ruko

Tucked away underneath an umbrella, you stared at the sign on the shop window. Minghao was always the one decorating your place with flowers, always knowing exactly what would fit the season, the scenery, even your mood. 

Now you had to do it yourself because your flowers were dying in your windowsill. Minghao wouldn’t be around to save them anytime soon. You never had much with flowers, but he loved it so you let him go crazy. 

And honestly? Everything he put in there was gorgeous. 

The thought tightened your chest. You nearly turned around and went home crying, but you pushed through the doors anyway. 

You closed your umbrella and left it in the holder with the others. The smell of fresh flowers was all around you, and you recognised the daisies that were on your right. Observing them closely, tears welled in your eyes. 

A stupid argument had completely escalated. An argument that you had a thousand times before, that led to nowhere, had made everything worse. When you thought about the way you started screaming at each other, the air punched out of your lungs. You’d never seen Minghao angry before – irritated at best – but you had ticked him off so badly that the vein in his neck visibly pulsed. The entire apartment complex could hear him, even though he switched to Chinese every few sentences. 

Since that night, you hadn’t seen or spoken to him anymore. That was now two weeks ago and you were in a flower shop, looking as lost as you were. You were still not sure whether you were truly there to replace your dying flowers or if you didn’t know where else to go. 

Strolling past the displays, you stopped in front of a bouquet of roses. 

Minghao had often talked about them. Especially the pink and white flowers had always appealed to him and you’d never been able to pinpoint why. Just like many of his preferences, the mystery had left you wanting to know more. When you asked, you expected a very specific answer, something direct and tangible. 

More often than not, he told you that some things didn’t need an explanation. It was a feeling you had and it left you with more questions than answers. You wanted things figured out, while Minghao was someone who could wait and see how things would go. ‘Go with the flow’, as he would’ve told you. 

His flow didn’t exactly bring him back to you yet. 

You headed into the back of the shop. Lavender, something you absolutely hated no matter how many times Minghao tried to introduce it to you. The smell was overbearing and overwhelming. 

You turned back around, bumping right into a guy, guessing him to be around your age. Muttering a quick apology, you stepped out of the way, but he chuckled. 

“I was actually here to help you,” he said and crossed his arms behind his back. “First time here?” 

“Do I look that obviously out of place?” 

He flashed a smile. 

You clicked your tongue. “Alright. Loud and clear.” 

The guy chuckled and started walking. “The actual reason is that I haven’t seen you around here. I would recognise you if you were a regular.” 

“Ah.” You trailed after him. “My… um, my boyfriend comes here often. If anyone’s the regular, it’s him.” 

He looked back at you and narrowed his eyes, scanning you up and down. “Your boyfriend…” 

“I think.”

Mentally you were already strangling yourself for letting it slip out, but he ignored it to your surprise. You breathed out softly and stopped when he did. 

“Is he broad and muscular?”

You couldn’t help but snort before composing yourself. You shook your head. “Sorry. No, he’s not.”

“Guessing by that reaction, he’s the opposite.”

“I wouldn’t describe him as ‘broad’, no.”

An amused smile decorated the man’s face. “Longer blond hair?”

Your stomach tingled. “As of recently, yes.” 

“Oh, Minghao,” he cooed and clasped his hands together. “He would be laughing in my face if I told him that you were here.” 

You tilted your head with a frown. 

The man took you to the front of the shop, where you were admiring the daisies earlier. He grabbed a couple of white ones out of the bucket and turned around. “Minghao always comes here to pick out flowers for your house then, I assume, and he talks about you on many occasions.” 

He walked to a couple of other buckets and picked some pink flowers. “I vividly remember him telling me that you would never be found here. Look at you now!” 

You blinked a couple of times. It was the first time you ever saw him, but he was spewing information like he knew you better than you knew yourself, talking like he was catching up with an old friend. 

With a weak nod, you looked at the flowers in his hand. “Minghao was completely right in saying that.” 

“What brings you here?” 

You looked at him, opening your mouth to say something before closing it. Shrugging, you shot him a small smile. “I don’t know, to be honest. It just felt right coming here.” 

He returned the smile warmly before handing you the bouquet. “You made the right choice, then.” 

The bouquet had been sitting in a vase in your kitchen for days. You’d been pondering over what to say to Minghao and how you were going to approach him in the first place. It was almost three weeks ago since your last contact and you were reaching your final straw. 

When you called him, you got voicemail. Expecting him to call back, you left him be until a call would never come. Slowly, the empty feeling in your chest started filling up with a burning sensation, until you had enough. 

You stood in front of his door with a hammering heart. The lock clicked and he peeked his head around the corner. 

Minghao seemed surprised to see you as he opened the door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged, pretending to think, “maybe trying to get back in touch with you so we can get this over with.” 

He leaned against the door. “Okay, what do you have to say?” 

“Why don’t you pick up when I try to call you?” 

“Because I have a right to decline.” 

Your eyes clouded over, piercing right through him. 

Minghao shrugged, your name rolling off his lips so calmly, you got shivers. “You’re not even sure what you’re going to say.”

You crossed your arms and cocked your eyebrow. “I am.” 

He repeated your gesture and straightened his posture. You hated that through all the anger, he still managed to make your heart skip a beat. His eyes still held a softness for you, and you know he was more than open to hear you out. 

You were the one visiting him, after all. 

“Well,” you started and cleared your throat, “I think it’s unfair of you to assume that I don’t know what to say.” 

“Can you prove me wrong, though?” Minghao asked. “Whenever we’re arguing, you say the same thing in five different ways. And frankly, we never get it solved.” 

Before you had a defence at the ready, he cut you off. 

“I’m not going to do it, not like this.” Minghao offered you a small smile. “Figure out what you want first.” 

“Minghao–”

He shut the door. 

You stared at it, head spinning. You were angry, upset, hurt, disappointed and unable to ride out one. You wanted to pounce at the door and scream at him, but you wanted to cry in his arms all the same. 

Instead you ended up back home. 

The bouquet had withered by the time you decided to do something else than go to work, the rose petals that were still clinging on a faint brown. The rest of them were on the kitchen table drying up. 

You shoved your hands into your pockets and walked the block, taking a left and walking straight into the city. You didn’t have a destination in mind, you just needed to catch some fresh air. 

After a good month since your fight with Minghao, the flow hadn’t brought him back to you still. On the contrary, even. You had a feeling he drifted away from you if you didn’t do something soon. 

In all your anger and confusion, you’d stood on his doorstep the night before. Once again, Minghao had opened the door and you even made it into his apartment. The conversation seemed to go well and you were making progress.

Until it was your turn to talk. The conversation had escalated once again and you left with the anger burning your chest to ashes. Everything that he’d said had fallen on deaf ears and you started to realise that the problem wasn’t with Minghao. 

