead of immediately retreating to your hotel room. You laughed more at the jokes that were told and engaged in more meaningful conversations with them. The crew picked up on the shift especially when you began to feel more at ease. It wasn’t a huge transformation, but to everyone who had gotten used to your quiet professionalism, it was enough to make their hands tilt in question.

And with Theo… well.

He had made it his mission to linger in your space as much as possible. No matter the situation, he always seemed to end up near you, tossing comments your way that had you rolling your eyes. And every day, he pushed a little further.

During rehearsals, he’d always find a reason to stand near your camera. 

“Shouldn’t you be, you know, rehearsing instead of bothering me?” you’d say without looking up from your viewfinder.

Theo would grin, leaning just enough into your shot to be a nuisance. “I’m giving you good behind the scenes footage.”

“Or ruining everything I’m recording.” you muttered dryly, trying to adjust the focus.

He backed away slightly at your sarcasm. “You always look so serious. It’s kind of intimidating.”

You glanced up at him now. “Good. Maybe you’ll leave me alone.”

He grinned. “Not a chance.”

And for some reason… you were starting to not want him to.

The following week, the “solo day in NYC” videos went live and the response to his video was… overwhelming, to say the least.

You scrolled through the comments: 

“This lowkey felt like a short film.”

“Why do I feel like I am there with him.”

“You can tell the person behind the camera really understands him.”

You scrolled through them in bed that night, your stomach twisting strangely. You hadn’t meant for it to come across that way, you’d just captured him how you saw him in the moment.

Later that day while you were backstage helping the crew set up, Theo approached you. His expression was sheepish, his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket.

“So, uh,” he began, glancing at the camera in your hands, “I watched the NYC video.”

You didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, then broke into a small, sincere smile. “It turned out really good. Like… really good.”

You snorted. “It was all you, I just filmed.”

He laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, seriously. You have a talent. The way you filmed and edited it, seriously you’re so talented.”

His words caught you off guard. Compliments never sat easily with you, and you weren’t sure what to do with the warmth that spread in your chest.

You shrugged lightly, eyes flicking toward him. “Well, thank you.”

The first time Theo really felt like he was breaking through to you was a few days later. You were all sitting backstage in a dressing room. The others were sprawled out, half-asleep or watching videos. Theo sat across from you, fidgeting with a phone tripod.

Without warning, he pointed the camera at you. “Say hi to the vlog,” he announced.

You looked up, deadpan. “No.”

“Come on, it’s just for me.”

“You’re so annoying.”

Theo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Annoying? Me?”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yes. You.”

He turned to Keeho who was lounging on the couch scrolling through tiktok. “Keeho, do you agree? Am I annoying?”

Keeho didn’t even look up from his phone. “Absolutely.”

You giggled at that, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Theo turned back to you instantly, catching that sweet little laugh like it was a rare melody. A smile tugged at his lips, softer than his usual teasing grin. “It’s funny,” he said, tilting his head, “the first time I hear you laugh, it’s when I’m being insulted.”

That only made you laugh harder as your shoulders shook a little. His expression was a perfect mix of disbelief and amusement, and the more bewildered he looked, the harder you laughed.

He leaned back in his chair, still smiling to himself as he watched you try to catch your breath. Through all the teasing, he felt triumphant. 

It didn’t take long for the others to notice.

Theo wasn’t exactly subtle, they had all quickly noticed how much he seemed to be hanging around you. 

One night they were having dinner together in one of their hotel rooms when they confronted him.

“Okay,” Keeho said suddenly, his tone playful but suspicious. “I’m just gonna say it — what’s going on between you two?”

Theo froze mid-bite. “What do you mean?”

Jiung smirked from where he sat on the floor, leaning back on his palms. “Come on. You’ve been glued to her side lately.”

“And we all noticed how she’s changed a bit these past few weeks,” Intak added, grinning. 

“How so?” Theo asked, crossing his arms.

“She smiles more,” Keeho said immediately, pointing his chopsticks at him. “Like, way more. You realize how rare that used to be?”

Jiung nodded. “Yeah, and she actually talks to us a lot more, too. You got her to loosen up.”

Theo tried to hide his grin, staring down at his plate. “Maybe she’s just more comfortable with everyone now.”

“Uh-huh,” Keeho said, raising a brow. “Or maybe it’s because of you.”

Intak leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Be honest, hyung. Do you like her or something?”

The room went quiet. Theo’s fingers drummed lightly on the table as he thought for a moment. Then, with the same casual tone one might use to comment on the weather, he said, “Yeah.”

All three of them froze mid-chew.

“Wait— what?” Keeho blinked.

Theo shrugged, pretending not to notice their reactions. “Yeah. I do.”

Jiung’s mouth fell open slightly. “You’re serious?”

Theo gave a half-smile. “I mean… since she started working with us, she’s just been… I don’t know, interesting to me. I tried to talk to her before, but she never really gave anyone the time of day.”

Keeho chuckled, nodding. “Oh, I remember that. You’d say hi and she’d just nod and walk off.”

“Exactly,” Theo said, laughing softly. “But after that day in New York, when we hung out— I don’t know. I saw a different side of her. She’s funny, smart, and she actually talks to me now so that helps.”

Intak tilted his head. “Do you think she likes you back?”

Theo hesitated, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “She’s hard to read. But I’m not gonna do anything about it.”

“Why not?” Keeho asked.

“Because she just agreed to try being friends,” Theo said simply. “I’m not gonna mess that up.”

The others nodded slowly, the teasing fading into understanding.

“Fair enough,” Jiung said. “Still, it’s kinda wild seeing you like this.”

Theo only hummed, pushing rice around his plate, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts lingered on you and he wondered if you could ever feel the same way.

You slowly began opening up to him more, something Theo did not take for granted.  

One night, you found yourself sitting alone by the hotel pool, the water reflecting the soft lights above as your thoughts wander. You were so engrossed in the sight that you didn’t notice him walking up until he was right beside you.

“Taeyang.” you said automatically, turning to greet him.

He froze mid-step, caught completely off guard by the sound of your voice using his real name. His brows lifted slightly, and he looked at you, trying to hold back a smile.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, noticing his reaction.

He chuckled softly and sat down beside you, leaning back on his hands. “You… said my name.” he said simply, eyes still on yours.

You felt your cheeks heat up immediately. “I heard someone in the crew say you like it when people call you that.” you mumbled, looking down at your hands.

He nodded, smiling lightly. “I do.”

You gave a small nod in response and quickly turned your gaze back to the shimmering water, trying to hide the blush creeping across your face.

He leaned a little closer, tilting his head. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

You shrugged lightly, your gaze still fixed on the water.

“Something on your mind?” he asked gently.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to give him your usual “nothing,” but there was something in his tone that made you feel brave enough to say it. You looked up at him, meeting his expectant gaze, and finally admitted, “It’s my birthday.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment he just stared at you. “I… didn’t know.” he said quietly.

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s not a big deal.” you murmured, forcing a small smile.

Theo didn’t push or say anything else, simply settling into the quiet beside you. He let you take your time, giving you space to open up at your own pace.

After a long pause, you exhaled softly, finally letting your guard down a little. “Since I was young… my parents were always busy,” you began, voice low. “And over the years… they just… stopped caring about birthdays. So I… I don’t really like to celebrate.”

Theo listened quietly, his gaze fixed on you, silent but attentive.

You continued, a bitter sort of laugh escaping you. “I… foolishly stay awake as long as I can… hoping they’ll call or remember. But they never do.”

He didn’t interrupt, just kept his eyes on you, his comforting. You could feel that he wasn’t judging, wasn’t trying to fix anything, he was just… there, letting you speak.

You hesitated for a moment, the words feeling heavy on your tongue, but the quiet patience in Theo’s gaze gave you courage. “I… I guess this is why I am the way I am,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “A lot of it comes from… neglect, I guess. From parents who were always too busy to notice me, or too wrapped up in their own lives to care.”

He nodded slowly, encouraging you to continue without a word.

“I moved around a lot as a kid,” you continued, the memories stirring a mix of frustration and sadness. “Different cities, different schools… never really settling anywhere. I never had the chance to make friends or attachments, because everything always felt temporary. So I… I learned to keep my distance, to not get close to anyone. It just… felt safer that way.”

Theo leaned slightly closer, his presence steady but not intrusive. “That sounds… really hard.” he said quietly, his tone gentle, but there was no pity in it.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah… it made me… closed off and distant… I guess I built walls so I wouldn’t get hurt or disappointed.”

You took a deep breath, finally letting your gaze meet his. “I… I guess I’m telling you all this to say that I shouldn’t let it affect me anymore. And… you helped me realize that I don’t have to be like that. So… thank you.”

Theo blinked at you for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden softness in your voice. He shook his head lightly at your words. “You don’t have to thank me.”

You give him a small smile and turn back to the water as the two of you sit in silence, just enjoying each other's presence. 

You gave him a small, teasing smirk. “Don’t get used to me being this sentimental.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.”

You glanced at the sky, the stars just starting to peek out. “We should probably get some sleep.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah… probably.”

You pushed yourself up from the edge of the pool, brushing off your hands. “You coming?”

“I’m gonna hang here for a bit.”

You nodded and gave him a small smile. “Alright. Goodnight, then.”

You head up to your room started your usual bedtime routine, your mind still replaying the conversation by the pool. Just as you were about to set your phone down and drift off, a notification lit up the screen: Theo.

Are you awake?

You blinked, fingers hovering over the keyboard before replying: Yes.

A moment later, another message popped up: Open your door.

Confused, you got up and slowly opened your door. There he was, holding a cupcake with a single candle flickering softly. You froze, your heart catching unexpectedly.

“Can I come in?” he asked gently, his tone careful, almost afraid you would say no.

You nodded, stepping aside, still wide-eyed. He entered your room, cupcake in hand, and you followed, your curiosity warring with your shyness. He hesitated for a moment, scanning your face before a soft, reassuring smile broke across his features.

“Your birthday does matter,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “Your life is worth celebrating, and it doesn’t matter if you or anyone else doesn’t see it that way… because I do.”

You were rooted to your spot, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. He cleared his throat gently and began to sing Happy Birthday, his voice low and soft. Step by step, he closed the distance between you, his gaze never leaving yours.

When he finished, he stood just in front of you, holding the cupcake with the flickering candle. “Make a wish.” he prompted, his smile bright but gentle.

You looked into his eyes for a long moment, your chest tightening, before finally glancing down at the candle. With a small breath, you blew it out. Theo’s grin widened as he set the cupcake on the table and when he turned,impulsively, you wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened slightly, caught off guard, but then slowly returned the hug, his hands sliding around your back. He held you there firm against his chest, as if trying to shield you from all the disappointments of past birthdays.

Your head rested against his chest, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. After a moment, you pulled back slightly, and he noticed the glimmer of tears in your eyes.

“Hey…” he murmured softly, brushing one away with his thumb. “I didn’t want you to cry.”

You shook your head lightly, your voice trembling. “That… that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Before you could stop yourself, you pulled him back into another hug. This time, there was no hesitation. He tightened his arms around you, burying his face lightly against your hair. His warmth, his presence, and the gentle weight of his body made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

You stayed there for what felt like an eternity, letting the quiet comfort between you settle. 

—

The final stretch of tour came quickly, and exhaustion was setting in for everyone, even the brief moments of downtime felt fleeting. You could feel the weight of it all settling over the group, everyone was looking forward to finishing and finally getting a little rest.

You tried to show your support for everyone as much as you could in little ways, especially with Theo who was particularly tempered by the fatigue he was trying to hide. 

You quietly passed him snacks when you noticed he was skipping meals. You made sure his water bottle was always full, placing it within easy reach without making a fuss. When he paused to catch his breath or wiped sweat from his brow, you offered a quiet smile or a small nod of encouragement.

In the back of your mind you also caught on to the slightest change in your dynamic, though you kept it exactly there, in the back of your mind. You caught him looking your way constantly, and though you pretended to focus on your own work, you felt the warmth of his attention. He’d lean slightly closer when discussing anything or quietly brush his hand against yours when handing something over, just little touches here and there. 

