-EYGL⋆ @sndygly - Tumblr Blog

Love me not

Waiting for you was already a part of Soonyoung's life. Loving you and yearning for you up close was part of the routine. It was a perfect balance. A perfect balance that wasn't going to last long if they both continued to avoid talking about it.

And time waits for no one, time passes, people move on, people get bored.

"Kwon Soonyoung got tired of waiting for you."

That's what your mind was telling you, when the routine was disrupted by an external presence.

Tgs. Miscommunication, angst w happy ending, a lot of drama, ummm, they're both idiots in love, idol au, kind of jealousy???, SMUT! Unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex guys!) sex in front of a bigass mirror, kind of getting caught? Praise kink, creampie, multiple orgasms, lmk if I missed something

An. FINALLY I FINISHED THIS, omfg it took so fucking long, but anyways, this is a request from @woozimyprettyprincess I really hope you like it! And I'm really sorry for making you wait.

I think this is the longest fic I've written lol, so, enjoy!

Masterpost

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Monday 7:20 a.m.

It was the beginning of the week, there were 30 minutes left before you were due to open the cafeteria and begin your work.

And before the shift started officially, Seungkwan and Jeonghan were standing across from you behind the counter as every morning, interrogating, harassing you, asking you questions, etc., about the same person every morning. It was practically part of your daily routine at this point.

“Just tell us you like him! We won’t snitch on you!” Seungkwan insisted. You just rolled your eyes “I don't like him!” Seungkwan huffed a laugh “Ten bucks says Hoshi slips up and confesses before the month ends.” To which Jeonghan had replied, “Twenty bucks says they both grow old, gray, and completely oblivious in the same house while still claiming they’re ‘just best friends.’” And then an external voice joined their conversation “what are we talking about?” Mingyu asked, standing besides Jeonghan, completely oblivious of the topic they were discussing.

“We are talking about how she,” Jeonghan pointed at you, “Has the biggest, fattest, crush on Soonyoung and still doesn't want to confess”

“I don't have a crush on Soonyoung!” You rested your elbows on the counter and hid your face in your hands.

Mingyu’s eyes went wide, a slow, delighted grin spreading across his face as he leaned over the counter, completely invading your personal space. “Wait, really? We're still denying this? Even after he spent forty minutes yesterday trying to bait anyone into wanting something from the cafeteria, just so he had an excuse to come down and hang out with you for a half hour without anyone ‘noticing’?”

“He was just being nice!” you muttered, your voice muffled against your palms. "You know he's just a caring person. That's the only reason he was insisting on buying you guys drinks.”

"Yeah, but it doesn't take thirty minutes to make an iced americano," Seungkwan scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the espresso machine. “Come on. Last Friday, he literally bought three different types of coffee just because he couldn't face coming back to the studio empty-handed, otherwise we would ‘suspect’ something.”

Jeonghan let out a soft, amused hum, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the countertop. “Don't push her too hard, Seungkwan. Our little barista here is fragile. She thinks if she admits it out loud, the universe will manifest a giant tiger to come and whisk her away.” He peeked over your hands, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “Though, to be fair, the tiger is already lingering. He’s been texting me since 7:00 a.m. asking if the cafeteria was officially open yet.”

Your head snapped up, your face burning. "He has not!"

“Oh, believe me, he really has,” Mingyu confirmed cheerfully, pulling out his phone to scroll through their group chat. “Look, he just texted the main chat asking if anyone needs anything from here. Mind you, before he met you, he wouldn't spent a fucking dime on us.”

“See? It's a sickness,” Seungkwan sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “And you're enabling him by keeping up this 'just friends' facade. Just give us something to work with. A hint. A confession. Anything so I can win my ten bucks from Jeonghan.”

“Uh-uh! You're not getting a dime,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, leaning back and flashing a saintly smile. “Because she's stubborn. They're both going to suffer in silent, mutual pining until the year 2050, and I am going to collect my twenty dollars with interest.”

You let out a loud, frustrated groan, dropping your forehead straight onto the cool marble of the counter. The chill of the stone did absolutely nothing to cool down the intense blush creeping up your neck. “I hate all three of you. I really do. Why are you even here? Don't you have a choreo run-through to be sweating in?”

“Not for another twenty minutes,” Seungkwan replied smoothly, checking his nails with an air of supreme luxury. “And besides, watching you self-combust over your non-existent feelings is way better than waiting for the choreographer.”

“It's an investment in your future,” Jeonghan added, his voice dripping with that trademark, faux-angelic sweetness. He reached over the counter, his fingers lightly tapping the top of your head as if imparting a holy blessing. “We are just the humble guardians of love, trying to nudge two deeply troubled, deeply blind souls toward the light. Or at least toward a conversation that doesn't involve seventy percent heavy staring and thirty percent awkward stuttering.”

“Hey! I don't stutter!” You snapped your head up, glaring at him, though the effect was entirely ruined by the way your hair was now completely disheveled from the counter.

“Oh, you definitely stutter,” Mingyu chimed in, a massive, teasing smirk splitting his face. He leaned even further over the counter, practically hovering over the pastry display. “Whenever he does that thing where he leans his chin in his hand and just looks at you while you're grinding espresso beans? You literally forget how to count. Last Tuesday, you gave Wonwoo four packets of sugar. Wonwoo drinks his coffee black, like oil. He was too polite to say anything, so he just stared at the cup in confusion for ten minutes.”

“That was an isolated incident!” you defended hotly, your hands waving in the air. “The grinder was making a weird noise, I was distracted by mechanical failure!”

“The only mechanical failure around here is your emotional defense system,” Seungkwan countered, pointing a finger at you. “It’s completely compromised. Look at you! You're vibrating. And the worst part is, he’s just as pathetic upstairs. Do you know what we had to endure during the Performance Team meeting yesterday? He kept sighing. Just, out of nowhere, a massive, dramatic tiger-sigh right in the middle of a transition count. Jun asked him what was wrong, and do you know what he said?”

You tried your absolute best to lock your jaw, to look completely uninterested, to force your expression into something cool and detached. But the traitorous, desperate part of your brain begged to know. “What?” you muttered quietly, cursing yourself the second the word left your lips.

The three of them instantly exchanged a triumphant, knowing look.

“He said,” Mingyu lowered his voice, doing a terrible, exaggeratedly deep impression of Soonyoung's intense tone, “‘Guys, have you noticed the coffee tastes different when it's poured with love? Because lately, the americanos from the lounge just hit different. You can do great things if you do them with love.’ I swear to God, Hoshi actually said that with a straight face.”

“He did not say that,” you breathed, your heart doing a violent, uncalled-for flip against your ribs. “Mingyu, you are lying. You're a liar.”

“Oh, and you haven't heard everything! He's omitting the best part,” Jeonghan said, leaning in closer, his eyes dancing with delight. “Right after he said that, Dokyeom started gagging, and Soonyoung got incredibly defensive. He almost punched him in the face! It was hilarious.” Jeonghan started giggling and continued “He insisted he was just making an objective observation about the quality of the cafeteria's new staff.”