You pushed through the doors. The daisies on your right side were the first thing you smelled, a warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Since your last visit, not much had changed in their display. Some colours had been replaced or switched around to make it more appealing, but that was the biggest change you could find. 

Bowing over the daisies, you inhaled. 

“Look at that.” 

You shot up and looked right in those mischievous eyes. 

“Are you becoming a regular?” The same guy asked, arms crossed behind his back. His lips twisted into a grin. “Welcome back. I guess that you’re still a little clueless?” 

“Yep.” You looked around before your eyes landed on him. “The last bouquet kind of died and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.”

“I expected nothing less.” He beckoned you and started walking. “You’re around more than Minghao and that says a lot. Is something going on?”

You shrugged and crossed your arms over your body. “We’re kind of on a rough patch right now.” 

He hummed and stopped by the counter, leaning on it as he watched his coworker helping someone else. “I think it’s very ironic that you find yourself here of all places.” 

You looked at him with a tilted head. 

“You’re not someone that cares much for flowers,” the guy started. “You’re okay with Minghao decorating your house with it because he loves it, but that’s all. And now you’re in a rough patch and where are you right now? A place that he loves more than you do.” 

You hummed and looked away. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re not here without a reason, you just need to know how to return the gesture to him.” 

“Have you ever considered becoming a public speaker?” 

The guy laughed. “Next to being a florist, I also offer free therapy sessions. Part of the job.” His chuckles eased into a smile. “You have no idea the things I’ve seen since working here. Flowers play a bigger role in people’s lives than you might assume.” 

“I get why you and Minghao get along so well,” you remarked. “It’s like hearing him speak as we’re talking right now.”

“Like attracts like.” He winked and patted the counter. “I need to look over deliveries. Take a look around and call for me if you need me.” 

You nodded and watched how he slid behind the counter and disappeared in the back. Walking back to the daisies, you kneeled down. They had all kinds of colours, blending into each other so seamlessly it made you smile. 

The purple ones had been in your house before. You remembered getting a promotion at work, and telling Minghao was the most exciting part of the day. That same night, you had a small bouquet, which included the purple daisies. 

You’d always assumed they were purple because it was your favourite colour, but it was the only time you’d seen them. Faded to the back of your mind, passing it off as something insignificant. 

As if it had never mattered at all.

With a soft sigh, you came back up. You dusted your pants off and straightened your jacket. As you turned around, you bumped into someone. 

“Did I look lost again?” You remarked with a chuckle. When you looked up, Minghao was staring right back at you. 

You froze. 

His eyes scanned you carefully, and you couldn’t help but drown in them. 

“You do look kind of lost,” he finally said. “I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when I saw you here.” 

You shrugged weakly and crossed your arms over your body. 

Minghao nodded at the buckets. “What were you looking at?” 

Your eyes darted to the purple daisies. 

“Ah,” he hummed and bowed down, picking one from the bucket. He observed it before giving it to you. 

You took it carefully and held it to your chest. 

“I know purple is your favourite colour.” He nodded his head at the flower. “That’s not what that daisy is about.” 

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

Minghao placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you further into the shop. The touch was electric, lighting a flame that you thought had long died out. “Purple daisies resemble success, and admiration. When I put them in your living room, I was celebrating your promotion.” 

He picked a pink flower. “Pink lilies bear the same meaning, and they were also in that same bouquet. Admiration and gratitude.” 

You took the lily from him. “What flowers say ‘I’m sorry for everything, please forgive me?’” 

Minghao stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder. 

You took a small step towards him. “I really am sorry, Hao. I don’t want you to feel undervalued, or misunderstood, and I hate myself for not realising earlier that that’s what this is all about.” 

He turned around in full. 

“You know,” you looked up at him with a small smile, “if I would’ve engaged earlier, be more open-minded like you’d tell me,” you nudged Minghao, making him chuckle. “I would’ve realised much sooner that it’s one of the most touching gestures someone has ever made for me. So that’s what I’ll try to do from now on.”

He smiled at you. 

You caressed his cheek. “And hearing you spew these facts out like it’s breathing, it warms my heart, and it actually makes me excited to hear more.”

“I’m sorry too, my love,” Minghao muttered and leaned into your touch. “I’m very quick to jump to conclusions sometimes and it’s unfair to you especially since you need a little longer to gather your thoughts. I should’ve given you proper time and space to do so, instead of pushing the blame all on you.” 

You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his chest. “We’ll work on this just fine, my love. I’m very sure of it.” 

Minghao pressed a long kiss into your hair. “I love you so much, darling. So so much.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “I love you, too.” 

He kissed you so eagerly that the heat pooled in your stomach. His hands gripped your waist, nails dipping into your sides like you would disappear again. When you pulled him in closer, he chuckled against your lips. 

You pouted when he pulled back. 

“I came here to pick up my order,” he muttered. “I need to get back to work.” 

“See you tonight?” You offered, to which he smiled. 

“You have a key.” 

You pressed one last kiss to his lips and watched him walking to the counter. He was talking to the same guy that had taken you under his wing. 

As Minghao slipped past, he squeezed your waist. “Seungkwan wants to talk to you,” he whispered and kissed your temple. He rushed out of the door and disappeared around the corner. 

You looked over at Seungkwan, who waved at you. With a chuckle, you walked over to him. “What could you possibly need me for?” 

“Let’s make you a bouquet for Minghao,” he said with a smile. “I’ll tell you all I need to know.” 

When you walked out of the shop with the bouquet, you were light as a feather. Your stomach tingled whenever you thought of how Minghao’s eyes would light up, how he would kiss you passionately that you melted in his arms. Since your fight, you hadn’t felt so excited to see him again. 

You knew that he wouldn’t get off work for another hour and set out to his house. The bouquet rested in your hand as you twisted the lock, slipping in before any of his neighbours would see you. 

As you looked around, there wasn’t a flower in sight. 

The empty vases were lined up on the counter on a towel. They looked dried up and you had no trouble believing they’d been there for a couple of days. Purposeless.

You grabbed the vase that Minghao painted himself, tracing the dried streaks with a smile. You filled it with water and put it in, setting the vase on the saloon table in the living room. ‘A center piece’, Minghao had often told you. You hoped that this would meet his requirements. 

Minghao had texted you about dinner, opting that he would get something on his way home. You agreed with a smile. 

When you heard the lock clicking not much later, your heart jumped. 

You rubbed your hands together and balanced from the front to the heel of your feet. 

Minghao pushed the door back into its lock with his hip, the crackling of a plastic bag following him around. When he walked into the living room, he yelped. 

Covering your mouth, you suppressed a giggle. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“What are you already doing here?” His eyes darted to the bouquet on the table and his lips twisted into a smile. “That wasn’t there before.” 