He also became bolder with his teasing, playfully nudging you or smirking whenever you did something small for him.

“You've been spoiling me recently.” he’d joke when you handed him a water bottle or passed him a snack.

You’d brush it off with your usual defense, tilting your head and saying, “Don’t get used to it,” or “I’d do this for anyone.”

He never seemed deterred. In fact, his teasing seemed to grow alongside the subtle gestures you continued to make for him, like a game neither of you fully admitted to playing. 

And though you pretended to be indifferent, there were moments when his attention made it impossibly hard not to feel it deep in your stomach, a reminder that your small acts of care hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You and Theo spent more time alone than you even realized at first. Late-night talks in one of your hotel rooms, quiet morning walks, sneaking away for coffee and matcha runs. 

You talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes, he’d ramble about his interests, other times you’d sit in silence. 

One day when you were walking back to the hotel he said, “You know, I thought at one point you were kinda mean.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow thanks.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, listen, now I know you’re actually the sweetest person, you just pretend to be all ‘I’m so mean and stoic. Grrr’.”

You looked at him in disgust. “First of all I don't sound like that. Second of all, when have I ever growled??”

He burst out laughing, delighted at your reaction. “Come on, admit it,” he teased, leaning closer. “You’re so sweet.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Before you could react, he looped an arm around your shoulders from behind, resting his chin near your temple. “You can’t fool me,” he said with a smug smile. “I know you like hearing it.”

You squirmed in his hold, trying to shake him off. “Get off, Taeyang!”

He only laughed harder, holding on just a second longer before finally letting go. You shot him an exasperated glare, but the tiny smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

—

It was finally their last show, and this time you watched from the crowd as the boys took the stage for the final time.

Theo caught your gaze more than once, and every time, your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. You’d seen them perform countless times, but this one marked the end of your first tour with them and it felt bittersweet. 

When the confetti began to fall during their encore, you slipped backstage before their final song ended. The sound of the crowd still rang through the air when they ran off stage, flushed and breathless, laughter and cheers filling the space. Staff members handed them flowers and a cake while everyone shouted congratulations.

You stood off to the side, smiling softly at the chaos. Then Theo’s eyes started scanning the room until they landed on you. His grin widened instantly, bright and genuine, and you couldn’t help but clap for him.

When things began to settle, he made his way toward you, sweat still glistening on his temples.

“Congrats,” you said, your smile widening. “You did it.”

“Don’t I deserve a hug then?” he asked, half-teasing, half-hopeful.

You blinked. “Is that… necessary?”

He didn’t even bother replying, just pulled you into his arms before you could protest. You squirmed at first, muttering something that was drowned out by your lips pressing against his chest, but your resistance melted fast. His arms were warm and solid around you and without realizing it, you squeezed him a little tighter.

When you finally pulled back, your face was flushed, but your tone was sincere. “Seriously, though—you guys were amazing. The whole tour, not just tonight. You should be proud.”

His teasing expression softened. “Thank you,” he said quietly, meaning every word.

Someone called his name from across the room, pulling him back to reality. You gave him a gentle nod. “Go,” you said. “Enjoy the moment. You earned it.”

He hesitated for a second, part of him didn’t want to leave, but then he smiled at you one more time before walking away, disappearing into the sea of celebration.

— 

The company arranged a rooftop dinner celebration and small party for everyone at the hotel and you all changed and freshened up before heading to the roof. 

When you got up there, most people had already arrived. The rooftop was buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Fairy lights crisscrossed above the tables, and the warm evening breeze carried faint traces of music from the speakers.

You glanced around, spotting clusters of staff and members talking. You made your way to the drink table and poured yourself something cold, taking a moment to enjoy the small reprieve from the chaos of the past few weeks.

When you turned around, your eyes met Theo’s from across the space. He was standing with Soul and Intak, laughing at something they said until he noticed you. His grin faltered and you waved lightly. His gaze trailed down your body, over your dress and down to your heels, a little too noticeably, before you turned and walked toward another videographer you worked closely with. You could practically feel his eyes on you as you chatted, pretending not to notice.

When it was time for dinner, you sat with some of the staff while Theo joined his members at another table. You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but every so often, you’d catch that same heavy gaze lingering your way. You’d look up just in time to see him glance away, poorly pretending to listen to Keeho talk.

After dinner, the music picked up as people danced and sang. You stayed for a while, smiling, nodding, taking it all in, but it wasn’t really your scene. So after a few more minutes, you quietly slipped away toward the elevators.

You pressed the button and stepped inside. The doors had nearly closed when a hand darted through the gap, forcing them back open. Theo stumbled in, a little breathless, one hand braced against the wall.

You blinked at him. 

He huffed, straightening up with a small pout. “Were you avoiding me?”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“You didn’t talk to me all night.” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and genuine offense.

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “I wasn’t avoiding you, Taeyang.”

He nodded slowly. “Why are you leaving early?”

You shrugged, pressing the button for your floor. “It’s just… not really my vibe. What about you?”

His answer came easily. “Because I’d rather be with you.”

You froze, heat creeping up your neck. You quickly covered it with a roll of your eyes and a fake yawn. “What if I don’t want to hang out? I could use some sleep.”

He leaned back against the wall with a grin that was far too pleased. “Then that’s not my problem.”

You turned away, cheeks warm despite your best effort to seem unfazed, as the elevator hummed quietly around you.

You reached your room and swiped your keycard, holding the door open for him. Theo hesitated for a second before stepping inside, the soft click of the door closing echoing through the quiet room. He slipped off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair, and rolled up his sleeves. You tried not to look but your eyes still flicked to the movement, catching the veins along his forearms before you quickly turned away.

You needed air.

Crossing the room, you pushed open the balcony doors and stepped outside. The night breeze met you immediately and it cooled your burning skin. You leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the flutter in your chest.

A moment later, you heard the door slide again. Theo stepped out, his hair slightly tousled from the wind. He sank onto the small couch near the railing, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked out at the view. For a few quiet moments, neither of you said anything.

You finally turned toward him, resting your arms on the railing. “How are you feeling?” you asked softly. “Now that it’s over, I mean.”

He tilted his head back, thinking. “Relieved,” he admitted, exhaling with a faint laugh. “But it’s always sad when a tour ends.”

“Yeah… I get that.”

He looked up at you, his expression softening. “What about you? How was your first tour with us?”

You smiled faintly, eyes glimmering at the memories from each city and country visited. “Incredible,” you said after a moment. “I’ll never forget it.”

He hummed in reply and you gazed up at the sky.

When you finally turned your head back, he was still watching you, the faintest curve of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze lingered on your hair, your eyes, the way the moonlight shone down over your face.

“You look beautiful.” he said quietly.

You froze, heart skipping a beat, unsure what to do with the warmth creeping up your neck. Before you could even think of how to respond, Theo’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night,” he said, voice low, “just so I could tell you that.”

You tried to brush it off, mumbling something about him being tired, but he stood up from the couch and stepped closer, until he was in front of you and your back was pressed against the railing. The quiet between you thickened. 

“I mean it,” he said again, firmer this time. “You’re beautiful.”

You glanced away, trying to collect yourself, but his gaze didn’t waver. He looked down with a small, shy smile before admitting, “I’ve always thought so. Since the first time I met you.”

That made your breath catch. You turned back to him, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

He looked up again, meeting your stare. “You know,” he continued, leaning in just a little, “I had a little crush on you back then, when you first started at FNC. But every time I tried to talk to you…” He chuckled softly. “You’d shut me down.”

You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the still air. “Sounds like me,” you murmured, half-embarrassed, half-amused.

Theo hummed in agreement, his smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. But you’re not the person I thought you were.” His voice lowered, quiet and sincere. “You’re kind. And gentle. And sweet. And caring…”

He trailed off, eyes falling to your lips before he spoke again, barely above a whisper. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as he leaned in, slow enough to let you pull away if you wanted to but you didn’t move.

“Tell me to stop…” he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin.

You didn’t say a word.

So he closed the remaining space, pressing his lips softly, almost hesitantly, against yours.

He started slow and tentative, but as the kiss deepened, you found yourself melting into it. Your hands moved without thinking, clinging to the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. He felt warm and solid beneath your fingers.

Theo pulled back just enough to let you breathe before pressing his lips to yours again, harder this time. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your jawline. You moaned into the kiss, feeling your body flush further with heat.

He walked you back slowly, hands coming up to massage lightly over where your back had been pressed against the railing while simultaneously fitting your body snug against his. He sat down on the couch, pulling you on top of him in the process.Your hands rested on his shoulders as you kissed, until you had to pull back for a breath. His lips transitioned to your neck, trailing kisses down your throat and you arched your back towards him, offering him more access, and he took it, his tongue dancing along your skin.

"Taeyang…" you moaned out his name, barely recognizing it as your own voice.

He smiled against your neck, kissing lightly as he mumbled, "You sound so pretty." 

You pulled his lips back against yours, kissing him deeply. Your hands slid around his neck, tugging gently at his hair. He groaned into the kiss, arching against you. But suddenly, doubt began to creep into your mind. Wasn’t this happening way too fast? What if you were letting yourself get too close? You weren’t used to anyone actually caring this much, and the thought of being so vulnerable made your chest tighten.

And then the familiar whisper of self-doubt followed: Why would he even want this? He probably doesn’t really care about me, he’s just being nice. 

Your lips were beginning to stutter against his, hands loosening in his hair. The warmth of the moment with him felt real, yes, but your mind kept pulling you back, reminding you of the walls you’d built and the years of being overlooked. You tried to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, stubborn and insistent.

What if he changed his mind? What if he got tired of you, just like everyone else eventually did? The fear of being left behind clawed at the edges of your mind.

And deeper still, memories of past hurt surfaced, flashes of all the times you had been disappointed, ignored, or abandoned, making your chest ache. Every instinct screamed to pull back, to protect yourself before it was too late, even as your body ached to stay close to him.

Theo’s brow furrowed as he noticed your sudden stillness, the tension in your body. “Hey… are you okay?” he asked softly, reaching out.

Something inside you snapped back into the harsh reality of your fears. You climbed off him quickly, pressing your back against the balcony railing, putting as much distance as possible between the two of you as your breaths came fast and shallow.

Theo rose immediately, concern etched across his face, taking a careful step toward you. “What happened? Did I—”

You raised your hand, shaking your head slightly. “No… you… you should leave.” you said, voice tight, trembling despite your effort to sound steady.

His confusion and hurt flashed in his eyes. “Wait… what did I do wrong?”

You felt your chest tighten, tears threatening to spill over. “Theo… please,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Just… leave.”

He stood there, frozen for a moment, his gaze lingering on yours as if searching for some clue. Your own eyes watered, guilt twisting through you because you could see how much you were hurting him, even as you were trying to protect yourself.

Finally, Theo nodded slowly, his jaw tight, shoulders heavy with the weight of your words. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you rooted to the spot.

Once the sound of his footsteps faded, you sank to the floor, your back against the railing. Your hands trembled as you brought them to your face, gasping for air, trying to calm your racing heart—but the dam broke. You cried, silent sobs wracking your body as the mixture of fear, guilt, and longing surged through you.

Even with him gone, the ache of what you wanted and what you feared twisted inside you, leaving you raw and trembling on the balcony, all alone.

You only managed to get an hour of sleep before your alarm went off. Your eyes felt heavy, head pounding from exhaustion and from everything that had happened the night before. You dressed quietly, movements robotic, forcing yourself to focus on packing up your last few things before heading downstairs to the lobby.

The group was already gathered when you arrived, the boys clustered together with their luggage. Your heart jumped when you spotted Theo among them, also visibly tired, his hair still damp from a shower. You quickly averted your gaze, mumbling a brief greeting to the staff before busying yourself with checking your bag to distract yourself.

You didn’t look at him once.

Even when you could feel his gaze flickering toward you, pleading for you to look at him, you pretended not to notice. You kept your focus on the floor, on your phone, on anything that wasn’t him. The tension between you was heavy.