You buried your face right back into your hands. The fact that the entire group was treating your mutual, unconfessed pining like a spectator sport—complete with monetary bets—was driving you insane.

“You guys are terrible friends,” you whined into your hands. “To both of us. If he actually hears you talking like this, he's going to get so uncomfortable and he'll never come down here again.”

“Oh, please. The boy would crawl through a ventilation shaft just to get a glimpse of your apron,” Seungkwan scoffed, though his teasing tone softened just a fraction into something genuinely amused. “We're not going to scare him off. If anything, we're trying to give him the courage to finally do something. Because watching him text the group chat at 2:00 a.m. asking if someone would like something from the cafeteria the next day is ruining my sleep schedule.”

Before you could even process that terrifying piece of information, the heavy glass doors of the cafeteria hallway gave a distinct, familiar click.

Instantly, the atmosphere behind the counter shifted. Mingyu snapped his posture upright, leaning back from your personal space with the speed of light. Seungkwan’s eyes darted toward the entrance, a sharp, wicked grin instantly spreading across his face, while Jeonghan merely took a slow, deliberate sip from the water bottle he’d been holding, his expression morphing into one of pure, unadulterated innocence.

“Speak of the devil,” Jeonghan murmured smoothly, his eyes locking onto the figure walking down the corridor. “Or, well, the tiger.”

Your stomach dropped, a sudden rush of adrenaline making you try and look ‘busy, working’. You didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The rhythmic, slightly heavy scuff of sneakers against the polished floor, the faint sound of someone humming a chaotic, upbeat melody under their breath—it was unmistakably him.

“Alright, look natural,” Seungkwan whispered loudly, nudging Mingyu with his elbow. “I am natural, I'm always natural,” Mingyu muttered back, suddenly looking incredibly busy by picking up a stray napkin from the counter and folding it into a perfect, meticulous square.

You swallowed hard, gripping on a cloth, ‘cleaning’ the espresso machine for the ninth time.

“Good morning!” Soonyoung’s voice exploded into the room, practically vibrating with an absurd amount of 7:50 a.m. energy. He walked up to the counter, his hair slightly damp from an early shower, wearing a fitting shirt that accentuated his frame. His bright, tiger-like eyes instantly locked onto you, completely bypassing the three men standing right next to him. “Wow, you guys are open early today. Or am I early? I think I'm early.”

“The cafeteria opens in ten minutes, Soonyoung-ah,” Jeonghan said, his voice the very definition of pure, unbothered calm. “But our lovely barista here was kind enough to let us wait inside.”

“Oh! Perfect!” Soonyoung smiled, his gaze snapping back to you, a slight, nervous flush instantly coloring the tips of his ears. He shifted from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. “Hey. Good morning. I, uh... I was just around here. In the…Opposite side of the building, actually. But I felt like a walk. And I thought, hey, why not get the guys some drinks? To motivate them. For the stage. You know?”

Behind him, Seungkwan made a face that was so violently mocking you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming. Mingyu was biting his lip, still furiously smoothing out his perfectly square napkin.

“Wow, Soonyoung, that is so incredibly generous of you,” Seungkwan chimed in, his voice dripping with sudden, overwhelming theatrical sweetness. He leaned over the counter, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I was just feeling a little sluggish. A bit unmotivated. If you're buying... I think I'll have a grande iced pistachio white chocolate mocha. With an extra shot of espresso. And oat milk. Oh, and cold foam on top.”

Soonyoung blinked, his bright smile faltering for a microsecond as his brain tried to process the tongue-twister of a luxury order. “Uh. Sure. Yeah. One... pistachio mocha thingy for Seungkwan.”

“Make that two,” Mingyu added instantly, completely abandoning his napkin to flash a massive, predatory grin. “But add caramel drizzle to mine. And a warm butter croissant. You want us motivated, right, hyung? My muscles need carbohydrates for the choreo.”

“You guys are eating gold for breakfast or what?” Soonyoung muttered, his hand tracing his pocket where his wallet was, though he still kept his eyes firmly glued to you, as if looking away would break a spell. “What about you, Jeonghan-hyung?”

Jeonghan let out a soft, amused hum, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the countertop. He looked up at the menu board, his eyes tracking the premium section with a slow, calculating precision that made your stomach instantly drop.

“I'll just take something simple,” Jeonghan began, his voice smooth and entirely too relaxed. “Let's do a grande iced dirty chai latte, but make it with half oat milk and half coconut milk. Two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, one pump of hazelnut, a dash of cinnamon blended into the espresso shot, and—oh, let's add the salted caramel cold foam on top, but tell the kitchen to whip it extra thick.”

Soonyoung kept his smile locked onto his face, nodding along like a soldier executing a drill, though his eyes widened slightly at the sheer length of the beverage description.

“And for snacks,” Jeonghan continued seamlessly, not even pausing to breathe as he pointed a manicured finger at the pastry display, “I'll take a slice of the dark chocolate ganache cake, a warmed almond croissant, two of those imported raspberry macarons, and a blueberry scone. Actually, throw in a savory ham and cheese croissant too, just in case I get hungry during the midday vocal check.”

Beside him, Mingyu’s jaw literally slackened. Seungkwan had to physically cover his mouth to muffle a high-pitched snort.

You stared at Jeonghan in utter horror. He was ordering enough food to feed the whole group, deliberately picking every single item that required baking, warming, or premium upcharges.

Soonyoung stood absolutely frozen. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. His brain was violently calculating the astronomical total of a single breakfast order, his fingers twitching inside his pockets as he realized Jeonghan was single-handedly trying to liquidate his bank account.

Yet, despite the internal financial crisis happening behind his eyes, Soonyoung didn't say a single word. He swallowed hard, puffed out his chest.

You stared at the three of them, absolutely appalled. They were completely milking him dry, ordering the most ridiculous, time-consuming, expensive items on the hidden menu just to punish your bank-account-oblivious crush.

“You guys,” you hissed under your breath, glaring daggers at Mingyu. “That’s too much, I can't—”

“No, no! It's fine! Let them order!” Soonyoung interrupted frantically, waving his hands in the air as if terrified you were going to tell him to leave.

He leaned his elbows on the counter, tilting his head up to look at you, his eyes suddenly soft and intensely focused. “Take your time. Really. Charge it all to my card. Whatever they want. Whatever you want, too.” He said as he slid his black card looking unbothered

Your heart did a violent loop against your ribs. The way he looked at you—totally ignoring the chaotic trio stifling their giggles right next to him—was suffocating.

“Alright! Paid and done!” Seungkwan cheered the second Soonyoung tapped his card against the reader. Before you could even finish pouring the premium random shit Jeonghan ordered, Seungkwan grabbed his over-complicated mocha from the pickup station, snatched Mingyu’s croissant, and checked his watch with a gasp that could win an Oscar. “Oh, my god! Look at the time! The choreographer is going to murder us!”