“Happened to come with me,” you watched him set the bag down and observe it. “Seungkwan helped me. It’s not how the professionals do it, but–” 

“It’s perfect.” Minghao looked back at you and opened his arms. “Come here, you.” 

You walked right into his arms, inhaling his citrus, amber scent. You closed your eyes with a hum. “I missed you a lot, Hao.” 

“I you too, my love.” He ran a hand through your hair before pressing a kiss to it. “Let’s eat before dinner gets cold.” 

You peeked inside the bag curiously and smiled brightly. You grabbed the servings and sat down on the ground. “You know, why Seungkwan works in a flower shop is beyond me,” you said and opened the container. 

Minghao chuckled. “He’s a talker, hm?” 

“He is.” You put the other one in front of your boyfriend and grabbed a spoon and a pair of chopsticks. “A good one at that, though. Very convincing.” 

“He’s helped me since the first time I set foot in that place,” he started and stirred his soup. “I just moved to the city and I wanted a good bouquet for my living room.”

“The center piece,” you said in unison. 

Minghao looked at you with a smile before he continued. “He knows everything there is to know and I really formed some kind of friendship with him.” 

“He’s a nice guy.” The broth you sipped from was an explosion of flavours, making you groan. “God, I missed this.” 

“I thought I’d treat you.” 

With a smile, you spent the rest of the dinner catching up with Minghao; work, your parents, your friends. For the first time it wasn’t silent, as if your relationship had completely reinvented itself. 

As Minghao was at the counter cutting the branches of the flowers, you stood behind him, your arms wrapped around him. Your head rested against his back, your eyes closed. “If you cut them at an angle, they’re able to absorb more water,” he told you. “Your beautiful bouquet will stay alive for a very long time.” 

You smiled. “I worked very hard on it.” You peeked up at him. “Can I tell you about the flowers?” 

His smile grew. “I would love to hear it.” 

“I picked the blue orchids first,” you said and looked out of the window. “I had never seen it before, but it’s a way to express that you think of someone as beautiful in a unique way. And Seungkwan told me it’s spiritual so naturally, I had to pick it.” 

“Flattered.” 

You grinned at him. “You should be.” 

“And then you chose red lilies,” Minghao continued, followed by a sheer cut. 

“I know it looks a little odd next to the orchid, but they’re a symbol of love. I thought a red rose was too standard, so Seungkwan showed me these.”

Minghao looked back at you. “You really put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?” 

“And I’m not even finished,” you said with a small smile, the heat flushing your cheeks. “I did pick white and pink roses because they made me think of you.”

He smiled and put the bouquet back into the vase as you let go of him. “Pink is joy and appreciation.” 

“And white symbolises a fresh start,” you added. You pointed at the daffodils on the side. “Just like those, moving away and transforming.”

“And pink camellias because you missed me.” Minghao bumped your hip. “Sappy.” 

You chuckled and bumped him back. 

He draped an arm around your shoulder and locked you into his side. “Thank you. Truly.” 

You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll do anything for you.” 

You finally regretted speaking that into existence when you found yourself in the flower shop again a couple of weeks later. Your eyes darted around before you looked back at Minghao. “Seriously?”

“You claim to know so much about this now,” he answered with a shrug. “I would love to see you make a bouquet for your own apartment.”

Shooting him a sweet smile, you traced his arm. “But aren’t you sad that you can’t do it for me anymore?”

“Nope.”

“Was worth a try.” You looked around again and your eyes landed on Seungkwan. When he looked back at you, his eyes lit up. 

He came over hurriedly. “You finally got her here!” 

You arched an eyebrow and turned to Minghao. 

“We’re here for some pieces for her apartment,” he said and placed a hand on the small of your back. “She’s going to pick them out herself, as she’s claiming to have the hang of it.”

Seungkwan bobbed his head, his upper lip curved upwards like he was impressed. He remained where we stood and smiled. “What are you looking for?”

“Something for my kitchen,” you answered and frowned. “Why does this feel like a test?” 

Behind you, Minghao chuckled. He pushed you forward gently and followed you to the daisies. “I told you she would go there first.” 

Seungkwan chuckled and joined you at the front of the shop. Instead of walking after him, you navigated the shop like it was your second home. With a bright smile, you walked out of the shop with the bouquet and your boyfriend back by your side. 

A place that you never thought you would ever step foot in had become like a second home in an oddly beautiful way. After your fight with Minghao, that very shop had brought you back to each other like no flow could. And this time, you wouldn’t drift away from each other anymore. 

"You know that feeling…" you trail off, eyes dropping briefly to the console as your fingers tap lightly against it. "When you're not even doing anything special—just sitting next to someone, or maybe talking about nothing—and it still feels like the nicest part of your day?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Like… nothing's really happening, but you don't want it to end."

You nod faintly, a small smile forming as you continue.

"It's that kind of love that isn't loud," you exhale softly. "The kind you don't realize you're holding onto until it's not right in front of you anymore."

"Mm," Joshua hums. "Feels like a dream while you're in it."

"Now that you've said it…" you begin, a hint of a grin returning, "I'm going to play the first song of the evening—and I might be a little biased here—"

Joshua lets out a quiet, knowing huff of amusement beside you.

"—but this is one of my absolute favorites. I could listen to it on loop and never get tired of it," you continue, fingers finally pressing lightly against the button.

You lean just a fraction closer to the mic, voice dipping into something more intimate. "Here's 'Dream' by Baekhyun and Suzy."

As the opening notes of the song begins to drift through the studio, you slide back from the mic.

The rest of the show flows easily—songs playing one after another, a few sweet confessions from listeners, and light chatter between you and Joshua that keeps the night warm and relaxed. Before you know it, the final song fades out.

You lean toward the mic again with a small smile. "That's all for tonight, darlings. Thank you for spending your evening with us." Joshua follows with a gentle goodnight, and with a promise to be back tomorrow on The Love Line, the ON AIR light clicks off.

The softness that filled the studio just seconds ago disappears the moment the red light clicks off. Like a switch being flipped, your smile drops into a grim expression. Without another word, you pull your headphones off, pack up your things, and push your chair back. The wheels scrape lightly against the floor as you stand and walk out of the studio.

Joshua just watches you go for a second, lips pressed into a thin line. He lets out a small scoff under his breath and shakes his head, packing up his own things.

From the control room, Jeonghan clicks his tongue, leaning back in his chair. "Talk about being professional. The way they interact on the show, nobody would guess they're literally at each other's throats."

Vernon, who had been sitting behind the console, turns to him curiously. "I've always wondered why they're like this."

Jeonghan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Beats me," he mutters. "Anyway, good job today, intern. You can pack up for tonight." He pats Vernon's back before running out to catch you.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, glancing down at the screen to check your notifications as you walk down the corridor. A voice calls out from behind you. You stop and turn slightly. Jeonghan jogs toward you, a bright smile already spreading across his face. You slip your phone into your back pocket, returning his smile with a curious tilt of your head.