At the airport, things didn’t get easier. You walked ahead of the group when you could, always finding a reason to sit far from them, to double-check your equipment, to scroll mindlessly on your phone. Thankfully, the seating arrangements for the long flight home put the boys in first class while you and the staff sat in economy. For the first time, you were grateful for the uncomfortable seats.

You spent most of the flight pretending to sleep, headphones in, trying to drown out your thoughts, but every time you closed your eyes, you saw him again. The confusion in his face. The hurt. .

When the plane finally landed, everyone looked exhausted but relieved to be back home. The group gathered near baggage claim, chatting quietly as they waited for the company cars that would take them to the building where their own cars were parked.

You stood apart from them, your hands gripping the handle of your suitcase, the weight of the last twenty-four hours pressing down on you. You couldn’t take it anymore, the proximity, the guilt, the way your heart twisted just knowing he was nearby.

So, before anyone could say anything, you turned and started walking toward the exit.

He called your name.

Your heart clenched at the sound of his voice and the desperation behind it. You froze for a split second but forced yourself to keep moving, speeding up your pace until you slipped through the automatic doors and out into the cool air.

Behind you, Theo stood still, watching you leave with a heavy expression, fist clenched tightly by his side. The only thing he could do was wonder if he’d pushed too far, or if he’d ever get the chance to fix what went wrong.

The company had given everyone a well-deserved week off after months of nonstop traveling. Normally, you would have been grateful for the break, taking the chance to catch up on sleep, to rest your body, maybe work on a side project. But instead, it only made the quiet of your apartment feel unbearable.

You tried to distract yourself with editing, with cleaning, with anything that could keep your mind busy. But your thoughts always drifted back to him. The way he laughed. The way he’d hover near your camera during rehearsals. The way he would always try so hard to make you feel wanted. You hadn’t realized how used to being around Theo you’d become until now, when his absence felt like a hollow space you couldn’t fill.

But you ruined it.

You told yourself it was for the best, that it would’ve happened eventually anyway. He would’ve gotten tired of you, of your walls, your distance, your inability to let anyone stay too close for too long. That’s just how things always went.

Still… you couldn’t help but hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d text. Or call. Or send some dumb picture like he used to. But your phone stayed silent, and the longer it did, the more reality began to set in.

By the third night, the loneliness became almost too much to manage. The quiet of your apartment pressed against your ears until you felt like you were on the verge of a breakdown. Eventually you started to wonder how you’d gotten so used to being like this, so accustomed to isolation that it had become your normal.

Without Theo, without his light, his warmth, the darkness around you felt colder and so much harder to escape.

You mentally prepared yourself as much as you could to be back in the FNC building. You had no filming schedules with the boys that day, but you knew they’d be there.

When you arrived, you headed straight to your office, keeping your head down and your earphones in as if that alone could make you invisible. You buried yourself in editing, putting together clips from the tour your eyes blurred and your shoulders ached. You didn’t even leave for lunch, too afraid of running into him in the halls. 

When the building finally began to empty and the lights dimmed, you packed your things and lingered a little longer just to be sure. By the time you stepped into the quiet hallway, it was nearly dark outside. The only sound was the soft hum of the air vents and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You reached the elevator, pressing the button with a shaky hand. You waited for the elevator to reach you, and the metallic doors slid open, revealing the only person you had been avoiding.

Theo.

The second his eyes met yours, the world seemed to still. Neither of you said a word. Seconds passed, stretching painfully into what felt like hours.

Your throat tightened, and before you could think twice, you turned sharply, deciding to take the stairs instead. But before you could take a step, his hand wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you in just before the doors closed. You stumbled from the force, your chest colliding with his. The familiar scent of his cologne engulfed your senses, a scent you'd missed more than you cared to admit, and it made your heart race.

You immediately pushed yourself off him, your breath unsteady as you refused to meet his eyes. The enclosed space of the elevator didn't help, and you wondered what you did in your past life to deserve this torment.

The elevator ride down is silent and suffocating. The hum of the machinery fills the cramped space, and yet it feels deafening. Neither of you say a word, and somehow that makes it worse.

When the doors slide open, you rush out immediately, desperate for air and distance. But his footsteps echo behind you.

He says your name so softly, so quietly, and this time it stops you in your tracks. You turn around slowly, your heart pounding as you finally meet his gaze.

And that’s when you see what you’d done to him. The exhaustion in his eyes. The sadness sitting heavy on his face. The faint slouch in his posture.

His voice is gentle when he finally speaks. “Can we talk?”

Something in his tone cracks through your defenses. It’s not angry or demanding… just tired. So tired that it makes your throat tighten. You fight to keep your expression unreadable, to slip back into that calm, unbothered version of yourself that he used to know.

“There’s not much to say.” you manage.

He shakes his head slightly, eyes locked on yours. “That’s a lie.”

You open your mouth, then close it again, and just as you’re about to turn away, a loud growl erupts from your stomach.

The sound echoes embarrassingly in the quiet lobby.

Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush instantly, burning hot as you look away.

Theo blinks, and then his brows knit together. “Did you… eat today?”

You want to lie. You want to tell him yes, that you’re fine, that he doesn’t need to worry. But the truth slips out before you can stop it. You shake your head, eyes still averted.

He exhales softly, nodding once. “Let’s go eat.”

You open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. So instead, you just nod faintly and follow him, your steps quiet beside his as you both make your way into the street. 

You’re quiet the entire way to the restaurant. Neither of you speak, afraid that one wrong word might shatter everything. When you reach the restaurant and finally sit down, the air is still heavy, the only sound coming from the soft clinking of dishes and the faint slurping of noodles between you.

You find yourself both comforted and nervous. Comforted because his presence, despite everything, still feels familiar and safe. Nervous because you don’t know what to say, how to explain the mess in your head, or whether you even should.

When the meal ends and the bill arrives, you slip your card into the pocket but Theo just looks at you for a moment before gently sliding it back across the table. 

You stare at him, wanting to argue, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for it. So you just exhale, defeated, and let him handle it.

Once outside, the cool night air greets you. You stand together for a moment and he asks, “Do you live close?”

You nod. “Yeah, just a few blocks.”

“I’ll walk you.” he says simply.

“You don’t have to…” you reply immediately, already shaking your head.

He gives you that same look again and it reminds you of that night in New York when he walked you back to your hotel room even when you insisted he didn’t need to. You’d felt safe then. You feel that again now, and so once again you accept the defeat with a soft sigh.

The walk starts off quiet, footsteps echoing softly against the pavement. You can tell he wants to say something when his jaw flexes slightly and his hands fidget in his pockets. Eventually, he exhales and breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his tone almost uncertain. “For making you uncomfortable… that night.”

You stop walking. He keeps talking before you can interrupt. “I wasn’t planning on doing that, or even confessing to you at all. I just—” he pauses, glancing down at the ground, “—I told myself I’d keep it to myself. But I couldn’t help it.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening as you finally look at him. “Theo… you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

He turns toward you, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t want you thinking that’s why I stopped,” you say, shaking your head firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t… you didn’t hurt me. So please, stop blaming yourself.”

He studies you for a long moment, searching your expression. His voice comes out fragile this time.

“Then why did you stop?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out at first. The weight of his question lingers and you finally take a shaky breath.

“I stopped because…” you trail off, your throat tightening, “because there’s no point, Theo.”

His brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. You force yourself to keep going, even though every word feels like it’s scraping against your chest.

“I know it won’t work out. It never has with me.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, unable to hold his gaze for long. “Relationships, love, trust… it always gets messed up. It’s easier to just accept that than pretend.”

Your words come out harsher than you intended, as if you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. “I’m just… not the type of person made for being with someone. And that’s okay.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. You finally look up at him, expecting him to be angry, or maybe relieved. But instead, he just looks at you completely bewildered, heartbroken even. His eyes search yours, as if he can’t quite believe the things you’re saying about yourself.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low but full of emotion. “Why can’t you believe that you’re deserving of love?”

The words hit you like a punch to the guy. You inhale sharply, your composure cracking. The sincerity in his voice and the pain in his eyes is too much. You look away quickly, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. 

“Theo—” you start, but he cuts you off immediately, his tone firm but not harsh.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna listen to you talk about yourself like that. Like you don’t deserve love. Because you do.”

You stare at him, stunned by the sudden fire in his voice. “It’s not that simple,” you say quietly, your throat tightening again. “It’s going to be too hard, Theo. You’ll get tired or I’ll ruin it. I’m not your problem to deal with.”

“Please! Please be my problem!”

Your breath catches. He steps closer, close enough that you can see the earnest desperation in his expression.

“You keep talking like you’re some burden I’d eventually want to get rid of,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t see you that way. I never have. I already know you push people away. I know you hold back because you’re scared people will leave and you’ll get hurt.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“You don’t get to decide what I want,” he continues, taking another slow step forward. “And I’ve already decided. What I want is you.”

You blink hard, feeling your chest ache under the weight of his words. He exhales shakily, his tone gentler now.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect. I just want you to stop running from the idea that someone could actually stay. Because I’m not leaving, not unless you make me.”

For a moment, neither of you move. You can only stand there, heart pounding, eyes glistening, wondering how he could possibly mean every word, and terrified because a part of you believed him.

He steps closer until there’s barely an inch between you, his eyes searching yours like he’s afraid any sudden movements will scare you off. Then, gently, his hands come up to cup your cheeks. His palms are warm against your skin, thumbs brushing over the faint trace of tears that hadn’t fallen.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice thick with sincerity. “Just try—for me. And I’ll prove to you that this can work.”

For a long moment, you can’t speak. The quiet trust in his expression makes your head spin. Somehow, despite every fear, every wall, every doubt screaming in your mind… you nod. Slowly, but surely.

A breath of relief escapes him, and then he’s pulling you into his arms—so tight that he lifts you and your toes barely brush the ground. You sink into his hold, your hands clutching the back of his shirt.

He buries his face into your neck, breathing you in like he’s been starving for the comfort of you. His voice is low and rough against your ear. “You have no idea how hard this week was without you.”

Your throat tightens, guilt curling in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but he just shakes his head against you, his lips brushing your skin.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his hold firm and gentle all at once. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re here now.”

When he finally sets you down, you keep your eyes on him, your heart hammering. The words come out before you can second-guess them. “I’ll try.”

The smile that spreads across his face is blinding, pure, unfiltered happiness. And the way he looks at you like you’ve just handed him the world makes heat rush to your cheeks.

He tilts his head, his grin turning playful. “If I kiss you, are you gonna push me off again?”

You roll your eyes and shove lightly at his chest, though your lips are already twitching with a smile. “You’re so annoying.”

He laughs, a soft, joyous sound that melts the last bit of tension between you and before you can say anything else, his hand finds your cheek again, and he pulls you into a sweet, lingering kiss.

He pulls away just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead. The simple gesture sends warmth rushing to your cheeks, and before you can even recover, he grins and squeezes them gently between his fingers.

“You’re so cute.” he says with that teasing tone that never fails to fluster you.

You groan, swatting lightly at his chest. “Stop.”

But you don’t move away, and that only makes him chuckle, his laughter rumbling against you. He reaches down, effortlessly finding your hand, and interlocks his fingers with yours as the two of you start walking again. He swings your joined hands playfully, and even though you roll your eyes, there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.

When you finally reach your apartment, you hesitate, nerves bubbling in your chest before you blurt out, “Do you… want to come in?”

He smiles softly, his eyes lighting up in that familiar way. “Of course.”

You lead him inside, suddenly self-conscious as he takes in your space. “This place is so you.” he murmurs, and something about the way he says it makes your heart flutter.

He sits on the couch as you grab two bottles of water from the fridge. You hand him one before sitting beside him, careful to leave a respectable distance between you. He notices immediately, amusement flickering in his gaze before he simply closes the gap himself, draping an arm around your shoulders and tucking you against his side.

You try not to overthink it. “What do you want to do?” you ask quietly.

He exhales, the sound heavy and content all at once. “Just this.” he says, leaning his head back with a sigh. A yawn slips out, and you can’t help but smile.

“Tired?” you ask softly.

He nods, his voice low. “Yeah. It’s been… an exhausting week.”

You hum in agreement, then glance up at him nervously. “Do you want to… go to sleep?”