“Wait, what?” Soonyoung blinked, turning around. “We still have like fifteen minutes—”

“No, hyung, you know how strict he is about stretching with the three of us!” Mingyu lied smoothly, grabbing his caramel-drizzled drink with one hand and physically hooking his other arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder, dragging the older member toward the exit. “We have to go. Right now. Cardio waits for no man!”

“Yes, duty calls,” Jeonghan added, completely unbothered by being dragged away, casually holding his expensive coffee and his random food items. He looked back over his shoulder at you, throwing you a slow, wicked wink that screamed you're SO welcome. “Thanks for the drinks, Soonyoung-ah! Enjoy your morning!”

“Wait, guys, you forgot—” you called out desperately, but it was too late.

The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind them, their distant, echoing laughter fading down the hallway.

Suddenly, the massive cafeteria felt entirely too big, and entirely too quiet. The soft hum of the espresso machine was the only sound left between you.

You stood behind the counter, holding a clean cup, your face burning a brilliant crimson. Across from you, Soonyoung was still standing behind the marble, his hands tucked back into his pockets, suddenly looking incredibly shy now that his protective shield of members had vanished. He cleared his throat softly, his eyes darting to the floor before creeping back up to meet yours.

“Well,” Soonyoung murmured, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I guess... it's just us now.” “Y-Yeah… Are you…ordering something?”

Soonyoung’s eyes snapped up from the floor at your question, his cheeks instantly flushing a faint pink that perfectly matched the tips of his ears. He let out a nervous, airy laugh, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh! Right. Yeah. I forgot I actually came down here for a reason,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He stepped a little closer to the counter, leaning against the cool marble again, though his posture was nowhere near as confident as it had been when he was trying to look like a billionaire in front of Jeonghan.

“Um... just a regular iced americano is fine. Whatever is easiest for you. You don't have to put any effort into it! I mean—not that you can't, or that I don't want you to, but I just mean you don't have to do anything extra, just a normal one is great!”

He trailed off, his eyes going wide as he realized he was babbling. He quickly shut his mouth, looking at you with a mix of sheer panic and intense adoration.

You had to grip the handle of the espresso portafilter just to steady your hands, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

“One iced americano. Got it,” you said, your voice coming out a little squeakier than you intended. You quickly turned your back to him, using the loud grind of the espresso beans to drown out the furious rushing of blood in your ears.

“Do you... need any help?” Soonyoung's voice drifted over the counter, sounding closer now.

You peeked over your shoulder. He had moved down to the pickup station, leaning his chin in his palm, watching you with that exact, heavy-lidded stare Mingyu had been mocking just ten minutes ago. It was terrifying how intensely focused he was on you, his eyes tracking the way you leveled off the coffee grounds.

“I can handle an americano, Soonyoung,” you teased softly, trying to regain your composure. “Though your friends did just leave me with a mountain of dishes and a pastry display to restock before 8:00 a.m.”

“They're menace animals,” Soonyoung said instantly, his expression turning into a pout. “I'm really sorry about Jeonghan-hyung. I think he was trying to bankrupt me. I didn't even know we had macarons in the kitchen.”

Then, his voice dropped a pitch, softening into something incredibly sweet. “But it was worth it.”

You froze for a fraction of a second, a piece of ice slipping from your tongs and clattering back into the bin. “What?”

“Getting them whatever they wanted,” Soonyoung clarified quickly, his face burning hotter as he realized how heavy his words sounded. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, suddenly looking very interested in the straw dispenser. “Because, you know... they would've complained all day during practice if I didn't. And this way, I got to... uh... ensure the cafeteria got good business today. Yeah.”

You poured the shots of espresso over the cold water and ice, watching the dark liquid swirl and marble through the cup. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you walked over to the pickup station and placed the cup down right in front of him.

"Here you go. One americano,” you said, offering him a small, nervous smile. “Poured with... standard corporate care.”

Soonyoung wrapped his fingers around the cold cup, but he didn't pull it away. Instead, he kept his hand there, his fingers just inches from yours, his gaze locked firmly onto your face.

The playful, chaotic energy of the morning had completely evaporated, leaving behind a thick, heavy tension that made it hard to breathe.

“Thanks,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips for a split second before darting back to your eyes. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Are you... are you free after your shift today? I mean, I know you're busy, but the Performance Team finishes early, and I found this really cool street food alley near the old station, and I thought... Maybe we could go? Just the— I mean, with everyone! Yeah yeah, if, if that's fine with you, of course!”

“Sure, just text me the location and I'll be there” Soonyoung smiled at you, “Okay, then, see you later!”

And when you finally saw him come out, you let out the longest sigh of your life. Maybe your friends weren't wrong; you liked Soonyoung.

Monday 6:00 pm

Finally, it was time to leave. Hoshi had already sent the invitation and the location where the whole group would meet. He bribed the group by saying he would pay.

After closing the till and cleaning up, you went to the bathroom to touch up your appearance... Just in case.

You smoothed down your clothes, checked your reflection in the restroom mirror one last time, and stepped out into the cool evening air.

Your heart was doing tiny, nervous flips. Even though Soonyoung had panic-invited the entire group to save face, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement. He had walked all the way across the building just to see you, after all.

When you arrived at the bustling street food alley near the old station, the savory, mouth-watering scent of grilled skewers, spicy rice cakes, and hot tteokbokki hung heavy in the air. Bright neon signs flickered overhead, casting a warm glow over the crowded stalls.

Searching through the sea of people, you finally spotted the guys gathered around a long wooden table beneath a red plastic tarp.

They were already chaotic, laughing loudly and fighting over pairs of chopsticks. Soonyoung was sitting near the middle, looking bright and striking in a casual jacket.

As you walked up, his eyes instantly found yours, his face lighting up with that familiar, warm crinkle. He raised his hand to wave you over, his lips parting to call your name.

But before the sound could even leave his throat, Joshua, who was sitting near the end of the table, stood up and patted the shoulder of a girl sitting right next to him. You hadn't noticed her at first because of the crowded space, but as she stood up to greet you, the whole table briefly quieted down.

“Hey! Everyone, look who finally made it,” Joshua announced cheerfully, a proud, older-brother smile on his face. He gestured to the girl beside him, who was dressed effortlessly chic, her bright eyes and warm energy immediately drawing the eye. “Guys, this is my cousin, Minji. She just moved back to the city, and since she's a professional contemporary dancer, I figured she absolutely had to meet our performance team leader.”

“Hi, everyone! It's so nice to meet you all,” Minji said, bowing politely before flashing a brilliant, dazzling smile.

“Wow, Shua-hyung, you never told us your cousin was this cool!” Mingyu chimed in, immediately shifting down the bench to make room.

But it wasn't Mingyu she gravitated toward. Because she was a dancer, her eyes naturally locked onto Soonyoung, who had stood up out of politeness.

“Wait, the Hoshi?” Minji asked, her eyes widening with genuine excitement. “Joshua has told me so much about your choreography! The transition work you did for the last tour was absolutely insane. The syncopation in the bridge? I've literally rewatched it a hundred times.”