"As expected of my ace," he says, catching his breath. "That episode was so good. Especially when you addressed that last confession—"

"I won't do it." You state.

Jeonghan blinks. Your blunt interruption hangs in the air. His smile falters, eyes flickering away from you as he scratches the back of his head.

"I… don't know what you mean," he says weakly.

You sigh, already half turning away.

"You know how much I hate being on camera, and with this whole documentary thing. I can say goodbye to my privacy."

There's been all this talk about a crew coming in, filming everything—behind the scenes, personal lives, 'the struggle of radio in the age of podcasts and streaming'. Like putting a camera in the room is suddenly going to save it.

All you can picture is lenses pointed at you when you're not ready for it. Boom mics hovering just out of frame. So annoying.

"I don't want to sign up to have someone documenting how I work, how I talk, what I do in between segments—like it's something for people to pick apart later." Your voice dips lower. "I like that this job ends when I walk out of the studio. I like that there's still a line."

"Ah—just this once!" Jeonghan moves too quickly, stepping directly into your path before you can slip past him. You almost walk straight into his chest, forced to stop short as he throws his arms out slightly, like he can physically keep you from leaving if he just tries hard enough.

"You're the perfect one for this. " He says, words coming a little too fast, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't get them out in time. "Your show is literally the only one doing numbers right now."

Before you can respond, his tone softens, shifting gears as naturally as breathing. He reaches for your hand, clasping it between both of his, warm and insistent, his thumbs pressing lightly like he's trying to anchor you there.

"Do you you really want the company to look bad?" he adds, tilting his head just slightly, eyes searching your face. "Do you want me to be embarrassed?"

You give him a look, pulling your hands back.

"Jeonghan, I love you, but no." You say flatly, your voice carrying none of the softness he's trying to coax out of you. "And working extra hours with Joshua? Pass."

Speaking of the devil. Joshua struts towards the both of you and lazily puts an arm around Jeonghan. He notices the slight tension between the two of you and shakes his head in disapproval.

"Give this old man a break."

Your eyes narrow just a fraction before you roll them, turning your head away like you couldn't care less. "You're literally the same age."

Joshua ignores you entirely and instead looks at Jeonghan. "She bothering you, king?"

Jeonghan blinks. "No, actually I was asking if—"

"You know what?" Your eyes suddenly brighten as you cut him off. You clap your hands together once. "How about you have Joshua and Hana on this one?"

"What? No!" Joshua immediately shoots down the idea as if he knows what you guys are talking about.

"She's just an intern—" Jeonghan says at the exact same time.

Your lips curl into a faint, humorless smile as you fold your arms across your chest.

"Right," you murmur. "Because I'm the only one you can overwork."

You shift your weight, gaze flicking briefly toward Joshua before sliding away again.

"And Hana's not exactly helpless," you add, tone light but pointed. "She's practically glued to the studio anyway."

It’s true.

Hana is always around—hovering near the control room, lingering just a little too long after her shifts, volunteering for things no one asked her to. And more often than not, her eyes aren't on the equipment or the scripts.

They're on Joshua.

She laughs a little too quickly at his jokes, bright and eager. Finds reasons to stand close. To ask questions she already knows the answers to. And somehow, she always ends up near you—because wherever you are, Joshua isn't far behind.

"That's not the point," he says, tone more controlled now.

"Mm," you hum, unconvinced.

You don't push it further. Instead, you straighten slightly, your arms still crossed like a barrier between you and them. "Look I won't do extra hours for something that doesn't even benefit me in any way."

"It's not exactly nothing," Jeonghan starts weakly. "I mean, you will be getting a paid leave for a week."

"We are?" Joshua's head snaps towards him.

Jeonghan looks at you observing your reaction to the enticing information, hoping that this might be enough for you to change your mind.

A paid leave. A whole freaking week.

You could sleep without setting alarms. Stay in bed until the sun shifts across your room and disappears again. You could spend time with your cat—if she even still recognizes you. These days, she's always curled up somewhere by the time you get home, half-asleep, barely lifting her head when you walk in like you're just another passing presence instead of the person who feeds her.

You huff a quiet breath through your nose. A week of that sounds… dangerously tempting.

From the corner of your eye, you can feel Joshua watching you. Not saying anything, not interrupting—just waiting. And you know if you agree, he won't let you forget it. The teasing alone would be unbearable. But still… a week off.

God.

You exhale slowly, like you're forcing the decision out before you can rethink it.

"…Fine."

Jeonghan's face lights up instantly, relief breaking across his features so openly it almost makes you regret saying yes.

"But this is the first and the last time," you add firmly, already turning away and continuing down the hallway without waiting for a response.

"Of course!" Jeonghan calls after you, raising his arms above his head to make a giant heart that you don't see it. "Thank you so much! I love you!"

Joshua watches the empty space for a second longer than necessary, his gaze lingering where you vanished before he exhales quietly through his nose, shaking his head.

"Tch. All that drama just to say yes."

Jeonghan throws him a dirty look, elbowing him on the stomach. "Don't trouble her so much, you idiot."

Joshua doubles down holding his stomach. "Are you my friend or hers?"

"At work, I'm your producer."

When you agreed to the documentary, you hadn't realized it would start this soon.

You'd barely made it home the night before—shoes kicked off somewhere near the door, bag abandoned on the couch—when your phone buzzed with a new email. You remember staring at the screen, eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion, rereading the same line twice just to make sure you weren't hallucinating.

Filming begins tomorrow.

Now, barely twelve hours later, you're seated in a meeting room that feels just a little too bright, a little too cold, with cameras already set up in the corners like silent observers.

The documentary team mills about, adjusting equipment, whispering to one another. Across from you, Jeonghan sits with his usual composure, legs crossed neatly, hands resting on the table. He's smiling wide and bright.

You hadn't realized until this exact moment how deeply that smile could irritate you.

To your right, Joshua looks no different than he usually does—leaned back slightly in his chair, posture relaxed, one hand idly spinning the paperweight on the table like he has all the time in the world.

From the outside, the two of you probably look like the picture of professionalism—calm and composed. What they don't see is the way his shoe presses lightly against your ankle under the table. It is subtle at first, almost easy to dismiss as accidental, but when it happens again, and then again, the pattern becomes impossible to ignore.

You shift your leg back, drawing it closer to your chair in an attempt to create distance, but it barely lasts a second before his foot follows, closing the gap you just made. The repetition grates on your nerves, and you can feel your patience thinning as your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the table. You keep your gaze forward, fixed somewhere ahead, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to give him the reaction he is clearly trying to provoke. Still, he does it again, pressing just enough this time to make it impossible to ignore without responding, and you feel the irritation rise sharp and immediate in your chest as you prepare to turn and finally snap at him.