He meets your eyes and smiles faintly. “Yeah.”

You stand and motion toward your bedroom. “Come on.”

Your heart races as you lead him inside. You grab a change of clothes and mumble something about washing up before slipping into the bathroom. When you return, face washed and hair down, he’s already sprawled across your bed like he owns it, one arm behind his head, the other lazily resting at his side. His eyes are closed and you think he's fallen asleep.

You pull the covers back and climb in stiffly, careful not to wake him, your back facing him. The room falls quiet except for the sound of your steady breaths until you feel his arm slide around your waist.

He pulls you closer, tucking you snugly against his chest. Your body instantly softens in his hold, the tension melting away as his lips brush a soft, sleepy kiss against your shoulder.

[they sit across from each other, a table in the space between them. both of them look composed but visibly tense in the way only people with shared history can be. their eyes flicker up to meet in brief moments, then away again. it’s not awkward — just fragile.]

sunghoon (gently, voice slightly lower than usual) “i’m sunghoon and i’m a kpop idol.”

yn (gives a small nod, her voice soft but steady) “i’m yn and i’m a front office manager.”

sunghoon (pauses, then offers a faint smile) “we dated for… a little over three years.”

yn (nods again, looking at him for a beat) “broke up four years ago.”

[they both exhale at the same time, unintentionally. it’s a quiet, shared breath — not rehearsed, just familiar.]

sunghoon (glancing down for a second) “it was serious. we were serious.”

yn (folding her hands together, carefully) “yeah. we were.”

[there’s a pause. the air between them feels full, like something old is still sitting there.]

sunghoon (half-smiling, though his eyes don’t fully catch up) “we agreed to do this interview because… i think we both felt like it wasn’t just a relationship that ended and disappeared.”

yn (quietly, voice slightly hopeful) “and because… there’s still love there. just… not in the same way, maybe.”

[the camera lingers on them for a moment. neither says anything but sunghoon smiles softly, his eyes trained to his fidgety fingers. they just sit with it.]

question 1: why did you break up, and what were your thoughts when it happened?

yn (gently slides the headphones over her ears, not making eye contact with sunghoon as she settles in, eyes down. she gives a tiny nod when she’s ready)

sunghoon (takes a breath, then looks straight into the camera) “i ended it.”

(he pauses, not defensive — just honest. the words carry a weight he doesn’t try to soften)

“we were both in our early twenties. i was training nonstop, then debuted, and suddenly i wasn’t… just her boyfriend. i was someone people recognised. everything changed really fast.”

(he looks down for a moment, fingers curling around the edge of his chair)

“she wasn’t the problem. not even close. she was always the calm in everything. but i started thinking about how she’d be dragged into stuff just for being with me — the rumors, the online comments, people asking questions about her.”

(he shifts a little, expression unreadable)

“and i could not put her through that. she never deserves to go through any of that. i thought i was doing the right thing by letting her go before it got worse. i thought i was protecting her.”

(then, softer, quieter)

“but it hurt. a lot more than i expected.”

[he gently taps the table, signaling that it’s her turn. she slips the headphones off and slowly hands them to him, her hands just barely brushing his. they don’t say anything—just a faint shared glance. he puts the headphones on.]

yn (softly, like she rehearsed it in her head a dozen times) “he ended it.”

(she lets that hang for a moment, then nods)

“i understood why. it wasn’t a shock — not really. i could tell he was already starting to carry it before he said anything.”

(she lets out a quiet breath, barely smiling)

“he said it was for my safety. that he didn’t want me getting hurt by all the things that came with his job. and i believed him. i still do.”

“but i think… part of me hoped he’d at least ask me what i wanted. and i would’ve stayed. no matter how hard it got.”

(she presses her fingers together in her lap, steady but quiet)

“when it ended, it felt like someone had paused my life. like i was just… waiting for it to un-break, for it to undo.”

(she glances over at him, just once)

“but it never did.”

[sunghoon pulls the headphones off slowly. his jaw clenches for a second, and he doesn’t look at her right away. she doesn’t press. the silence between them is thick, but not bitter. just full.]

camera crew “thank you both for being honest.”

question 2: what did you think of them then… and what do you think of them now?

yn (quietly nods when he said he’d go first, sliding the headphones on. she adjusts them without looking at sunghoon, but he’s already looking at her — quiet, eyes soft. the camera crew notices and subtly zooms in.)

sunghoon (sits back slightly, still watching her as he speaks) “back then… i thought she was everything i didn’t know i needed.”

(he smiles to himself, just a little)

“she was calm where i was anxious. steady where i was all over the place. she made me feel… normal. like, i could be just me with her.”

(he glances at her again, her eyes closed now, probably mouthing the lyrics to whatever’s playing. he doesn’t look away)

“and now? we haven’t exactly kept in touch but i think she’s even stronger. softer, too, somehow. she still carries herself the same — gentle, quiet — but there’s something… grown. i don’t know how to explain it.”

(he pauses, watching her with that same, unreadable fondness)

“i’m proud of her. even if i’m not beside her anymore.”

[he taps the table gently to signal her. she opens her eyes, pulls the headphones off slowly, and exhales like she’d been holding her breath. she doesn’t look at him yet. she hands him the headphones.]

yn “back then, i thought he was brave.”

(she smiles a little, like she can see the version of him from years ago in her head)

“quiet, but brave. he worked harder than anyone i knew, but never made it feel like a burden. he was thoughtful — always remembering the smallest things i said, or making space for me when i didn’t even know i needed it.”

(she tilts her head slightly, not looking at him, voice calm)

“and now? i still think he’s brave.”

(she breathes out a soft laugh)

“but maybe a little more sure of himself now. more grounded. he carries a lot more than people see, and still somehow manages to keep that same softness.”

“i don’t think i’ll ever stop being in awe of the way he holds the world.”

(she tilts her head slightly, sucking in air through her teeth as if she was contemplating something)

“it looks like he doesn’t need me anymore. like he’s doing well. and i’m glad. but… it would be nice to know that he did still need me.”

[she nods at him when she’s done. he takes the headphones off, looking at her, eyes gentle — the kind of look that lingers even after the moment’s passed.]

[the camera stays on him a beat longer than usual. one of the crew members whispers behind the scenes.]

camera crew (softly) “he hasn’t looked away once.”

question 3: do you still love them?

[there’s a pause even before anyone moves. neither of them reach for the headphones right away. the air between them shifts. it’s quieter. he looks over at her, cautious. she doesn’t meet his gaze.]

camera crew (off-camera, gently) “who wants to go first?”

sunghoon (barely audible) “i can.”

[she picks up the headphones slowly. her fingers tremble just slightly as she puts them on. she presses them a little too tightly to her ears, as if bracing herself.]

[sunghoon doesn’t look away. not once. he watches her like he already knows this one is going to hurt.]

[she gives a small nod when she’s ready.]

sunghoon (his voice is quiet, careful, but unflinching) “yes.”

(he swallows hard)

“i think there’s a kind of love that doesn’t leave, even when the person does. and what i had — what i still have — for her… it’s not something time washed away.”

(he pauses, fingers laced together tightly in his lap)

“people ask if it was a young love. if i’ve ‘moved on.’ but i think the love i felt at twenty was real. just as real as anything now. and even if i’ve changed, even if she has… that part of me still belongs to her.”

(he glances at her again. she’s nodding to the beat of the music, but her hands are gripping the hem of her shirt tightly in her lap)

“do i still love her? i don’t think i ever stopped.”

[he exhales shakily, looking down. then taps the table gently. she pulls the headphones off slowly — like she already knows what he said without hearing it.]

[her eyes are already shining. she blinks quickly, once, twice. her lips are pressed together too tightly.]

sunghoon (quietly, leaning forward a little) “are you okay?”

[she shakes her head immediately. just once. no words. she doesn’t speak — only blinks again as a tear slips down her cheek.]

sunghoon (voice even softer now) “do you want to stop?”

[she shakes her head again, smaller this time. her hand goes up to quickly wipe the tear away. she steadies her breath, then finally looks at the camera.]

yn (soft, her voice wobbly at first) “yeah.”

(she lets the word sit in the air)

“i do. still. in a way that’s… hard to explain.”

(her fingers start fidgeting again in her lap, like she’s holding herself together with motion.)

“i’ve tried to let go. i’ve dated. i’ve met good people. and for a while i thought i had let it fade. that it was something i’d just tuck away in a safe little box.”

(she exhales shakily)

“but then he shows up in a song, literally and metaphorically. or like, in a memory, or i catch myself doing something he used to tease me for — and suddenly it’s there again. not loud. not desperate. just… present.”

(she smiles through it, but it trembles)

“it’s a quiet kind of love now. it doesn’t ask for anything. it doesn’t expect to be returned. but it’s there.i think i’ll always carry it. carry him.”

[she stops. her voice breaks on that last line and she doesn’t try to hide it anymore. a tear slips down, and she wipes it away again.]

[sunghoon’s eyes haven’t left her. he doesn’t say anything this time — his expression says more than words could. the crew doesn’t speak. the silence is respectful, heavy with emotion.]

question 4: do you ever think about getting back together?

[neither of them moves at first. sunghoon looks over at yn, who’s already looking down, fingers interlocked, thumbs brushing each other nervously. they both know the weight of the question.]

camera crew (gently, off-camera) “would either of you like to go first?”

sunghoon (quietly) “i’ll go.”

[yn puts the headphones on slowly this time, not avoiding sunghoon’s eyes but not really meeting them either. her shoulders are curled in a little — like she’s bracing for what’s coming.]

[he watches her again, and for a second, his jaw clenches like he’s holding something in.]

sunghoon (slowly, eyes never leaving her) “yes.”

(he pauses, like that word took something out of him)

“not every day. not obsessively. but… yeah. there are nights where i’m lying in a hotel room somewhere, hours from sleep, and i wonder what it would’ve looked like if we tried again.”

(he leans forward slightly, voice lower now)

“she was never the problem. it was me — my fear, my schedule, my world becoming too loud too fast. i thought i was protecting her, but i think maybe i just didn’t trust that love could survive it all. it was a cowardly move.”

(he takes a deep breath)

“sometimes i think about how different it would be now. how maybe i’d do things better. how maybe we could figure it out, now that we’re older. now that we know more.”

(he nods, slowly, almost to himself)

“so yeah. i do think about it.”

[he taps the table once, gently. yn takes off the headphones. her eyes are slightly glassy again, but she nods, like she already knew what he said.]

[she exhales softly and then hands him the headphones. he puts them on, folding his hands neatly in his lap.]

yn (after a long pause, voice small) “yes.”

(she presses her lips together before continuing)

“not like a fantasy. not like, ‘what if we kissed right now and everything went back to how it was.’ it’s not that kind of thinking.”

(she fidgets with the ring on her index finger — not the ring, just a simple one she wears — twisting it absently)

“it’s more like… when something really good happens, or something really awful, i still think about telling him. and then i wonder — if we had stayed together, would he already know?”

(she sighs gently)

“i think about whether we’d know how to be better this time. whether we’ve healed enough, grown enough. whether the love is still in the right shape to fit.”

(her voice dips just slightly, almost like a confession)

“some part of me will always wonder what it would’ve felt like to try again… just once.”

[she finishes and pulls the headphones off. sunghoon takes a second to look at her, lips pressed together, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes — too many feelings, too little space.]

[the camera has stopped cutting. everything now feels more still. the lights are a little warmer, more golden than they were earlier. the text has faded, and there’s only the faint sound of breath — of silence holding something fragile.]

camera crew (softly, behind the camera) “there’s… one more thing. only if you’re both okay with it.”

[sunghoon looks up. yn is already watching the crew, her brows drawn, confused but not guarded.]

camera crew (gently) “we were wondering if you’d be open to one last task… to share a kiss. just one. for closure. or… whatever it becomes.”

[silence. not tense, just heavy. yn’s lips part slightly, unsure. she looks at sunghoon — really looks at him for the first time since the beginning of the interview.]

yn (quietly, to him, not the crew) “would that feel… wrong?”

sunghoon (soft, careful) “not if it’s real.”