Soonyoung’s jaw practically dropped, his inner performance-nerd instantly activated. The shy, flustered boy from the cafeteria vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the passionate, loud leader of the performance team. “Wait, really?! You noticed the syncopation? None of the guys ever appreciate how hard that part was to count!”

“Are you kidding? The timing was genius!” Minji laughed, her voice bright and easy.

“Sit here! You have to tell me what style you usually train in!” Soonyoung said enthusiastically, completely caught up in the sudden rush of artistic validation. He eagerly slid over on the bench, making a space for her right beside him—the very space your heart had secretly hoped belonged to you.

You stood at the edge of the red tarp, your hand still gripping the strap of your bag, completely frozen.

The transition happened so fast it made your head spin. Within a matter of seconds, Minji slid into the seat next to Soonyoung. They clicked instantly. It was like watching two magnets snap together; their shoulders brushed as they immediately began using animated hand gestures to mimic dance formations, their laughter blending together perfectly over the sizzling sound of the street food grid.

A cold, heavy stone suddenly dropped into the pit of your stomach. It wasn't just that they were getting along. It was the terrifying realization of how effortlessly she spoke his language—a language that you had no access to.

“Hey,” a low, gentle voice murmured right beside your ear.

You blinked, snapping out of your trance to find Jeonghan standing next to you. He didn't have his usual mischievous smirk. Instead, his eyes were quiet, remarkably perceptive, and laced with a soft, protective concern as he looked from your pale face to the laughing duo at the center of the table.

He quietly pulled out the stool right next to his own, far away from the center of the noise, and gave you a reassuring nod. “Come sit by me. Let's get some food before Mingyu eats the entire menu.”

You quietly slid onto the plastic stool beside Jeonghan, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag under the table. You tried to force a small, polite smile as the rest of the members greeted you, but your chest felt so tight you could barely take a deep breath.

Across the table, the world seemed to fade away for Soonyoung. He was completely captivated.

“No, because contemporary formatting is completely different from hip-hop transitions!” Soonyoung was saying, his voice loud and animated as he gestured with a pair of chopsticks. He leaned in close to Minji, his shoulder flush against hers. “When we did the formations for Fear, I wanted to pull in that fluid, heavier weight, you know? But the guys kept hitting it too sharply!”

“I totally get that!” Minji replied, her eyes bright as she nodded along eagerly. “Contemporary relies so much on gravity. If you treat it like pop-and-lock, you lose the emotion entirely. Have you ever thought about trying a piece where you deliberately delay the downbeat?”

“A delayed downbeat?” Soonyoung’s eyes went completely wide, a look of pure, unadulterated awe washing over his face. He looked at her as if she had just handed him the secrets to the universe. “Oh my god. Minji. You're a genius. Let's look at the studio schedule—are you free on Wednesday? You have to come by the practice room. I want to show you the demo we're working on for the next unit track.”

“I'd love to! I can bring some of my old recital tapes too,” she chimed in, laughing as Soonyoung eagerly pulled out his phone, opening his calendar and entirely forgetting the food sitting right in front of him.

Every word felt like a physical blow to your chest. You sat there, staring blankly at the steaming bowl of tteokbokki Seungkwan had passed down to you, completely unable to pick up your chopsticks. It wasn't that Minji was doing anything malicious; she was sweet, genuinely talented, and completely innocent.

But watching how effortlessly she drew out his passion, how naturally he confided his artistic frustrations in her—frustrations he usually kept bottled up—made you feel entirely invisible.

You had spent the whole morning flustered over a shared look over an espresso machine. But watching him now, you realized she spoke a language that you could never learn. You were just the barista who made his daily americano. She was someone who actually belonged in his world.

“Eat up,” Jeonghan murmured softly beside you, breaking the spell. He quietly dropped a perfectly grilled chicken skewer into your bowl, his voice low enough that it didn't carry over the loud chatter of the table.

You looked over at him, your throat burning with a sudden, humiliating wave of tears. You quickly blinked them away, looking down at your hands. “I'm not really hungry, hyung,” you whispered back, your voice cracking slightly.

Jeonghan didn't push you. He didn't make a joke, and he didn't call attention to you. He just quietly shifted his position on the bench, deliberately blocking your direct line of sight to Soonyoung and Minji so you wouldn't have to watch them exchange phone numbers.

“Hey! Barista-nim!” Seungkwan suddenly called out from the other end of the table, entirely oblivious to the heavy atmosphere. “Did Hoshi actually pay for Jeonghan-hyung's massive scam of an order this morning, or did he have to wash dishes to cover it?”

The question finally drew Soonyoung’s attention away from his conversation. His head snapped up, his eyes instantly scanning the table until they landed on you. The animated, excited grin on his face faltered for a fraction of a second when he noticed how pale you were, and how your untouched food was sitting cold in front of you.

“Ah... yeah, I paid,” Soonyoung muttered, his voice dropping its loud excitement as he looked at you, a sudden flash of hesitation flickering in his tiger eyes. “Did you... did you get enough to eat? I can order more skewers if you want.”

The sudden pity—or what felt like pity to your bruised heart—was the final straw.

“No, I'm good, thank you,” you said, forcing the most believable, polite smile you could muster as you stood up from the stool. You adjusted your bag over your shoulder. “Actually, guys, I'm feeling a bit tired from the shift. I think I'm going to head home first. Have fun, and thank you for the food, Soonyoung.”

“Wait, already?” Soonyoung started to slide out from the bench, his brow furrowing with instant worry. “I can walk you to the station—”

“No, stay! You and Minji were right in the middle of planning Wednesday's session,” you interrupted quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, backing out from under the red plastic tarp into the cool night air. “Jeonghan-hyung will walk me out. Right, hyung?”

Jeonghan smoothly stood up, grabbing his jacket. “Yeah, I need to stretch my legs anyway. See you guys at practice tomorrow.”

As you turned on your heel and walked away into the crowded alley, you could feel Soonyoung's burning gaze locked onto your retreating back. But for the first time, you didn't turn around to look. The space beside him was occupied now, and as the cold wind hit your face you walked beside Jeonghan in silence.

Something you never did. But you weren't ready to speak; perhaps you were just overthinking this too much.

You were walking towards the train station, but Jeonghan grabbed your arm, saying, “I'll take you home, I'm not making you pay for a train ticket when I can drive you safely”

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, your shoulders dropping as you nodded silently. “Okay. Thank you, hyung.”

The walk to his car was a blur of neon signs and the muffled chatter of the city. Jeonghan didn't say a word, completely mirroring your silence. He unlocked the passenger door for you, waited until you were safely inside, and then climbed into the driver's seat. The moment he started the engine, the quiet hum of the heater began to fill the small space, taking the edge off the chilly night air.

As he pulled out of the parking lot and navigated the dark streets, you leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, watching the streetlights blur into long, watery streaks. Your mind was a chaotic mess of overlapping thoughts. Am I being pathetic? She’s just his friend. He was just being nice. But he looked at her so differently. He never looks at me like that.