Before you can, the door swings open.

"I am so sorry for the delay!" The sudden interruption cuts cleanly through the tension, breaking it apart before it can escalate any further.

A man steps inside, slightly out of breath, one hand pushing his hair back as he straightens himself and offers a quick, apologetic bow that is just a little too hurried to be polished. His tie sits slightly crooked, sleeves pushed up as if he has been rushing from one place to another, and there is a faint flush to his face that suggests he has been moving far faster than he probably should have.

Despite all of that, there is something immediately noticeable about him—an energy that feels bright and open, a little chaotic but undeniably genuine. It settles into the room almost instantly, softening the sharp edges of the moment you were just in and replacing it with something lighter, something easier, as he steps further inside with a breathless laugh and an apologetic smile that does not falter.

"There was so much traffic today," he continues, already moving further into the room. "I brought coffee for everyone—least I could do."

He carries a coffee carton as he goes around the table handing out cups one by one, offering soft apologies with each.

"Oh—" he pauses when he reaches you, the motion so slight it might have gone unnoticed if you weren't already hyper-aware of everything in the room. For a brief second, his hand hovers midair, the coffee cup still extended toward you as his eyes settle on your face.

A flicker of recognition passes his face and the soft smile on his face gets bigger as he places the coffee in your hand. A faint blush creeps up before you can stop it, and when you murmur a soft "thank you," it comes out quieter than you intended, almost betraying the sudden shift in your composure.

If no one else notices, Joshua does.

The movement under the table stops ,and a second later your chair shifts ever so slightly, nudged from the side, just enough to draw your attention without making it obvious. You turn your head, already knowing what you'll find.

He's looking at you.

One eyebrow raised, cup hovering halfway to his lips, his gaze sharp and assessing in a way that feels far more intentional than casual curiosity.

Do you know him?

Of course its his job to be nosy. And if you so much as give him anything to work with, you already know how it ends—with endless teasing, with him bringing it up at the worst possible moments, with that stupid, knowing look every time your name gets mentioned in the same breath as his.

You hold his gaze for a fraction of a second, long enough to acknowledge it but not long enough to answer. Then you look away.

When you turn back toward the front of the room, that small smile hasn't quite left your face, lingering faintly like something you haven't decided what to do with yet.

"Hello everyone," the man says, stepping forward to the head of the table. He straightens, shoulders squaring as his hands come together neatly in front of him. "I'm Lee Seokmin, the producer for this documentary."

Then he bows fully, a clean ninety degrees. A quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, soft and brief, drawn more from familiarity than amusement.

Some things really don't change.

Jeonghan picks up from there without missing a beat, slipping seamlessly into his professional tone as he begins outlining schedules, expectations, and boundaries. His voice is steady, controlled, filling the room with the kind of structure everyone else seems to fall into easily. Around the table, the crew listens attentively, some jotting down notes, others glancing toward the cameras as if already piecing together how this will all look once it's edited.

You try to focus. You really do.

You follow the conversation, nod at the appropriate moments, keep your posture composed and your expression neutral—but your attention doesn't stay where it's supposed to.

Every now and then, your eyes drift.

Seokmin listens with a kind of attentiveness that feels almost deliberate, nodding along as Jeonghan speaks, occasionally adding a thought or asking a question that shows he's already thinking a few steps ahead. But once or twice his gaze shifts toward you.

Each time his gaze lingers just a second longer than it should, warm and familiar in a way that unsettles you, and each time you're the one who breaks first—looking away a little too quickly, a faint blush creeping up before you can stop it.

Across the table, Joshua grows quiet.

The paperweight in front of him sits untouched now, no longer spinning under his fingers. His foot stays still beneath the table, no longer seeking yours. And he doesn't speak unless he absolutely has to, offering nothing extra, nothing unnecessary.

—

You pack slower for someone who's always the first one out of the room the moment a meeting ends. But today, your movements drag just enough to notice. You stack your papers once, then again, aligning the edges more carefully than necessary. Your bag stays open as you pretend to look for something, fingers brushing over items you already know are exactly where they should be.

You don't know what you're waiting for. Maybe waiting to go talk to Seokmin or maybe he—

Oh fuck he's coming this way.

The realization lands all at once, sharp enough to make your stomach tighten, and you immediately drop your gaze, shoulders straightening as you shuffle your things with sudden, unnecessary urgency. You try to look occupied, focused, like you've been doing something important this entire time instead of sitting there waiting without admitting it.

A soft knock against the table pulls your attention up anyway.

He's closer than you expected.

Up close, Seokmin looks almost exactly the same, though there's something more put together about him now—his features a little sharper, his presence a little more grounded, but still carrying that same warmth you remember. His hair is slightly out of place like he's been running his hand through it, and a faint flush to his cheeks. Despite all of that, his smile is steady, easy, the kind that comes naturally without effort

"It's been so long since we met," he says, his expression brightening further as he looks at you properly, like he’s confirming what he already suspects. "How have you been?"

For a brief moment, your mind goes completely blank. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering there as you try to gather your thoughts, to form a response that doesn't sound as thrown off as you suddenly feel.

"I've been—"

"You guys know each other?" Joshua's voice cuts in smoothly, almost lazily, but there's an edge to it that makes you immediately regret not answering faster. When you glance at him, he's already watching the two of you, a wide smile stretched across his face—too interested, too entertained, like he's just found something new to pick apart.

Seokmin lets out a small laugh, glancing briefly in his direction before looking back at you.

“We do have some history,” he says.

"You…dated?" Joshua's brows lift slightly.

"No no," Seokmin laughs, shaking his head, "She's my junior from university. We were in the same club for a while."

You feel your shoulders stiffen slightly.

"She was always running around, making sure everything went smoothly," Seokmin continues, clearly unaware of your growing discomfort. "Super reliable, but also…" he pauses, glancing at you with a grin that feels a little too familiar, "…a little too energetic sometimes."

Why is he saying so much?

Joshua hums softly, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

"Our ace's history in the flesh," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I'd love to hear more about that someday."

The way he says it makes your stomach drop. You know exactly where this is going, and you have no intention of letting it get there. You push your chair back abruptly and stand, the legs scraping loudly against the floor as you cut in before Joshua can say anything else.

"Seokmin—!"

The name comes out sharper than you intend, loud enough to draw both their attention instantly. You force your expression to soften, stepping around the table as you try to recover from the abrupt interruption.

"It's so good to see you," you say, your voice quieter now, more controlled. "I didn't expect to run into you here."

Seokmin looks momentarily surprised before breaking into a warm laugh. He reaches out without thinking and ruffles your hair lightly, the gesture so casual and familiar that it catches you completely off guard.