[they slowly stand. there’s a gentle creak as the chairs shift back. the table had been taken away. they don’t move too fast. no one rushes this.]

[they’re facing each other now. closer than they’ve been in four years. not touching — not yet.]

yn’s hands are trembling. her fingers fidget at her sides, trying to stay still, trying to ground herself. her eyes glisten again, not from sadness — just from everything.

sunghoon sees it immediately. without hesitation, he reaches out and gently takes her hands in his, grounding them.

sunghoon (his voice barely above a whisper, reassuring) “you’re alright.”

she blinks, and something soft breaks open in her chest. she nods.

he steps a little closer. one hand releases hers and rises to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then lingers gently against her cheek. she leans in first — barely. just enough. he meets her there.

they kiss. it’s not rushed. it’s not hungry or hesitant. it’s slow, careful, emotional — a meeting point of memory and muscle and everything they never said.

as they part, she doesn’t move away. her forehead rests against his. her eyes are wet. one tear slips down her cheek, and he catches it with his thumb — but his own follows almost right after, falling silently.

she lets out the smallest laugh, broken with emotion. they fall into a hug, arms around each other like they’re trying to fit years of absence into the shape of a moment.

sunghoon (his voice muffled against her hair) “i’m so so sorry, coco.”

her eyes shut tightly at the nickname, something in her face fully folding.

sunghoon (lower, barely there) “i love you.”

she doesn’t respond immediately. she swallows, hard. then her hand gently grips the back of his shirt, and her voice finally cracks.

yn (broken but sure) “i love you too.”

[the camera doesn’t cut right away. it lingers just long enough to catch them standing there — forehead to forehead, tears drying slowly on cheeks that haven’t aged the way love has.]

thank you for reading <3 —yn & sunghoon, 4 years apart, 7 years in love.

nessie 🗯️ coco is a random ass nickname i threw in there, no specific backstory i swear.

“Zoning out, hm?” A hot gust of breath sends shivers sprinting down your spine, and in an instant you’re snapping your eyes to latch onto deep, hazel ones. Choso’s. The edge of his plump lips curl slightly upwards, “My apologies, this wedding reception is quite droning, isn’t it?”

Hastily breathing, “N-no! Of course not, I…” You’re wincing when yet another wizened elder saunters up to the raised platform of your table. Probably the hundredth of the night. “-yeah, maybe a bit.”

Choso stifles out a rumbling bout of chuckles as he catches your gaze, so close now that his pearly white teeth almost nick your sensitive earlobe. “Let me take care of this, my wife.”

And when Choso shifts over to nod curtly at your oncoming guest, you couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful he is. All tall, towering lines of lean muscle, his silken black yukata wafting of heady cologne, and delicate features that made him have almost as many admirers as he did foes. 

Or, at least, delicate features that were currently twisted into something hardened. Something exactly like clan leader Kamo of all the stories. 

He’s tilting his head up, long lashes narrowed, “Elder Tanaka, a pleasure.”

“No no! The pleasure’s all mine.” The older man slurs drunkenly, and despite the way his words were just dripping with saccharine sweet politeness, years of suffering through these exact interactions had made it easy for you to spot faux niceties. Like right now. “Or should I say- the new madam’s. You must be glad to marry into a clan as esteemed as the Kamo’s.”

The plastic smile that smears all over your face is painful, and you’re biting your tongue before it betrays you. “Yes, of c-”

“My apologies for cutting in, madam.” You’re startling - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the softened fingerpads that intertwine around yours, or the utter fire curdling in Choso’s eyes. “But I must say, I am the lucky one here.”

Oh.

Elder Tanaka is more impressive than you thought - his mask of respect barely even cracks, other than the jerky twitch of one eye. Honestly, you don’t think he’s ever heard Choso speak this much ever before. Quickly gathering his bearings, “Ah- ah, of course, master Kamo! Correct as always!”

Fuck- you can’t hold back the way you roll your eyes, only remembering yourself when Choso’s engulfing hands loosen from your own to give your thigh a warm squeeze. 

“You have wedded quite the catch, of course of course.” Your unwelcome company finally, finally looks at you properly. A sneer coating his slow blinking, “I-I simply meant that considering the master’s incredible power, wealth, and options, what she brings to the table-”

“-is herself.” Choso finishes off monotonically. “And that’s all I need.”

Choso’s words were husky, his grip on you tight. And you wonder if he even realized just how hard he was clutching onto your heated skin - mountains of his palm dragging a smooth up n’ down your clothed leg.

You knew he was well-hidden underneath the lacy tablecloth, you knew that not a single elder, family member, or friend bustling about your wedding reception could see that particular touch over the dim yolky lighting. 

But something about it just made you feel hot. 

It takes you a few fuzzy seconds to realize that Elder Tanaka was still speaking - in fact, he’d even summoned over a few more members of the council to encircle your decadent table. All the more voices speaking at you rather than to you.

“-that’s what I was saying-” You’re catching croaked-out snatches of conversation, warily eyeing the way the men clap each other supportively on their backs.“-it’s about the right time don’t you think?”

Another one nods, “Jin has been waiting for so long, after all-”

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

That’s what had Choso’s high cheekbones currently dusted with a faintly blossoming rose pink. That’s what had his thickened digits dipping past your luxurious evening yukata to rover between your thighs higher, and higher- like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. 

Like he was yearning for it.

“The Kamo clan shall have an heir.” You’re interrupting their ramblings, the mere sound of your voice enough to make Choso’s fingertips twitch. Smooth skin prickling with heaps of goosebumps already when you lock eyes right with his. “As soon as my husband is ready, right?”

And Choso Kamo was brought up with the most rigorous of training, raised to never show even the barest flicker of emotion - especially one where he’s caught off guard.

But right now he knows that he looks as stunned as he feels.

Coral pink maw falling into a soft oh! dark whirlpools of his eyes glinting with something so utterly raw. The trembling tips of his fingers lurch up just the barest inch to drag a lazy line down your pussymound. 

He’s instantaneously shifting his free hand up in one, fluid motion to cover the feverishly flushed half of his face. Jaw clenching with a sharp click! of his teeth when he swipes the fat pad of his thumb down a fresh bead of your leaking slick, making such a flimsy mess of your drenched panties. Was this all for him?

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

And you’re almost letting off a slight whimper when he hastily drags his scouring hand away - that is, before every and any sound dies in your throat once your husband dips his wetted thumb past his lips and sucks. 

Subtly. 

And his voice cracks oh-so-pathetically, “R-right.”

Eyes staring deeply into yours when he parts his doughy fingertips mere millimeters to lather it with a fat wad of saliva. Your breath hitches in your chest, frantically glancing at the babbling group of men who were, thankfully, way too absorbed in themselves to notice your little…tryst.

And it’s only with all his years as a seasoned fighter that Choso’s nuzzling his soaked digits back between your jittery thighs. In a flash.

Planting exactly three soppy smack! smack! smacks! plapped onto the perfect arch of your drooling pussy. Choso’s raising his neat brows at just how those tremors make you squirm in your seat.

“Ch-Cho—so-” You’re gasping under your breath, hips repeatedly shuffling on your cushiony chair when he licks up repeated, sultry circles- no, wait, hearts along the slippery slit of your covered cunt. Up and down. “Th-they might see…”

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, baby.” He’s leaning in to pant out a murked cloud against your ear, throat bobbing with a ravenous swallow of saliva as he then probes a few stuffy fingers under your panties. “You seem stressed– Let me take care of it.”

Oh, it was a promise - and the rasping growl that bled into Choso’s tone told you that he was well and fully intent on accomplishing his little task. “Spread those pretty legs now.”

With a steady, muscular calf hooked with your own, he’s cracking your thighs evermore parted. The scorching hot press of his big, beefy forearm over your shoulders making you feel as if you’re on the verge of melting. Practically on his lap now-

“Is everything alright, master–?” You’re hearing from what sounds like somewhere over in the distance, even though you already know that it’s from right in front of you.

“Everything is quite alright.” Choso’s plush pecs vibrate with his rapid answer, and you’re finding yourself leaning your weight onto his. Huffing and puffing near the crook of his neck, “It seems the madam is just feeling a little ah…tired, right now. Continue your talk, elders.”

Tired - you couldn’t feel more riled up if you even tried.

“Ngh- Choso-” You’re sinking your teeth into your wobbly lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. High, carved chair singing off a slight creak! when you’re bucking your hips up to jostle his gluttonous fingers closer to where you wanted him the most. “-need you.”

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got. 

In simple nanoseconds, Choso’s snugly prying away your gauzy lace. Letting the too-thin fabric snap back against your sappy cunt with a teasing little swat!

Before you can blink, he’s gracing your panties with microscopic tears at just how eager he was to give your plump, buttony clit a good, hard push. Cold golden wedding ring perking up against your most tender spots. Flexible wrists bending towards an even vulgarly deep angle to keep you from escaping-

And you think you could scream, you think you could open your mouth to make a scene - before Choso beats you to it. Purring out an oblivious, “Is everything alright, my wife? You seem a little feverish.”

All the while slipping n’ sliding his fingerpads to smear your gluey pussylips open. Mazing down, down, down in a lecherous little pace to plug up your geysering entrance snugly full with two of his fattened digits. 

You’re clutching helplessly onto Choso’s thick yukata sleeve when the elders stare over at you curiously, “I-I’m fine, Ch- my husband. Just a few post-wedding jitters.”

“Awww, that’s alright.” He’s cooing from above you, words sugarcoated with such gentleness - but his hands were anything but. “M’here, m’here.” Setting out a vicious, ceaseless pace that has his manly fingers outlining numerous circles round n’ round your tight, flooding entrance. Motioning in slight, sleazy swirls all around your elastic hole just to fit inside properly. “Your dear Choso’s here, y’know? And I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Ah! Of course-” Ring out the replies, evidently your hurried-out shudders were not enough for your guests to lose interest. Or for Choso, either - because he’s just feeding your slobbering orifice with more fat inches upon grinding inches. “-producing an heir is a very integral part of the marriage contract. It’s understandable to be nervous.”

Shivering, “S-sure.”

“Mhm—” Choso’s trawling his pouted mouth down your perspiration-simmered temple, “-a very integral part. But, of course, we’ve got to make sure that my beloved wife is-” Quirking the very edge of his digits to clash right into the target of your g-spot. “-ready, after all.”

The clingy embrace of your warm cunt so cozy that it’s bumping Choso’s metallic ring further and further from his hilled knuckles to dredge out a chilling, languid massage along your channel. 

It takes everything in you to manage up a half-heartedly narrowed glare up at your chatting husband, easily conversing his way through every battering ram being placed on your pretty pussy. 

He doesn’t make a sign - he doesn’t even make a noise. Nothing except for a sharp, sudden inhale once another innocent peck at your lips makes your filthy hole fountain out a fresh lather of sickly sweet juices. 

Dripping all the way down to his wrist with thickly viscous adhesive, he’s making such a fucking mess. And a loud one, too. 

Slurp after slurp being wrenched out with every pound of his neatly cut nails patterning out little indents onto your most favorite spots - ones that have your legs shaking underneath the humid table. Choso’s bouncing his knee to drum out a staccato against the floor, just to cover up your cute little melody.

He has you going insane.

You’re pushing apart your legs to dig into either side of your chair with just how desperate you were for him. For more more more.

Bumping your thigh against one of his, and the mere touch is enough to send shockwaves down Choso’s sloped body. 

“Trying to tease me, baby?” He’s hovering over you even closer, darting out a hefty thud! of two fingertips- no, three - when did he even bully in another one - onto the goopy roof of your cunt. 

“M’not-” You’re biting out, head lolling ever-so-slightly backwards when Choso furrows his brows and pumps out copious thrusts that hit your forbidden g-spot dead on. Engulfed so deeply inside your hot core that the gentle curves of his palm smudge against your clit now. “J-just keep- talking.”

And, truly, it wasn’t just because your company was peering over the two of you expectantly - it was because Choso sounded so very hot. 