The car ride was completely silent, Jeonghan didn't push, he knew you, and you'll talk about it when you are ready to.

When Jeonghan finally pulled up to the curb outside your apartment building, he shifted the car into park but left the engine running, keeping the warm air circulating.

He turned his head, giving you a long, quiet look filled with that rare, older-brother sincerity he only showed when it truly mattered. “Get some sleep,” he murmured softly, reaching over to gently tap the top of your head. “Don't let your brain bully you tonight. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, hyung. Drive safe,” you whispered, offering him a faint, grateful smile before stepping out into the chilly night.

Upstairs, your apartment felt heavy and empty. You dropped your bag by the door and went straight to get changed into your oversized pajamas, crawled under the covers, and let the exhausting weight of the day finally pull you into a restless sleep.

Tuesday 7:20 p.m.

The next morning, you arrived at the cafeteria determined to bury your feelings in routine. You ground the beans, wiped down the stainless steel, and officially unlocked the glass doors. You expected Seungkwan and Jeonghan to show up for their usual interrogation, but instead, the bell above the door chimed to reveal a completely different trio.

“Good morning, barista-nim!” Seungkwan's voice carried across the room, unusually bright and cheerful, as if he was overcompensating for the heavy atmosphere from the night before.

Walking right alongside him were Joshua and Minji.

Minji looked effortlessly stunning in a casual knit sweater, her face completely fresh and glowing. The moment her eyes landed on you, her entire face lit up with genuine warmth. “Hi! Good morning!” Minji beamed, walking straight up to the counter and leaning against it enthusiastically.

“Oh wow, Joshua wasn't lying—this cafeteria is so beautiful. And look at you! Your hair is so pretty today, what product do you use? I swear, the city humidity has been ruining my curls all week, but you look absolutely flawless.” You blinked, completely caught off guard by the sudden barrage of sweet compliments. The defensive walls you had built up in your head overnight suddenly felt incredibly silly.

“Oh... um, thank you,” you stammered, a small, genuine flush hitting your cheeks. “It's just a standard serum, I can text you the brand later if you want.” “Please do!” Minji clapped her hands together, smiling brightly.

“And honestly, I wanted to apologize for monopolizing the conversation so much last night. I was just so nervous meeting everyone, and Hoshi-ssi was the only one who understood my rants about contemporary timing! But I felt so bad when you left early. Are you feeling better today?”

“Yeah, much better, just a bit of burnout,” you lied softly, your heart twisting. Minji was incredibly sweet. She wasn't a threat; she was a girl trying to fit into a new city, and she genuinely liked you. You couldn't even force yourself to resent her if you tried.

“Good! Because we definitely need to hang out, just the girls; you and me! without all these noisy boys around,” she joked, nudging Joshua with her elbow.

“Hey, I am excellent company,” Joshua defended with a calm smile. “But I agree, you two should hang out. Now, can we order? Seungkwan is vibrating.”

“I am hungry,” Seungkwan corrected dramatically, slamming his hand lightly on the marble. “Give me a vanilla latte and a chocolate muffin, please.” You turned around to pull the espresso shots, smiling at Minji's continuous chatter.

Then, the glass doors clicked open again.

“Good morning!”

Soonyoung practically bounced into the cafeteria, holding a tablet in his hand. But the moment his eyes scanned the room and locked onto Minji, his performance-leader switch flipped instantly.

“Minji! Perfect, you're already here! Look, I re-watched that contemporary tape you sent me last night at 2:00 a.m., and I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about the bridge transition.”

“Wait, really?!” Minji turned around, her face instantly mirroring his excitement. “Did you see what I meant about the delayed downbeat?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Soonyoung exploded, completely bypassing Joshua and Seungkwan to lean over the counter right next to her. He tapped the screen of his tablet aggressively, showing her a dance timeline. “Look right here. If we drop the bass on the fourth count instead of the third…”

Within a matter of seconds, the entire atmosphere behind the counter shifted violently.

It was like a transparent wall had dropped around the two of them, turning the busy lounge into their own private cafeteria. They started talking a lot, their voices overlapping in a rapid-fire torrent of dance terminology, rhythm counts, and formation ideas. Soonyoung was completely animated, his shoulder pressing against Minji’s as they both leaned over the screen, totally oblivious to the world around them.

You stood frozen with the milk pitcher in your hand. The contrast was suffocating. Just yesterday morning, Soonyoung had been blushing and stuttering over an americano with you. Now, he was entirely consumed by a world you had no part in. You felt the familiar, icy weight dropping into your stomach, making you feel entirely invisible while you stood less than two feet away from him.

Seungkwan’s eyes darted from the frantic duo to your pale face, his expression instantly morphing into a sharp frown. He cleared his throat loudly, but Soonyoung didn't even blink, still humming a rhythm to Minji.

Joshua’s smile faded too. Realizing the boundary had been entirely crossed, he stepped directly between his cousin and Soonyoung, physically breaking their line of sight.

“Alright, Hoshi, wrap it up,” Joshua intervened, his voice calm but carrying a rare, firm authority that made Soonyoung blink out of his trance. “We came here to get coffee before work, don't bring work to this beautiful sanctuary.”

“Yeah, hello? Some of us are actually trying to wake up, not watch a live choreography breakdown,” Seungkwan chimed in smoothly, his tone sharp as he subtly stepped in front of you, blocking Soonyoung from looking at your tightened jaw. He grabbed his drink from the pickup tray and nudged Minji's arm.

“Come on, Minji-ya, let's go drink this in the lounge before he traps you here all morning.”

“Oh! Right, sorry, I got carried away,” Minji said, offering you a sweet, apologetic wave as Seungkwan and Joshua quickly ushered her toward the exit.

Soonyoung blinked, suddenly looking around the cafeteria as if he had just woken up from a dream. The loud, chaotic energy faded, leaving him standing alone at the counter. He looked down at you, his tiger eyes softening back into that hesitant, nervous look from the day before.

“Hey,” he murmured quietly, his fingers twitching against the edge of his tablet. “I... I didn't see you there for a second. Good morning.”

That "didn't see you there" hurt you more than anything, more than seeing him happy with someone else; being invisible to him was worse than anything.

“But anyway, I'll take my usual!”

The words echoed in your mind, sharp and heavy, cutting through whatever lingering warmth you had felt from his visit the previous morning. It shouldn't have hurt this badly. He didn't mean it maliciously—you knew his brain worked in hyper-fixated bursts when it came to dance—but being completely invisible to the person who usually looked at you like you were the center of the universe was a brand of agony you weren't prepared for. Yesterday, he had walked across the entire building just to catch your eye. Today, you were just a part of the background scenery.

“Right,” you muttered, forcing your voice to remain perfectly flat, completely devoid of the shaky emotion threatening to break through. You didn't look up to meet his eyes, terrified of what he might see in yours. “An iced americano.”