"You haven't changed at all," he says, fondness clear in his tone.

You freeze for just a second, caught between reacting and not reacting.

Before you can decide, he turns slightly toward Joshua again, still smiling. "I have so much to tell you," he adds. "She was so bubbly. Always made things more lively."

"Bubbly…" Joshua drags, his gaze shifting back to you with a playful look. "I see."

"Seok—" you start, stepping in again, fully prepared to shut this down before it gets any worse

But you're interrupted by one of the crew members calling Seokmin from across the room, waving him over urgently. He turns, blinking, then looks back at you with an apologetic expression.

"I'm so sorry," he says quickly. "I think I have to go for a bit."

You nod, still trying to steady yourself.

"But I want to catch up," he continues, already pulling out his phone and holding it out toward you. "Give me your number?"

There's a brief hesitation before you take it, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you input your number. It's a simple action, but your heartbeat feels just a little too loud in your chest.

'See you soon, sunshine," he smiles as you hand the phone back.

The nickname lands unexpectedly, and you feel the warmth rush to your face again as you bite the inside of your lip, managing only a small nod in response.

Then he's gone. The door closes softly behind him, and the room feels quieter in his absence.

"Wasn't that fun?" Joshua says from behind you, making your shoulders tense. "I can't wait to see him again," he adds as he gathers his things, movements unhurried.

"Don't," you warn.

Joshua hums softly, like he didn't hear the warning at all. As he passes by you, his hand reaches out, ruffling your hair in the exact same way Seokmin did just moments ago. The familiarity of the gesture hits differently this time, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

"Bye, sunshine," he says emulating Seokmin's voice.

He doesn't wait for a reaction. He just walks out, leaving you standing there.

You had gone to bed far too late that night, standing in front of your wardrobe longer than you'd like to admit, pulling out outfit after outfit only to reject each one for reasons that kept changing. Too plain. Too much. Too obvious. Not enough.

It had taken you nearly two hours to finally settle on something that felt right—something that didn't look like you were trying, even though you absolutely were.

And yet, despite the lack of sleep, you wake up ten minutes before your alarm.

Your morning moves with unusual precision. You take your time in the shower, letting the water run warmer than usual, going through every step like you're preparing for something far more important than just another workday.

Your cat greets you in the kitchen, already weaving around your legs before you've even poured your coffee. She's unusually affectionate today, tail brushing against you, lingering instead of darting away like she usually does. You crouch down, scratching lightly behind her ears as she leans into your hand.

"Wow," you murmur, narrowing your eyes at her. "You're being suspiciously nice today. Today must be a good day?"

She blinks up at you, entirely unbothered, before settling beside you as you eat.

By the time you leave, you feel put together.

The compliment comes from somewhere to your left as you walk down the hallway, followed quickly by another voice agreeing, then another.

Of course you look good. You didn't spend two hours the night before for nothing.

Still, there's a small, quiet satisfaction in the way heads turn just slightly as you pass, in the way people do double takes before catching themselves. Your hand tightens briefly around the strap of your bag as you approach the meeting room, your steps slowing just a fraction as your thoughts drift.

Seokmin.

You wonder if he'll notice. If he'll say something. If he'll smile the same way he did yesterday—

A burst of laughter from inside the room cuts the thought short. You pause for half a second, then push the door open. Both Joshua and Seokmin look up at the same time.

Seokmin's reaction is immediate. He straightens slightly in his seat, his expression lighting up in a way that feels almost automatic, like he didn't even have to think about it.

"Wow," he says, the word slipping out easily as his gaze lingers on you. "You look great."

The compliment lands softly but directly, and you feel your cheeks warm before you can stop it. You glance down briefly, biting your lip in a small, reflexive attempt to hide it, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your dress as if suddenly aware of it.

"Thank—"

"Really?" Joshua cuts in, his voice calm, almost thoughtful. "I don't see any difference."

Your head snaps up, the warmth in your expression disappearing as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharp, unimpressed scowl. Your eyes lock onto his, narrowing slightly as you stare him down across the room.

Joshua meets your gaze without hesitation, completely unfazed. If anything, he looks mildly confused, his brows knitting just slightly as if he genuinely doesn't understand what he said wrong.

Seokmin lets out a small, awkward cough, the sound cutting through the moment as he glances between the two of you. You break eye contact first, exhaling quietly as you turn away and move toward your seat, setting your bag down with more force than necessary before sitting.

Seokmin clears his throat lightly, slipping back into a more professional tone as he gestures toward the crew behind him.

"So, like we discussed yesterday," he begins, his voice steadying as he shifts gears, "today we'll just be recording you guys working. We want everything to feel as natural as possible, so just… pretend we're not here. Think of it as a normal day in your lives."

You let out a quiet hum, leaning back slightly in your chair.

"If we do that," you mumble under your breath, "a war will break out any moment."

"Sorry, I didn't catch that." Seokmin says, blinking at you.

“We'll do our jobs ten times more efficiently today, bro.” Joshua cuts in smoothly, his tone bright and easy as he looks at Seokmin with a wide, almost charming smile—like he didn't just undermine you in the most deliberate way possible.

You turn your head slowly, fixing him with a flat look. "Bro?"

Joshua nods seriously, like this is a completely reasonable development.

"We're like real brothers now," he says, gesturing lightly between himself and Seokmin. "Right, bro?"

Seokmin laughs, a little surprised but clearly amused, nodding along. "Sure. If you say so."

You stare at Joshua for a second longer, your expression unimpressed, bordering on disbelief. Of course he's doing this. Of course he's inserting himself here too. It's not enough that he disrupts your rhythm, pokes at your patience, finds ways to get under your skin—now he has to compete in spaces that don't even belong to him.

You look away with a quiet scoff, crossing your arms as you settle back into your chair.

Joshua, meanwhile, looks entirely satisfied, leaning back like he's just won something no one else realized was a competition.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

The meeting dissolves into movement soon after, the crew quietly repositioning themselves around the room while you and Joshua settle into what is supposed to be a "normal work session." Laptops open, notes spread out, a half-finished outline of the next segment sitting between you like neutral ground that neither of you fully trusts.

You lean forward slightly, scanning the draft on your screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you begin typing. For a few minutes, it's almost peaceful. The faint hum of equipment, the soft clicks of keys, the occasional murmur from the crew trying to stay unobtrusive. If you ignore the cameras—and him—it almost feels like any other day.

"Don't you think that line's a bit too heavy?"

Joshua's voice cuts in, smooth and casual, like he's just making an observation and not deliberately interrupting your flow.

You don't look at him immediately. You finish typing the sentence, hit save, and only then turn your head slightly.

"It's supposed to be," you reply evenly. "That's the point."

He leans back in his chair, tilting his head as he looks at your screen from afar, like he doesn't even need to see it properly to disagree.