Vibrato husky with an animalistic sort of need, tremoring ever-so-slightly-

“Agreed, I would like a few sons and daughters.” Choso’s nodding along smoothly, although his full attention is focused on you. His wife. And the way your sweltering hot gummy walls clench around his bludgeoning fingers even tighter at the words. Faster. “Maybe three. Maybe five. Although, it’s up to the madam.”

In the corner of your eye, you’re catching them all staring at you, and you urgently force out a nod.

“C’mon now, answer them using your words like a big girl, why don’t you–?” He’s humming, tilting your burning face up. Faster. So that you can’t hide.

Lilting shrill just as unbalanced as your head was, “Y-yes-”

But of course, that wasn’t enough - that would never be enough. “Louder. They can’t hear you over the music, baby.”

Can’t do anything but claw down drawings of red, red lines all across Choso’s milky arms when he bustles into the targets of your honeyed spots even harder. Unsteady syllables spilling out from your lip before you can even register them, “Yes- yes. As…many as possible.”

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck. 

And those raked scratches make perfect artwork for him to admire - just as he was admiring you right now. 

It was just such a shame that the others here were, too, even if they didn’t know the complete and utter sin happening just underneath the table cloth. Sloppier. 

Choso’s kissing his teeth, broad deltoids of his shoulder positioning to hide you away from any sleazy gazes. Because they could be near, but they couldn’t see. You were his.

“Then, it’s settled-” He’s drawling, hooded eyes locked onto you. Memorizing your every minute twitch and reaction when he urges his free hand to hold onto yours on your lap. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to the outside. In fact, Choso’s snugly prying apart your silken robes to roll over your throbbing clit and pinch. “-we can look forward to an heir, soon. Right, madam?”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum.

Your head tucking into his sculptured shoulder, thighs closing with a dull clap! as your high crashes into you headfirst. You don’t need to mutter a single sentence for Choso to know.

For his eyes to widen just a fraction at the way your treacly slit only got infinitely dewier, rounded gumdrops of your slick sprinkling down in a weepy sheen all over his messy hands. Mouth going parched at the realization that you’re orgasming right here, right now. 

“O-oh? Seems my wife agrees.” Choso’s waving those elders away now, not taking his eyes off of you for a single second. It was just too adorable how you were shaking like a leaf at his side, “Well, m’glad. So- so…glad.”

Motioning your hips in such salacious semi-circles to bump up his upright fingers against your every extra sweet orifice.

Your sticky walls were so staggeringly tightly wrapped around him that it’s making his forehead bead with sweat, low puffs of air escaping with every peak he fucks you through. Every peak of white-hot pleasure that he draaags out until your guests are finally - finally - walking back to their own tables. 

“Sh-shit-” you’re mewling when Choso barely hesitates - barely even takes a quick sweep around the room to check who might be looking - before parting from your sappy cunt with a resounding squelch!

Immediately popping those viscously-glazed fingerpads into his starved mouth, he’s letting his glassy eyes sprint to the back of his head. Musing out a moan, “Fuck- fuck!”

You can only watch with an awed gape whilst Choso stares right into your heart-shaped pupils as he cleans himself off. One by one. Before trekking his lustrous fingers back over to your cunt, and measuring out a wide few inches - perhaps nine - from the base of your teary entrance up to your tummy.

“Choso…” you’re whispering, hazy eyes blinking up at him as if through molasses. “Wha’s that for?”

And Choso only grins, stray range of knuckles thoroughly bitten underneath his gleaming canines while he measures you up. 

As if he was holding back. Keeping himself sane. And the half-lided greed in Choso’s eyes told you that he’d fuck you all proper right here and right now if he could. “N-nothing- just making sure of somethin’, my wife. Making sure that you can take me.”

Oh. 

This was far from over. You were fucked. 

And you were completely and utterly sure of it even if the topic of an…heir didn’t come up for the next few days after that. 

Not that you didn’t think about it, though - it was hard not to, when your fatally notorious husband showed such a tender side of himself with his younger brothers. 

With you.

And soon enough even through all the bustling meetings and duties of a madam, you’re still figuring out a way to tell Choso that you really weren’t kidding about what you said during that wedding reception.

Sure, you were drunk on his fingers but - that wasn’t just all, was it?

But you’d sorely underestimated just how busy a clan leader could get. And before you knew it, putting off the conversation for the morning after your wedding night had turned into putting it off for the weekend. 

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks. 

All the way until you’re trudging along the winding corridors of the Kamo Estate during the most unholy hours of the night. Grumbling groggily to yourself about how you’d finally told him and it had ended supremely well - in a dream, that is.

Choso had been absent for almost the entire day today, attending an important land negotiation with a far-off clan, according to Jin. 

Now, you knew just how powerful your husband was - it was impossible to escape the legends and rumors, in fact - and you trusted him. Still, you couldn’t help but toss and turn the entire night away in your coldly empty bed as you wondered just how safe he would get home.

You’d been to such veiled conferences before, after all. 

And it’s simply pure worry that has you dragging yourself out of your king-sized bed to shuffle into the barely-lit kitchen. Stifling half-blindly in the moonlight through cabinets and coolers to find ah! Exactly what you’ve been looking for. 

Thank goodness this place was empty right now, you didn’t know if you could handle it if the chef was here to lecture you about balanced diets when you’re bites deep into your sugary, shaved icing.

And it’s exactly with this thought in mind that you hear a loud thud! emanating from the far end of the hallway. Your eyes widen, ears searching for more-

Footsteps. 

At this time? Your fingers itch towards the sparkling display of knives tucked in one corner of the granite counter. Ready to aim for that tall approaching shadow, ready to fling just as Choso had taught you when-

“Baby?”

“Oh–” Your breath comes out in a heavy gust of relief, eyes unable to tear away from the shaded outline of your husband, taking up every inch of the doorway. “It’s just you, Cho.”

It was. But there was something about Choso that seemed…different. Off. 

But not in a bad way - your eyes rover appreciatively over the tautly flexed muscles of his upper half, peeking out almost-blasphemously where he’d shrugged the upper half of his deep purple yukata off. 

Glinting bow and arrow stained with crimson, held in one tightly-gripped hand. Your nose wrinkles at the slight, dangerous scent of something metallic. Something not his. 

Yet, you can’t help but ogle the slow path of dewdropped sweat trailing down between the curvaceous bulge of his heaving pecs, bumping up and down over his washboard abs, before disappearing below-

It’s like you’re being bolted with an instant flash of lightning as soon as this happens, snapping your eyes over to find Choso’s weighty ones. And oh- the moment you do it’s like something in him melts. 

THUD!

You’re jumping when his weapons hit the floor - uncaring of whether this might alert anyone else in the household, uncaring of anything other than crossing the sizzling distance between the two of you in three urgent strides. 

You don’t even have the time to process it before Choso halts right before you and falls to his knees. Dark lashes fluttering up at you, he echoes, “Baby.”

Like a broken little mantra. 

“Ch-Choso- baby-” It’s just about the only thing you can manage out through hollowed gasps when he’s immediately digging two hands on either side of your hips to easily and pliably seat you on the icy counter. Just where he wanted. “-what’s gotten into you?”

“Dunno.” He’s garbling out, and you’re letting your boneless legs tumble further and further open to let him bury his face right at his favorite place - into your fluttering cunt. “Was jus’ thinking about you alllll day.”

And you could tell.

Because Choso’s every movement was depraved. Jerky. His sensory fingertips trembling when they card underneath your cottony sleep garments, bringing it up to his canines to rip–!

All with his mouth.

“Fuh-fuck-” You’re squealing at the sudden hit of cold air - followed very closely by a scorching hot breeze overtaking every inch of your cunt when Choso leans in and sniffs. Long, hard. Curdling out a feral keen at the back of his throat, “-that’s so filthy, baby.”

“Nothing’s filthy for me if s’you, madam.” At the glint of something slobbering and sharp, you can tell that he’s grinning. “If s’you or…her.”

He was enamored with your ready core, curving a gentle thumb down the glossy edges to give your driveling hole a good trickle of spittle. 

And Choso Kamo knew he had perfect aim - he knew he didn’t have to make a mess. 

But oh, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head just degrees to the side to let the splatters leave dripping wet splotches down your saturated folds, your inner thighs. 

Tongue so long, lolling out drunkenly to smear away that filthy excess. He’s poking heated ounces again and again back into your soppy entrance. You were practically flooding torrents of sweet, sweet juices around him, already making a mess that lacquers his dimpled chin. 

You were always so sweet - so good for him. And he can feel his ears pop already with the greedy anticipation of what he was craving to do. 

“Think you missed me, too.” He’s snickering, teeth sinking down onto the fleshy nub of your clit. It’s enough to make you want to sob. “Didn’t ya?”

Gyrating your hips in such hypnotizing little swivels off of the smooth counter, you’re feeling his candied breaths hit your gummy walls even deeper. Sloppier. Whimpering out, “Yes- yes. Missed you so badly, Cho–”

“Oh yeah?” He’s tensing up the dexterous edge of his tongue to swipe up unhurried skids of his roughened tastebuds around and around your quivering entrance. In and out. Syrupy slick leaking in heaps right as he does, Choso tilts his head back to let those gooey masses slide down his throat. “Mmm— you’re wetter than usual, baby. How badly do you want the ngh- clan leader on his knees for you, hm?”

It was true - and Choso can feel something coiling and coiling heatedly at the base of his stomach at the idea of giving you perhaps…a kid…or two to make sure you’re not so lonely anymore. 

Ah, he was pussydrunk. 

“So- too badly.” You don’t think you’d ever be babbling away like this if Choso wasn’t making out with your needy cunt like that. 

You’re tangling your fingers hastily into his dark, silken locks - gripping desperately onto his sweat-dampened scalp as you use up all your strength and push. All the way until the very tip of Choso’s button nose was meeting your pulsing clit in a harsh smooch, his chin smacking the teary ends of your cunt.

Words tremoring against the very outer ring of your puffy pussy, silvery strings of saliva n’ sap break off when Choso mutters, “Was talkin’ to her, y’know?”

Fuck. 

And you think you would be huffing and puffing about how he was talking with your dousingly wet cunt instead of you. 

That is, if you weren’t talking back to him from between your legs. 

Because the only thing louder than the slack-jawed ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with every repeated thrust of Choso’s tongue, was the sound of your soppy squelches. “Ohhh- so that’s how your day was? Tell me more…”

So loud - so embarrassing that you can feel your heart race.

And Choso’s was, too, but for a much more lecherous reason as his tongue clashes even harder to draw out those very same pretty noises from you. He was craning his ears closer - he was addicted. 

“Yeah-  yeah, tha’s right.” Choso’s groaning, eyes faltering droopily until they were almost shut at the way his husking growls only make you wetter. Well, he could help with that. Hitting your hot core with wad after weighty wad of even more sugary spit. “Thaaaat’s fuckin’ right, missed how mouthy you hah- are. My talkative girl.”

“Cho- ngh!” You’re biting down on your tongue to hold back your words when Choso raises up a hand to leave a solid spank right on your bloated pussymound. 

He’s nodding along, head lurching intoxicatedly ever closer and closer. Wiping away a glistening streak of slick painted over his blushing cheeks - his blushing cheeks. “That’s right- would’ve made a- haaaah- a whole lotta b-better points than that stupid council does.”

Before pecking a lingering French kiss on your throbbing clit like a lover would. 

And you count one, two, three- partway through four before Choso seems to remember that he’s still in the middle of his conversation with your cute cunt. It’s rude to leave her hanging, he’s pondering.

“Well-” Stringing himself away with such a pained grunt, cerise lower lip plumping out in a pout at the mere thought of being away from you. “-better points than that stupid council d-did. They won’t be making aaaaany comments ‘bout you anymore, madam.”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to flitter open, “Wh-what do you ngh- mean, baby?”

But the only response you get is a quick staccato of swats at your leaky slit, before Choso’s curling in a thick thumb past your watering lips and in to your slicked entrance. Followed by the delicious drag of his lengthy tongue doubly slipping back inside.

Thrust after thrust. 

So extensive that he was skimming across all your ridges, mapping out every sweet spot of yours on his mouth. Your adhesive walls were clinging onto him like a vice, sappy mushes making him pry apart your thighs even more through furrowed brows. 