“Yeah! Thanks,” Soonyoung said, his voice dropping some of its nervous edge as he slipped his tablet under his arm. He didn't seem to notice the shift in your energy yet, his mind still half-buoyant from his conversation with Minji. He leaned his elbows against the marble counter, shifting comfortably. “Man, Minji is seriously amazing. Her brain works so fast with contemporary counts. I feel like we’re going to completely rewrite the performance unit's B-side choreography by the end of the week.”

Every word felt like a fresh layer of salt on a raw wound. You turned your back to him, reaching for the coffee grinder. The aggressive, loud buzz of the machine grinding the espresso beans was a welcome relief, drowning out the suffocating quiet of the room and the heavy thumping of your own heart.

As you locked the portafilter into the machine and pressed the extraction button, you stared at the dark liquid dripping into the shot glass. You're just the barista, a cruel little voice in your head whispered. She’s his peer. She belongs in the world he actually lives in.

You poured the cold water and ice into a plastic cup, topping it off with the fresh espresso shots.

When you turned around to place it on the pickup station, you caught him staring at you. His head was tilted, his sharp eyes blinking softly as he took in your rigid posture and the tight, forced line of your jaw. The easy, excited smile he had been wearing slowly faltered.

“Here's your americano,” you said politely, your tone matching the standard, detached voice you used for corporate executives who wandered down from the upper floors. You didn't slide it closer to his hand. You just set it down and immediately reached for a clean cloth, turning your attention to the already spotless countertop.

Soonyoung didn't pick up the cup right away. He reached for it, but his fingers paused against the cold plastic, his brow furrowing as he sensed the icy wall you had suddenly built between you.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice losing all of its hyperactive energy, replaced by a sudden, hesitant worry. “Are you... are you okay? You seem kind of quiet today. Did you really recover from that burnout yesterday?”

“I'm perfectly fine, Soonyoung,” you replied, keeping your eyes strictly on the marble you were wiping down. “Just busy. The morning rush is about to start and I have a lot of prep work to finish before the doors officially open.”

“Oh.” He shifted from foot to foot, the silence between you stretching out, heavy and suffocating. He looked at the cup, then back at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Right. Sorry for... blocking the counter. I didn't mean to get in your way.”

“'s fine. It's my job,” you said simply, finally looking up to give him a brief, entirely empty customer-service smile before walking away to the back sink, effectively ending the conversation.

Soonyoung stood alone at the counter for another long moment, looking incredibly small in his oversized clothes. He slowly picked up his coffee, his eyes lingering on your back with a deep, confused hurt before he finally turned and walked out of the cafeteria, the glass doors clicking shut behind him with a finality that made your chest ache.

“Fuck.”

Maybe your friends weren't wrong; you liked Soonyoung.

Tuesday 5:34 p.m.

It was almost closing time, you looked at the clock and wished the hands would strike 6 o'clock. You needed to leave, you wanted to leave.

For the past eight hours, you had been moving like a machine—pouring milk, pressing buttons, wiping surfaces until your reflection stared back at you from the polished metal. You had done everything in your power to stay busy, to stop your brain from replaying that brief, devastating fraction of a second where Soonyoung looked right through you.

The door to the cafeteria hallway gave a sharp, echoing click.

“Barista-nim!” Fortunately, it was Seungcheol.

Seungcheol walked in,his gym bag slung over one broad shoulder. He looked tired from a long day of meetings, but the moment he caught sight of you standing behind the counter, his features softened into a warm, older-brotherly smile.

“You look like you're about to pass out standing up. Rough day?” he said, walking up to the register and leaning his forearms against the cool marble.

“Just the usual exhaustion, hyung,” you lied smoothly, offering him a much more genuine smile than the empty customer-service mask you’d given Soonyoung hours prior. “What can I get you? I’m about to shut down the espresso machine, but I can still make whatever you need.”

“Just a cold brew is fine, don't sweat it,” Seungcheol replied, waving a hand dismissively. He watched you move to the fridge, his sharp, leader-trained eyes taking in the rigidness of your shoulders, the slight puffiness around your eyes, and the sheer fatigue bleeding through your posture.

Seungcheol wasn't loud or intrusive like Seungkwan, but he noticed everything.

As you handed him the plastic cup, he didn't pull his hand away immediately. He kept his fingers anchored to the base, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze.

“You know,” Seungcheol started quietly, his voice dropping into that protective, leader tone he used when he was genuinely worried about someone. “Hoshi was an absolute mess during the mid-day briefing.”

Your heart gave a painful, uncalled-for stutter against your ribs at the mention of his name, but you forced your face to remain entirely blank. “Oh? Did the choreo changes not go well?”

“The choreo is fine,” Seungcheol sighed, swirling the ice in his cup. “He's the problem. He sat through a two-hour production meeting staring at his shoes. When I asked him if he was injured or tired, he just looked at me and asked if I thought he was 'obnoxious.' Then a little birdie told me he was sad about ruining the only sanctuary in this building and dragged his feet back to Studio B.”

Seungcheol leaned a little closer, and sighed, ‘wondering’. “I don’t know what happened here, but anyways. You look like you're carrying the weight of the world, really. Is everything alright, hmm?”

The heavy block of ice in your chest felt like it was starting to crack, your throat burning with a sudden, frustrating wave of emotion.

“I'm just tired, Cheol-hyung,” you whispered, looking down at the counter. “Really. It's fine.”

Seungcheol looked at you for a long moment, knowing damn well it wasn't fine, but he respected your boundaries enough not to push. He let go of the cup, giving you a firm, reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Alright. Go home early. I'll tell the floor manager I told you to close up at 5:45. Get some rest, okay?”

“Thank you, hyung,” you breathed, a wave of pure relief washing over you

“Anytime. See you tomorrow,” he said, turning on his heel and walking out, taking a large gulp of his coffee as the glass doors clicked shut behind him.

You didn't waste a single second. The moment the doors fully closed, you flipped the open sign to 'CLOSED', shut off the main lights, and ran through the closing checklist in record time. You didn't want to be here at 6:00 p.m.

You didn't want to risk the Performance Team coming down after their rehearsal ended. You couldn't handle seeing him look at you with that confused, wounded expression when you were the one who felt entirely shattered.

By 5:48 p.m., you had your jacket on, your bag slung over your shoulder, and you were locking the main glass doors from the outside.

You walked toward the emergency stairwell instead of the elevators, desperate to escape into the cool evening air before the performance team wrapped things up.

When you finally reached the ground floor and stepped outside the cold air rushed into your lungs, a sharp, bitter shock that completely shattered the fragile hold you had on your emotions.

You shouldn't feel that way, Soonyoung and you. You're just friends.

You walked home like that, in silence; your house wasn't near the building, so you arrived at approximately 9 pm.

Your phone buzzed when you arrived. A notification from the group chat. A single photo, which broke your heart even more than it already was.

It was a group photo, Minji in the middle of them. In a practice room. Speaking the language you'd never understand.

You stood in the middle of your dark, quiet apartment, the cold air from the open window doing nothing to soothe the sudden, agonizing heat blooming behind your eyes.