"Or," he says slowly, "it could just sound like you're trying too hard to be deep."

There it is. You feel it instantly—that small, sharp spark of irritation. Your fingers still against the keyboard as your eyes flick to him, narrowing just slightly.

"Or," you return, voice just as measured, "you could try understanding the tone before commenting on it."

"I understand it," he says. "I just don't think the listeners will."

Your jaw tightens. You're about to respond—already leaning forward slightly, words forming, ready to push back properly this time, when you catch his subtle gaze toward the camera—giving you a hint that everything is being recorded.

You sit back slowly instead, trying to ease out your expression into something softer.

"Well," you say, offering him a small, tight smile, "that's why we work together, right? Balance."

Joshua watches you for a second before smiling just as polite. "Exactly."

From the outside, it probably looks seamless. The kind of dynamic people would compliment. It makes your skin itch.

"Bitch." You grunt, deleting the words from the screen.

"Sorry what was that?" Joshua raises an eyebrow at you.

"Rich." You quickly correct yourself. "Your thought process is so…rich."

The rest of the session passes in that same rhythm—careful, controlled, every word filtered just enough to sound right without saying what you actually mean. By the time you're done, your patience feels thinner than it should be.

You close your laptop with a quiet exhale and stand, stretching slightly as you glance around the room.

Seokmin is across the space, speaking with one of the crew members, his back half-turned to you. You hesitate for only a second before making your way over.

"Seokmin," you call lightly.

He turns immediately, his expression brightening the moment he sees you. "Yeah?"

You slow to a stop in front of him, hands loosely clasped behind your back, the earlier tension easing just a fraction.

"Are you free for lunch?" you ask, tone casual, but just warm enough to feel intentional. "I was thinking we could—"

"Bro, we're still having lunch together, right?" Joshua’s voice slides in from behind you before you can finish.

Seokmin blinks, looking between the two of you. "Oh—uh—yeah, we did say—"

"Great," Joshua continues easily, stepping forward just enough to fall into your line of sight. "There's so much for us to catch up on."

Catch up on? They met two days ago. And suddenly it's catching up?

The thought flickers through your mind, sharp and immediate, irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. Because if anyone here has actual history (well not too much history) with him—if anyone should be the one catching up it's you.

You inhale slowly.

No. You're not doing this. That's exactly what he wants—to get a reaction, to pull you into something pointless, to make you slip in front of the cameras. You won't give him that.

You let the feeling pass as quickly as it came, your posture straightening slightly as you turn back to Seokmin with a small, easy smile.

"Eat well," you say, tone light, almost dismissive in its calm. "I've got some work to finish anyway. I would've joined you otherwise."

There's the faintest hint of hesitation in his expression, but he nods. "Ah… okay. Next time then?"

"Next time," you echo, still smiling.

Joshua raises an eyebrow at that, clearly amused, but you don't look at him. You just turn, already stepping away before the moment can stretch any further, before he can add anything else to it.

—

Lunch comes and goes without you noticing it at first.

The room empties gradually, chairs scraping back, quiet chatter filling the space as people start heading out in small groups. Someone asks if you're coming along, and you shake your head without looking up, mumbling something about finishing a draft. It's easy to make it sound believable when your eyes are already glued to your screen, fingers moving just enough to sell the act.

The truth settles in a little more quietly. You're not hungry.

Or maybe you were—before. But somewhere between that moment in the meeting room and now, the thought of food has dulled into something unappealing, something you don't feel like dealing with.

So you stay.

The office feels different when it's half-empty. Quieter. The distant hum of voices fades into the background, replaced by the steady tapping of your keyboard and the occasional rustle of papers. You lean into the silence, letting it fill the space instead of your thoughts.

At some point, one of the crew members lingers near your desk, glancing at you curiously.

"You're not going for lunch?" they ask.

You don't look up immediately, finishing the line you're typing before answering.

"I'll eat later," you say lightly. "Not really hungry right now."

You don't notice Joshua nearby. You keep your focus on the screen, on the words that blur together if you stare at them too long.

After a while, the stillness starts to feel heavy.

You push your chair back with a quiet sigh, rubbing your eyes briefly before standing. "Washroom," you murmur to no one in particular, more out of habit than necessity, and step out of the room.

The break is short. Just enough to clear your head, splash some water on your face. When you return, you expect the same quiet you left behind. Instead, you pause.

There's something on your desk.

A neatly wrapped sandwich. A tall milkshake beside it, condensation already forming along the sides of the cup. It looks fresh. Recently placed.

Your gaze shifts slightly to the small sticky note is tucked under the edge of the sandwich wrapper.Just a simple smiley face.

:)

Your lips part slightly in surprise, your steps slowing as you approach your desk. There's no name. No message. Just that. But you don't need one. A small, almost involuntary smile begins to form.

Seokmin.

It has to be.

You pick up the note, your thumb brushing lightly over the ink as if that might confirm it somehow. The thought settles in easily, naturally—him remembering, him noticing, him doing something like this without making a big deal out of it.

It fits.

You're still looking at it when the door opens again and Joshua walks in.

His steps slow almost immediately as his eyes land on your desk, taking in the sandwich, the milkshake, the note. There's a brief pause as he analyses your demeanor, before his expression shifts into something more casual.

"Whoa," he says, low and almost impressed as he walks closer. "Looks like you've got a secret admirer."

You glance up at him, your fingers still holding the edge of the note.

His gaze lingers on the food for a moment longer before he reaches over, picking up a few papers from the corner of your desk like that's the only reason he came back.

"Didn't think you were the type," he adds, tone light, almost teasing.

You narrow your eyes slightly at that, but don't bite. Instead, you just set the note down carefully and pull your chair out.

"Maybe I've got someone who really cares," you reply, your voice calm, a hint of something pointed beneath it.

Joshua lets out a soft hum at that, but doesn't respond. He gathers the rest of the papers he needs, tapping them lightly against the desk to straighten them.

"Clearly," he says, almost under his breath.

For a second, it feels like he might say something else. But he doesn't. He just turns and walks out, leaving as casually as he came.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You look back down at the sandwich, at the milkshake, at the small smiley face drawn on the note. The earlier heaviness in your chest feels lighter now, replaced with something softer, something easier to hold onto.

You reach for the sandwich.

Maybe you were a little hungry after all.

The next two weeks pass in a blur of cameras, scripts, and carefully manufactured normalcy.

At first, it feels unnatural—every movement slightly too deliberate, every word filtered through the quiet awareness that someone, somewhere, is watching. But slowly, the presence of the documentary crew fades into the background.

What doesn't fade is Joshua.

If anything, he becomes more present.