“Jus’- just means-” He can’t even bear to speak. To break off from stretching you staggeringly open. Your legs wrap mindlessly around Choso’s ravenous head, “-means I don’t let anyone- hah- say anythin’ about my wife.” 

Without a second thought, your eyes find his splayed-out arrows on the floor. The way they were sullied with red…

Oh. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than let your head jerk backwards, muffing out slight whimpers when he alternates in such sloppy measures between swirling the fattened expanse of his tongue all over every possible spot of your gummy walls and sucking on your clit like his favorite candy.

“They won’t say- do- anythin’—” In so deep now that all you could make out were numerous wet gurgles. And the pure, unadulterated love in Choso’s tone when he twists his thumb to graze right against your bruised and battered g-spot. Hard. “Not when I love her so much.”

He’s gonna raise your kids to love you just as damn much.

And when you cum, you think you might be sobbing - you’re shaking. 

Flurries of stars bursting behind your eyes as you dig your fingers through your husband’s perspired strands. Keening out, “Fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming–”

“I know I know.” He smirks hotly against your puffy pussy lips, so close that you could feel the cratered dimple of his grin. “Yer cute cunt told me, baby– heh- wouldn’t mind being welcomed ah- home by my wife like this every day.”

He lets himself be manhandled, pulled and pushed to your every whim. One of the strongest clan leaders whimpering - whimpering - when you pull just a bit too hard to mash his cushiony mouth in a deeper kiss. 

Hot. Sappy. 

You’re still shaking with sparking bouts of heat that rush down and up your spine, legs twitching when Choso pulls away with a loudly kissed mwah! Overly exaggerated just to see that shy, fucked-out expression on your face. 

He was so unfairly pretty like this - a delicate red blush burning all over his face, eyes half-lidded like he was feverish. A shimmery spray of your juiced slick drips down his chin, his bruised lips, all the way up to his regal cheekbones. 

He made a mess. And he was wearing it like a badge of honor.

Rising up, up, up to shutter your ajar jaw and plant a drenching kiss. Choso always left your mind so melty and stupid no matter what he did. 

“Do you…do you want some hngh- sh-shaved ice?” You’re babbling with your cottony tongue, unsure of what exactly to say after something as intense as…that. 

“Nah-” One kiss. Another Two. Five. “-I jus’ had something a whooole lot sweeter, madam.”

Right now it was so quiet in your kitchen. Just you, Choso, and the gleaming moonlight illuminating his pussydrunken enchantment. Even more so than usual. 

You’re glissading your arms around his sweat-matted neck, reeling him in even closer. He smells so good, piney cologne searing your senses even despite that tint of iron. Nervously musing, “Hmmm, wonder if s’always gonna be like hah- this whenever I get…cravings.”

Well- it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say, but, better than nothing.

“Cravings, huh?” Choso’s eyes twinkle - and you’re not sure if that’s a result of the muted lighting or because of what you just said. Hopefully the latter. 

“Well- well just saying I wouldn’t mind if-”

Cutting yourself off, you’re sure it’s the latter when he rests a massive palm, warm against your tummy. Just for a split-second before tucking his big, strong arms underneath your body and propping you in an easy princess carry. “If you have cravings then I’d be the one cooking for ya, my wife. 24/7, at your feet.”

Yeah, you were fucked. 

But you never really realized just how much - just how badly - until just a few days later; seated on the polished hardwood floor of the famed Kamo archery dojo. 

It was routine for your husband to practice his pinpoint precise shooting, and by now it was your routine to watch him. 

How could you not? Because it was such a heavenly sight.

Choso’s pristine, white yukata unravelled at one muscular shoulder; showing off the rippling curves and dips of his sculptured back. Strong. His honed eyes filmed with a focus he only ever gets in bed. Adonis-like biceps bulging in a lecherous little flex when he draws the string back, back, back and lets go-

“YES!” Yuji’s resounding cheer thunders across the vast chamber with way too much volume than a six-year-old should possibly have. “Let’s goooo- big bwother hit the target again.”

A simpering smile stretches across your lips as soon as he turns to you for reassurance, gesturing out a slow nod at the way Choso keeps piercing bullseye after bullseye. “He did, your brother is very talented, Yuji.”

Humming, “When I grow up m’gonna be just like him.” 

“Of course.” You’re chuckling at his enthusiasm - the youngest of your husband’s brother’s always did have a special spot in your heart. And you can’t help but wonder when - if - you had an heir with Choso, whether they would be much the same. “You are his brother, after all.”

You’re frantically hovering your hands behind him once he bustles to a haphazard stand. Stumbling only a few times as he races over to the neat line of inventory, “Then- I’ll be just like him now.”

“Be careful!”

Ah, he really was a handful - which meant, you really didn’t expect it to go over perfectly smoothly. You’d known that simply wouldn’t have been possible as soon as you met Itadori Yuji. 

Yet, you didn’t expect everything to go so wrong in just a mere matter of seconds. 

Before you can even blink, Yuji’d tottered his way over to one particularly large, wooden bow - one used only by Ryomen Sukuna whenever he visited. Puffing out his chest as he reeled out the massively heavy weapon - overly heavy, way too much for even the most determined child-

CRASH!

“Yuji!” You don’t know who yelps louder - you, or Choso. But with your proximity, you’re the one that reaches him first, cradling the sniffling boy in your arms. 

You jostle away the weighty bow - honestly, how he even managed to lift this in the first place you have no idea. 

“Awww, don’t cry don’t cry–” You’re cooing, distantly registering the worried pants of his older brother skidding to a stop beside you. He always did have him curled around his little finger. Pushing away the pinkish curls from his forehead, “-you’re alright. See? You’re alright.”

“Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you feeling nauseous-”

“Choso.” You warn, catching the way Yuji’s eyes widen in panic. 

Taking a few deeply necessary breaths to calm down. “You- don’t do that-” Choso’s hissing, but you could practically feel the worry seeping into his tone. Thumbing slow circles on his aching shoulders, “-ask me for a bow instead.”

You have to bite back a grin - with the watery glaze taking over his eyes, you wondered who was really hurt - Yuji or Choso himself. 

“M’sorry big bwother.” Blubbering through big, pearly tears that dry salty streaks down his chubby cheeks. He’s batting those lashes in a way you’re sure gets him out of any sort of trouble. Ever. The full, merciless force of it hits your poor heart as Yuji turns to you. “Sorry, mama.”

Mama. 

Mama. 

You freeze. Choso freezes.

Hell, even the twittering birds outside freeze mid-song. 

It seems like everyone in the entire world freezes except for an oblivious Yuji who only continues inching his tiny hands closer towards that guilty bow. Clearly not having learned his lesson - but you didn’t even register that right now. 

You’re staring at Choso, only to find that he’s staring right back. Droopy eyes uncharacteristically wide, blinking rapidly - it didn’t even look like he was breathing right now. 

Maw parting and closing stupidly agape, and you’re almost tempted to reach out and check whether he’s doing okay - before he finally finds his voice again. Finally. Husking out a choked-out, “W-well- maybe we should- ah- should-” He’s turning towards his contrastingly okay younger brother, “Yuji?” 

“Big bwother!” Comes the, unfortunately, helpless answer. 

And something in his beaming expression seems to jolt Choso out of his reverie, something that makes him let out a tight nod. Scooping up the giggling boy over his shoulder, he calls out at you, “Wait here.”

As Choso walks out of the doorway, you could only watch.

Only sit there for what could be four seconds - or maybe even four hundred years - until he’d presumably dropped off Yuji at the safety of Jin. Taking steady, focused strides back to you that thud! thud! thud! right along to the beat of your racing heart.

Choso’s expression is blank - pale as if he’s seen a fucking ghost. And he doesn’t even look at you, can’t even bear to once he walks back to the thickened air of the dojo. Now pointedly alone. 

Very, very alone. 

Wordlessly, he picks up his famed bow. And you swear that you can see his practiced hands tremble. Something was happening. 

It’s like an artwork that you can’t look away from. The fluid motion of aligning a singular arrow to aim for his final, rounded target. Doughy pads of his fingers pinching the string back, back, back until it snaps!

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

You barely have the time to compute - to even suck in a gasp of surprise before your husband comes and crashes into you. It’s as if he was magnetized and couldn’t get away even if he wanted to. 

It’s a frenzy of white billowing sleeves and powerful arms, throwing you over Choso’s shoulder in only two seconds flat - much the same way that he’d done with Yuji moments prior.

Except more…urgent. 

“Choso- Cho!” You’re squealing, as he lurches into hurried treads away. Legs kicking weakly in the air, only for your stubborn self to be granted with an unapologetic spank! right on the mound of your ass. Your nose crinkles as his long, inky locks tickle your face, “What is-”

“Be quiet.” Choso’s rasping, so small that it could not have been more than a whisper. So close that you’re drinking in heady wafts of his masculine cologne. 

Something in his snarling tone makes your stomach tighten. Digits grappling precariously onto the toned curves of his shoulders, your fingertips slide down the sweltering expanse of his exposed skin. 

And only too late do you recognize the familiar pathway towards your shared bed chamber- oh. 

So that was what it was. 

And judging by the dark, primal look swimming in the clan leader’s eyes you could only hope that you made it out alive-

SLAM!

You don’t know what’s forcing you more out of your excited little reverie - the shuddered slam! of your mahogany double doors, so hard that it makes the golden hinges shake, or the way you’re thrown haphazardly on the bed. 

Like some glorified toy. One of Choso’s favorites. 

You’re throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you fall, lugging him in even closer with each springy bounce on the bedcoils. 

But closer wasn’t close enough for your husband - he’s bullying into every ounce of your personal space, caging you in between two splayed-out palms on either side of your thoroughly spinning head.

“Mama, is it?” Choso starts out. Slow. Thick. Like he was approaching a cornered prey. “Baby, I want…I want it.”

You’re blinking up at him through eager eyes, “Want what, Cho?” 

“I want an heir. I want to make you…” He gulps. The circles of his fingertips were so warm on your skin, trailing down lovingly all across your cheek. Your collarbones, your heaving tits - down to where you predictably flinched as he palmed your tummy. “-a pretty momma.”

Fawny strands of chestnut brown curtain his gaze, but you could tell just how serious he was. Just how greedy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Choso like this in his entire life. 

All you can breathe out is a crackling, “Yes.”

You said it. You finally said it after all these weeks. 

And it’s the only thing you hear before your yukata is all but torn off of you, Choso doesn’t even realize when he’s doing so. It’s melting away like butter underneath his strength, mere obstacles to where the real prize is - your gorgeous, shivering body.

Pebbles of goosebumps rise onto the surface of your flesh when he throws away those useless pieces of fabrics onto the tatami floor - you can have more newly tailored anyway. Many, many more with just how round and full you’re about to be very soon. 

He’d take care of it for you.

“Oh, madam- madam.” He’s spitting into your unfastened mouth, low growls sounding out across each four corners of your room. Held hostage by the arousal in your eyes, he can’t stop staring. “M’gonna ruin you.”

And Choso is feral like never before. 

Usually one to take his time during sex, finetuning you into it like a sultry waltz. His favorite hobby was to drive you mindlessly wild before he even thought of stuffing you full. But now…

Still not breaking his dreamy eye contact with you, Choso hooks a rapidfire finger over the cute bow-tied hem of your panties. Slurring down an oozing little snail trail of slick that laminates your jittery thighs with evidence of just how badly you wanted him. 

You feel the blistering pant of his mindless oh! fanning your features, leaning backwards with a loosened maw to admire just how glistening you are in this lighting. 

How ready.

With a low, fucked-up whimper breaking at the back of his throat, he rubs over the bloated curvature of your needy pussy. Slipping ever-so-slightly at the saturated puddles leaking out, Choso has no hesitation or shame when he tugs his fingerpads into his mouth once. 

Twice. Thrice. 

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

“Can’t-” He’s guttering out, eyes crinkling and- fuck, were those tears? “I c-”

You reach your hand up to smear away his hot rivulets of salt, and Choso stops his prattling like a broken record forced to a halt. He jolts as if your touch has just sent a zillion shocks of voltage down his spine, all the trekking trailway down to his furious, aching cock. 