You stared at the glowing screen of your phone, your thumb trembling slightly as you tapped the notification, blowing up the image until it filled your vision.

It was a classic Seventeen group photo. They were all crowded together in the center of the practice room, drenched in sweat, their faces flushed but beaming with that effortless, tight-knit energy they always possessed after a hard run-through. And right there, dead center in the middle of the frame, sat Minji. She was holding up a peace sign, laughing brightly as Hoshi leaned over her shoulder from behind, his eyes crinkled into those happy, crescent moons that used to be reserved entirely for you.

The caption, sent by a cheerful Dokyeom, read: “Nailed it!! Special thanks to our honorary 14th member, Minji-ya! 💎✨”

A single, hot tear finally spilled over your lashes, splashing directly onto the glass screen, fracturing the image into a watery blur.

It wasn't just that Soonyoung looked happy. It was the crushing weight of the realization that she had integrated into their world in less than forty-eight hours, while you were still standing securely on the outside, looking in through a glass window.

Your mind, entirely exhausted and deeply bruised from the day’s events, began to twist the knife further. You thought back to all the times you had joined them for late-night hotpot, all the weekend gatherings, and the casual hangouts at the Han River. A bitter, suffocating lump formed in your throat as you realized something devastating: you barely existed in their digital memories. Every time the group gathered for a photo, you were always the one who volunteered to take it.

“Oh, let me do it, I can get all thirteen of you in the frame!”

You would always say, offering a bright smile. And they would cheer, completely oblivious, leaving you as the invisible ghost behind the camera lens. You had known them for months, yet Minji had moved into their bubble seamlessly within days, earning a spot dead center because she spoke the language of sweat, rhythm, and stage presence.

She belonged in the building. You just worked in it. To them, you were just the sweet, dependable "barista-nim" who kept them caffeinated.

The worst part of the agony—the part that made you feel utterly pathetic—was that you still couldn't bring yourself to resent Minji. She was genuinely lovely. She had complimented your hair, offered to text you, and explicitly stated she wanted to hang out "just the girls." She wasn't a villain trying to steal your life; she was just a talented, magnetic person who naturally fit into a puzzle where you had been forcing yourself into a corner that didn't belong to you.

You slowly sat down on the edge of your bed, the darkness of the room swallowing you whole. The silence of your apartment felt deafening compared to the loud, vibrant warmth of that practice room photo.

I don't belong in their bubble, you thought, a profound, hollow numbness washing over your chest. I never did.

It was a self-inflicted realization, but it felt like the only way to protect what was left of your dignity. If you stayed, you would keep watching Soonyoung look right through you. You would keep pouring drinks while he animatedly rewrote his future with someone who understood his passion. You would keep being the person behind the camera, completely erased from the frame.

With a numb, heavy finality, you tapped out of the group chat. You didn't leave the room—that would cause too much drama, and Seungcheol would be downstairs demanding answers by morning—but you firmly hit the 'Mute' button, setting the notifications to Always.

You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back onto your pillow as the tears silently soaked into the fabric. You were going to pull away. Not with an explosion, and not with an argument, but slowly, quietly drifting out of their orbit until you were just a distant memory. If you were just the barista to them, then that’s exactly what you would be.

Wednesday 7:20 a.m.

You had told yourself that you were going to pull away, that you were going to accept your place on the periphery of his world. But the human heart is a stubborn, fragile thing.

You had woken up at 5:30 a.m. before your alarm could even finish its first chime. You had stood in front of your small bathroom mirror for twenty minutes, carefully applying a touch of makeup, smoothing down a new cardigan, and making sure your hair fell perfectly over your shoulders. Every time you did something extra, Soonyoung was always the first to notice. He would blink, his entire face flushing pink, and stammer out a compliment about how “bright” you looked today.

You had dressed up for him. You had allowed yourself one final, desperate sliver of hope.

By 7:35 a.m., the espresso machine was fully heated, its metallic hum filling the empty room. The pastry display was perfectly stocked. The marble counter was spotless.

The glass doors remained entirely still.

You kept your eyes glued to the digital clock on

7:40 a.m.

7:45 a.m.

7:50 a.m.

The exact minute Soonyoung usually burst through the doors, radiating chaotic, high-energy warmth and smelling of fresh soap, came and went. The corridor outside remained completely empty.

You stood behind the counter, your fingers gripping the edges of the marble so hard your knuckles turned white. The realization hit you: he had —What you thought of as a date—a dance practice with Minji since 6:00 a.m. maybe.

He was already upstairs. He was in the practice room. And today, he hadn't felt the need to walk across the building to see you. He didn't need an excuse to escape the studio because his inspiration, his focus, his world was already up there with him.

8:00 a.m.

The cafeteria officially opened, but no one came. Seungkwan didn't show up with Jeonghan to interrogate you. Even the regular staff from the upper production floors seemed to vanish, leaving you entirely alone in the massive, hollow space.

The beautiful clothes you had picked out felt like a cruel joke. The careful touch of makeup on your face felt heavy, a pathetic mask worn for an audience that never bothered to show up.

Wednesday 2:00 p.m.

By the afternoon, the isolation became suffocating. The cafeteria was a ghost town. You spent hours wiping down surfaces that were already clean, your chest aching with a profound, hollow numbness. Every single click of the glass doors made your heart leap into your throat, only for your stomach to drop when it turned out to be a stray delivery driver or a manager rushing past without looking at you.

You pulled out your phone. The group chat was still muted, but you couldn't stop yourself from opening it.

There were no new messages from Soonyoung. No panicked boggling over complex orders. The last message was still Dokyeom’s photo from the night before, featuring Minji sitting dead center in the practice room, holding up a peace sign.

You were completely, entirely invisible.

“Why did I even try?” you whispered to the empty room, your voice cracking.

A wave of intense, exhausting sadness washed over you, burying itself deep into your bones. You couldn't stand being in this building for another minute. Every corner of it reminded you of a reality you didn't belong to.

You didn't want to wait for 6:00 p.m. You didn't even wait for the afternoon shift to officially end. There was no point in keeping the lights on for a sanctuary that felt more like a cage.

Moving like a mechanical doll, you flipped the sign on the glass door to CLOSED.

Instantly after, someone was in front of you. Soonyoung.

But it wasn't Soonyoung walking in alone, looking guilty or worried. It was a crowd. And they weren't quiet.

“No, because if we drop the bass on the fourth count instead of the third, the entire transition feels twice as powerful!” Soonyoung’s voice exploded into the room, practically vibrating with a frantic, euphoric energy.

He burst through the doors flanked by Joshua and Minji, with Seungkwan and Mingyu trailing closely behind them, all of them talking over one another. They looked exhausted from days of intense, non-stop practicing, but their faces were flushed with the absolute high of a massive creative breakthrough.

“Good afternoon, barista-nim!” Seungkwan called out, completely riding the wave of the group's excitement as he stepped up to the counter. “Give us the usual, please! We need maximum caffeine, the choreographer actually clapped at the end of the run-through today!”