Every time you find a moment—any moment—with Seokmin, Joshua is there. It starts small. A passing comment when you're mid-conversation. A casual interruption masked as a joke. Then it becomes more frequent, more deliberate. He inserts himself into discussions, finishes your sentences, redirects conversations before they can settle into anything personal.

At first, you tell yourself it's coincidence. By the fourth day, it clearly isn't.

Seokmin, for his part, doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't comment on it. He remains the same—warm, attentive, easy to talk to. He checks in on you during breaks, asks about things that have nothing to do with work, remembers details you don't recall mentioning twice. And every time you try to respond, to build on that familiarity, Joshua somehow finds his way into the space between you.

It's subtle enough that no one calls it out. But obvious enough that it drives you insane. By the end of the first week, you've stopped trying. By the end of the second, you're determined.

So when today comes—and Jeonghan, for reasons you don't question too deeply, drags Joshua away for some "special discussion"—you don't hesitate.

You don't ask what it means. You don't care.

All you know is that for the first time in two freaking weeks, you have a window. And you take it.

The restaurant is quieter than you expected, tucked just far enough away from the main street to feel removed from the usual rush. It's warm inside, soft lighting casting a comfortable glow over the tables, the low hum of conversation blending into something easy, something calm.

Seokmin pulls your chair out before you can reach for it, the gesture smooth and natural, like it's second nature to him.

"After you," he says lightly.

You smile murmuring a soft "thank you" as you sit. He moves around the table and takes the seat across from you, the distance just enough to feel proper, just enough to make the moment feel… intentional.

He reaches for the water jug without hesitation, pouring a glass for you first before filling his own.

"We finally get to eat together," he says with a small laugh, setting the jug aside.

You let out a quiet breath, something in your shoulders loosening for the first time all day.

"I was starting to think it would never happen," you admit, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Every time I tried, something," or someone, you mutter under your breath. "Kept getting in the way."

Seokmin chuckles, resting his elbow lightly on the table. "Yeah, your co-host seems very… present."

"That's one way to put it," you mutter under your breath, earning another laugh from him.

For a while, it's easy. You talk about university—about things you barely remember until he brings them up. Late nights before events, the chaos of organizing, the way you used to run around like you had ten places to be at once. He fills in the gaps, adds details you’d forgotten, and you find yourself laughing more than you expected to.

"And you still haven't changed," he says at one point, smiling as he leans back slightly. "Still the same."

You raise a brow. "That's not always a good thing."

"It is in your case," he replies easily.

You don't respond to that but the warmth settles anyway.

Seokmin lifts his glass, taking a sip of water, and as he lowers it, his gaze shifts slightly past you. His expression brightens almost immediately, like he's just spotted something—someone—unexpected. He lifts his hand.

"Shua! Here!"

Your smile freezes.

For a split second, you don't turn around. You don't want to. Because there's no way—there's actually no way—

What the fuck.

But then you hear it.

"Hey, bro!"

Joshua's voice.

You close your eyes briefly before turning, already feeling the irritation rise as he approaches like he belongs here. He pulls out the chair beside you without hesitation and drops into it casually, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

You don't even try to hide the look you give him. Your side-eye could probably kill. Seokmin, completely oblivious to the shift in energy, smiles between the two of you.

"Let's order first, then we can all talk," he says, glancing around for the waiter.

The moment his attention shifts away, you act.

Your hand shoots out, pushing Joshua's arm—hard enough to get his attention, subtle enough to not cause a scene. When he turns to you, you're already glaring, your eyes sharp with a very clear message.

What are you doing here?

Joshua, on the other hand, looks like he's having the time of his life. His lips curl into a slow, amused smile, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to satisfaction. Instead of answering, he reaches out—completely unbothered—and ruffles your hair.

You swat his hand away immediately, your glare deepening. He doesn't even flinch. If anything, he looks more entertained.

Before you can escalate it further, the waiter arrives at the table, notepad in hand, politely asking for your orders.

The food arrives not long after, plates filling the table with just enough variety to keep the conversation flowing. For a brief moment, things almost settle. Almost.

You reach for a dumpling, lifting it carefully with your chopsticks, only to find it gone the second before it reaches your plate.

You pause. Then slowly you turn your head.

Joshua sits beside you, completely at ease, already chewing like nothing happened, his expression too neutral. You stare at him and he doesn't even look back.

You narrow your eyes slightly, then say nothing, simply reaching across the table toward his plate instead. Your chopsticks slide in smoothly, picking out a piece of meat without hesitation.

Joshua glances down this time, his gaze lingering for a moment before shifting back to yours. A beat passes in the quiet space between you, and then he reaches over again. With a practiced sort of ease, another dumpling disappears from your plate.

You don't even look surprised anymore. You just lean forward, this time taking a larger piece from his side, placing it onto your plate with deliberate calm.

Across from you, Seokmin watches the exchange unfold, his lips twitching before he lets out a soft chuckle. The sound makes both of you pause. Your chopsticks hover midair. Joshua's hand stills halfway back to his plate.

"You both are really close," Seokmin says, amusement clear in his voice as he glances between the two of you.

The words land heavier than they should. You freeze. Almost immediately, you shift your chair slightly away from Joshua, creating a visible gap between you, like distance alone can undo whatever that just looked like.

"Not really," you say quickly, your tone light but just a little too quick to be casual. You let out a small, awkward laugh, brushing it off as if it means nothing. "We just… work together."

Seokmin nods, but there's something knowing in his smile that makes you uneasy.

No. Absolutely not. The last thing you need is him getting the wrong idea.

"I'll just—" you start, already pushing your chair back slightly, "washroom."

You don't wait for a response. You stand, smoothing your outfit unnecessarily before turning and walking away, your pace just a little faster than it needs to be.

The moment you're out of sight, Seokmin's attention shifts. He leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table as he looks at Joshua, one brow lifting in quiet curiosity.

Joshua, meanwhile, has already picked up another dumpling, completely unbothered, popping it into his mouth as he glances back at him.

"What?" he asks around the bite, genuinely confused.

Seokmin smiles. "You have a crush on her."

It's not a question.

Joshua chokes. The dumpling goes down the wrong way, and he coughs immediately, reaching for the glass of water in front of him, grabbing it a little too quickly as he takes a hurried sip.

"Wha—what do you mean?" he manages between coughs, voice rougher than before.

"You've been following her around like a puppy for the past two weeks," he says, like he's just pointing out something obvious. "Interrupting conversations, sitting next to her, giving her food—"

"I—I don't—how did you," Joshua cuts in quickly, setting the glass down a little harder than necessary. "That's not—"

Seokmin just smiles wider. "Don't worry," he says lightly. "I'll help you."

"Help with what?" Your voice cuts in.

Seokmin doesn't even miss a beat. He leans back slightly, shaking his head with an easy smile, like nothing of importance was said at all.

"Oh, nothing much," he says casually.