Unsteady hands flinging apart his snowy robes - barely even bothering to remove them and wrench down his undergarments before you see it. You finally understand why Choso was so…restless.

Because he’s never been harder. 

Fuck being furious, his bawling cock was seething. Equally as red as the ripest of strawberries, the split-ended crown of his cockhead was just as plumply swollen. All proud inches nestled underneath his painfully-clenching breeder balls, ballooned and lush. Only the barest of your gaze is enough to make Choso’s lustrous tip twitch, laminating himself with a freshly dripping glaze of translucent pre. 

Though, it’s not like you were doing any better. 

Your gluey lips pucker and pout up at him once he’s wrangling your legs into a boneless hold. The feeling of his palms underneath your thighs are so soft - even despite his battle-hardened calluses. Worshipping. 

But the way he’s resting your legs on his shoulders, and folding you in half like a whining lawnchair is the complete opposite. Mercilessly into a-

“M-mating press-” Choso’s getting out through strangled breaths, as if the sole words had his poor sanity fraying at the edges. “-mating press- a- a-” Something he’s never tried out before. His head dips down, pearls of sweat simmering across his trembly upper lip as soon as your sticky folds leave a wet snog on his fattened mushroomy tip. Topping it with a generous heap of honeyed sap, “Well, hello there, baby. I have you in a mating press n’ m’gonna…gonna…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

Couldn’t even finish his thought before Choso was doing - body moving miles and miles ahead of his stupidly saccharine-sweet mind. 

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re letting off the keenest of whines, the edges of your nails leaving neat crescents all over his toned back. It was the perfect little present for the way he had you so split open. 

And he was barely even pushing past the tip. 

“Oh. Oh.” Choso’s grunts are throaty, as if they weren’t coming from the man himself but somewhere murked and dark inside him. And the same went for his feverish thrusts - tight, rigid little pushes past your slicked-up hole just to fit inside. He’s spitting into your slacked mouth, “C’mon- c’mon c’mon–”

Usually, it takes so long to prepare you to take his nine- no, ten inches. But currently, fast just wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a thundering slam! abovehead - only hours and hours later do you have enough brainpower to realize that it was Choso striking his palm down on the headboard - and it makes your clingy walls grip onto the battering mountain of his dewy head. 

Squeezing in a repeatedly adhesive-like tempo, Choso’s nose crinkles at the rubbery resistance of your snug hole. Still molding to the slightest curves and ridges of his drowned slit with every desperate rut-

“Please- take it- fucking take it.” His voice was trembling on the edge of a crack, thickened exactly the way one does when he’s about to cry. “H-how can I fuck! How can I breed ya…if I don’t-”

And you’re swearing you see his ruddied cheeks glisten with a few slipped-off tears - though, that just might be from the way that your own vision mists over when his stray hand plugs up your spilling entrance to pry two thickened, scissoring digits inside and stretch. “Fucking- take that big fuckin’- cock-”

Bullying in a few more long n’ girthy inches- You’re so full that it feels like Choso’s pushing his bloated crownhead against the spongy edges of your lungs. 

The bed dips and moans with frequent soft creaks! when he plants his curved knees firmly further apart. Flexibly so. And you’re getting a good, greedy eyeful of his pale, bulky thighs - angling at the perfect bend to snap his slender hips and jackhammer-

“Sh-shit-” Your head sinks into the cushiony pillows underneath you, and it already feels like you’re in heaven. “-don’t- don’t know if it’ll fit, Cho–”

With a bitten lip, Choso rovers down his sturdy hand from the surface of the bedframe to measure out ten solid inches. Bringing it down much the same way he did during your wedding reception, “Y-you can, baby–”

“But-”

“You will.” He’s gasping, gracing you with a soft brush of his curvaceous mushroomed head along one of your utmost favorite hidden sweet spots. It’s enough to make you buck. “Gonna take my cock, n’ you’re gonna haaah- take my seed ‘ntil you’re bloated. So I’ll make it fit- fuck- watch, I’ll make it fit.” Before you know it, that very same hand finds itself crowning your head, threatening to push you down- “C-can you say hngh- ‘biiiig stretch’ f’me?”

You’re hiccuping out, “B-big stretch?”

“Nuh uh-” By the time that Choso shakes his head, you’re being sprinkled with loose flecks of his sweat. He was in so deep now. “Say it with me- b-biiig stretch, baby–”

“B-biiig- stretch!” It takes you everything in your body to hold your own against the vicious pounds being planted and struggled into your goopy depths. Choso was determined. Frenzied. 

And god, the way you’re dumbly parroting his words is so hot. He can’t help but dollop out muggy icings of pre that slosh and swab at every nook and cranny inside you. 

“Good girl.” Rewarding you with a slow heart being patterned right on the throbbing peak of your clit, the roughened edges of his fingertips rub you just right. Not too hard. Not too soft. Your husband nuzzles his flushed head into the havened crook of your clammy neck, “S-say it again, madam.”

“Biiig-”

Honestly, it’s a wonder you manage to get exactly two syllables out at all. Because soon enough, Choso’s taking your distracted few seconds to lace his fingers onto your scalp push. To bump his hips back until your geysering cunt was struggling around his fat, bulbous tip.

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

“Fuck- no.” Choso’s spitting out venomously against your thrumming pulse, sharp fringes of his teeth digging in animalistically. Bottomed out but still pushing and pushing- Slamming a lazy stripe of luscious precum down your spongy cervix, “No- no no–”

No sooner are you full of all his massive, rummaging length, he’s making you take even more. This time in the form of dribbling, ribbony volumes of cum that leak and leak and won’t stop from his heated divot. 

It’s ballooning up your tight channel even more. Swashing around and sticking to your gummy walls like a treacly lacquer. Filling you to your very brim-

“S-so much.” You’re gaping, through tear-strung lashes. The shivering edges of your fingers subconsciously dance downwards to splotch over the puddling globs of seed tricking from either side of your sloppy slit. Squeezing out even more to coat Choso’s bulky base with creamy rings upon rings. 

And, usually, your husband might be just a bit embarrassed. Usually, he would have pulled out to make out with your pretty pussy until your scores were more than tied.

But that wasn’t your husband right now. 

“Don’t.” Choso clicks his drunkenly heavy tongue, lips pulling back into what almost looks like an oh-so-feral snarl. And you have to admit that it looks so sexy on him. He’s rudely swatting away your curious hand, “Move that fucking hand n’ let me see.”

It takes only a split-second for both your hands to be pinned underneath one of Choso Kamo’s. 

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

And only one more split-second for him to flip you over onto your tummy and stuff your head into the cushy pillows. 

He’s fucking you like he’s using you. Like he’s pumping his mushy, swollen head to nudge in the weighty heft of his cum deeper and deeper and deeper-

“Y’know I hate hngh- disrespectin’ my wife, baby–” He leans over to sigh against your ear in craving hisses, pinning you with his body. His muscles. You could count each n’ every one of Choso’s bulging abs, glissading damply against your perfectly arched spine. Bubblegum pink nipples pressed roughly into your scorching skin, “Hate it- but…”

You gasp at Choso’s audacity next - at the way it makes you so traitorously soaked when he hikes up one of his feet to rest upon your head. 

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

But he didn’t seem to hear you - you didn’t know if he was even managing to breathe at this point. Only letting his devious lips twitch up, up, up into such a satisfied grin. “-but ‘ntil I get my hngh- heh…heir, you’re gonna hafta be my cumdump, madam.”

And if the saturated slurps singing out at a near-deafening tone from your dripping pussy said anything - it was that you loved the idea. 

Especially when the changed angle makes his scouring cockhead maze between the most treasured spots of your jelly-like walls to strike numerous, merciless hits dead-set on your g-spot. 

Ah, there it was, pipes up that small voice in Choso’s overtaken brain. Jostling your hips back onto his with a sudden spank on the target of your drivelling hole, the stinging pressure makes you bump your tenderest spots again and again into his ruthless batters. 

It’s bruising - the proud circumference of his plummy cock against your elastic cervix with every recoiling bounce, the rounded patterns of his balls against the hind of your pretty pussy with each thrust.

If you didn’t think you were being fucked stupid before then you were sure now. 

Your velveteen pillowcase dampens with the ever-flooding saliva spilling from your mouth every time Choso rears his aching shaft back to plant rapid, precise strikes where you wanted him the most. 

Whimpering at how every ramming dab of his split cockhead leaves leakages of pearly white cum all over the bottom of your pussy. That sultry swirl of his dumped heaps inside of you making your head spin just as dizzily. 

You almost don’t notice it when Choso’s drifting both hands to skirt over about halfway down your tummy. Feeling for that bloated, cylindrical outline of him vulgarly messing up your insides, “Gonna be e-even fuller here soon, y’know-” He’s giggling - giggling. Erratically letting his hands slide down to your clit to give the peaked ends just a tiny pinch. “-have you all round. Full. Full-”

He can’t say anything else.

He can’t do anything else - other than watch in purely entranced awe when that makes you cum all over his fucking cock. 

So big n’ thick that your claggy walls can barely even squeeze around his throbbing shaft. The thought makes you huff as he rams rigorously through your blinding high - teeth grit, your fingers fist at the pillows and make sure you can clench-

When you do- oh, when you manage to cling your gummy cunt onto his girth as if to suck out his fucking soul, it makes Choso cum, too.

Fatigued hips somehow matching his cadence, your knees shiver on top of the softened mattress stuttering through every dousing mass of cum gliding inside your cute cunt. It was so heavy having his massive torrentials inside of you, spraying the door to your womb with a slippery sheen.

It was maddening. 

And maybe it’s been hours - maybe it’s been mere minutes. But all you know is that you’re put through rounds and rounds and more rounds. But he’s still not stopping. Still dredging out the tiniest of hollowing grinds. 

Until much, much later Choso’s breath hitches in feverish stutters. It was so steamily hot inside you, only getting more humid by the minute as you ride out yet another crashing high.

“G’na milk e-every ngh- drop-” He titters, fleshy edges of his fingers closing in around where your pussylips were the most buxom. The most leaky. “-n’ you’re gonna ngh- keep it. Keep ‘ntil you give me an h-heir. Remember that, baby– keep it.”

You’re fighting against the weight of his muscular leg on top of you. Was he clamming your pussy shut? 

“Choso, baby.” Your straining out, throat drier than the Sahara at this point. Even despite how the hypnotized way your husband looks at you makes your tongue lather with watery saliva. “Want- want more.”

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

Might just have made him reach another surprising high all over again with just your simple request. He’s lifting off the powerfully pressurized foot crowned on your head in favor of lurching downwards to grab your tender throat into a headlock.

Manhandling you as he pleased. Lifting you off of the tattered pillow, the completely splintered bed frame now. 

Your chin juts over his thick, bulging biceps, fighting for both air and the space-

“More- more, she says-” He’s chuckling out, words cracking a few octaves higher than normal. From the corner of your eye, you sneak glimpses at the way that Choso’s eyes were wide, crazed. Flashing all sorts of feral promises when he plants one, two, three long thuds against your soppy cervix. “Fucking- m-more.”

You’re letting off a tiny whimper - your orgasm nothing but tingles at this point. Yearning for that the piping hot streak of seed flushed into your already-overspilling cunt. Syruping in with the rest of his numerous goopy volumes, it’s thick and needy. 

Only one.

“Sh-shit.” He’s wheezing against your ear, free hand flying down to tug at his reddened base for more more more- one’s not enough. Every possibly wiry wisp and speckle that could fill you up. Could give him an heir. “Can’t cum dry- won’t- oh.”

Rutting into you like Choso won’t stop - didn’t know if he even can stop anymore. You flinch at the suddenly hot splatter! of something warm…and wet at your shoulder. 

“Cho- oh!” Not only was the clan leader drooling out glossy spatters of saliva, he was crying. Hugging you even closer, you’re showered in neverending streams of overstimulated tears.

And Choso can only babble away, “Hope- hope s’a daughter, madam.”

A/N. AYYY y’all have been wanting more dom Choso saurrrr- Anyways hope you have a lovely week <3