“Sure,” you muttered, forcing your voice to remain perfectly flat, completely devoid of emotion.

You looked up to take the cards, and your eyes briefly met Soonyoung’s. He didn't look nervous. He didn't look like he had been losing sleep over the icy wall you’d built the past days before. His eyes were bright, wide, and entirely consumed by the adrenaline of the performance team's success.

“It was insane,” Soonyoung said, leaning his elbows on the marble counter, turning his head to look at Minji instead of you. “Minji’s formatting change completely saved the B-side. The synchronization in the second verse is literally perfect now.”

“You guys did all the heavy lifting, I just adjusted the angles,” Minji laughed, her face glowing with genuine warmth as she nudged Joshua.

“Hey, take the credit,” Mingyu chimed in, leaning over the counter to watch you pour the milk. “Hyung was so happy he almost cried during the midday briefing. We have to celebrate.”

Right there, standing less than two feet away from you, the bubble formed. It wasn't intentional, and it wasn't malicious. It was just the natural, overwhelming momentum of a group of artists who had just conquered a massive hurdle.

“Oh! We should totally do a huge hangout tonight to celebrate,” Joshua suggested, his calm voice bright with an older-brother sort of pride. “The weather is perfect, we could grab a ton of food and just head down to the river lot.”

“Yes! Han River park!” Seungkwan cheered, immediately pulling out his phone. “I’ll text the 95-liners right now to make sure Cheol-hyung buys the fried chicken. Mingyu, you’re in charge of ordering the hotpot delivery to the picnic site.”

“On it,” Mingyu nodded, his thumb already flying across his screen.

They stood at your counter, completely wrapped up in the logistics of the evening. They discussed who would drive, which blankets to bring from the dorms, and what time the vocal team would finish their recording session.

You stood right in front of them, locking the portafilter into the machine, the heavy metallic thud of the espresso grounds hitting the knock-box completely ignored. You placed Seungkwan’s latte on the pickup tray. You set down the iced americanos.

No one looked up. No one paused the conversation to look at your rigid posture. In the sheer excitement of the moment, in the high of a rehearsal that had gone spectacularly well, your presence had simply faded into the background. You were just the barista pouring the drinks that fueled the brainstorm. The casual invitations from earlier in the week, the lingering stares—it was all completely washed away by the tide of their real world.

“Alright, let’s go before the manager catches us slacking!” Seungkwan grabbed the tray of drinks, nodding to the rest.

“Thanks for the coffee!” Minji offered you a sweet, beautiful smile as she turned to follow them.

Soonyoung grabbed his americano, his fingers brushing the plastic cup, his mind already three steps ahead as he animatedly gestured a dance formation to Joshua on their way out. The glass doors clicked shut behind them, their loud, overlapping laughter fading down the polished corridor.

You stood alone behind the counter, holding a clean cloth, the silence of the cafeteria rushing back in to suffocate you. They hadn't even thought to ask if you were free. They hadn't even excluded you on purpose; you had just simply been forgotten.

Wednesday 8:30 p.m.

The evening arrived. You had closed the cafeteria exactly on time, running through the checklist, before heading straight back to your apartment.

You sat in the middle of your dark living room, the open window letting in the chilly night air. You had your phone in your hand. You knew you shouldn't look. You knew the group chat was muted for a reason. But the silence of the flat was driving you insane.

With a numb, hollow feeling in your chest, you unlocked the screen and opened the chat.

The media section was completely flooded. Dozens of photos and videos had been dumped into the conversation over the last two hours.

You scrolled through them slowly, the light from the screen reflecting in your dull eyes.

There were photos of the massive blue picnic blanket laid out on the grass by the river, covered in steaming boxes of chicken and glowing convenience store ramen containers.

In one video, DK and Seungkwan were singing at the top of their lungs into empty cider bottles, while the rest of the members cheered and laughed in the background.

And then, there was a group photo.

They were all crowded together, sitting cross-legged on the blankets under the glowing lights of the city bridge. Dead center, laughing brightly, was Minji. Right next to her was Soonyoung. He was glowing, his eyes crinkled into those happy, crescent moons, as always.

His shoulder flush against hers as he pointed a pair of chopsticks at the camera.

You scrolled to the very bottom of the messages, your thumb trembling.

There wasn't a single mention of your name. No one had texted to say, “Hey, where's our barista-nim?” No one had noticed that the person who usually joined them for late-night food wasn't sitting on the edge of the blanket. In the rush of the sweat, the rhythm, the success, and the easy integration of someone who actually spoke their language, you had been completely erased from the frame.

A single, hot tear finally spilled over your lashes, splashing directly onto the glass screen, fracturing the happy image into a watery blur.

It wasn't that they were mean. If they had explicitly left you out, you could be angry. But this was worse. They had just entirely, effortlessly forgotten you existed the moment they stepped outside the cafeteria walls. She belonged in their bubble. You just worked in the building.

With a heavy, final breath, you called your boss, telling them you would be absent for the next two days due to health reasons. After the call ended, you placed your phone face-down on your nightstand, letting the darkness of the room swallow you whole. You pulled your knees up to your chest, burying your face in your oversized hoodie as the quiet sobs finally shook your shoulders. The pining, the shared looks over the counter, the hope—it was completely over. If you were just the barista to them, then from tomorrow on, that’s exactly what you would be.

Thursday 10:30 a.m.

“Hoshi, sit the fuck down, you're making me dizzy!” Minji exclaimed from where she was sitting. Soonyoung was pacing back and forth, worried that you hadn't opened the cafeteria.

Soonyoung didn’t stop. If anything, his footsteps became faster, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking sharply against the polished studio floor with a frantic, erratic rhythm. His hair was a completely disheveled mess from how many times he had dragged his hands through it over the last four hours.

“I can't just sit down, Minji-ya,” Soonyoung choked out, his voice completely stripped of its usual bright, confident volume.

He halted for a single fraction of a second, pointing a trembling hand toward the studio doors. “The lights are completely off down there. The metal grate is pulled down. It’s 10:30. She never opens late. Even when she had that awful flu last winter, she was still behind the counter at 7:50 sharp, telling me to stop yelling because her head hurt.”

He resumed his frantic pacing, his chest heaving as a heavy, suffocating wave of panic visibly rolled over him. “Something is wrong. I know it. I went down there at 7:00, then at 8:00, then at 9:30. I even tried knocking on the back door of the kitchen. What if she’s hurt? What if she got into an accident on her way to work?”

“Hoshi, breathe,” Minji sighed, her expression softening from annoyance into deep, quiet concern. She set her tablet down on the bench, leaning forward. “Joshua-oppa already went down to talk to the floor manager on the third floor. They're checking the staff schedule right now. Just... stop walking for two seconds.”

Before Soonyoung could reply, the heavy glass door of the practice room swung open.

Joshua walked in, flanked closely by a remarkably silent Seungkwan and an uncharacteristically grim-faced Jeonghan. The moment Soonyoung caught sight of them, he practically sprinted across the hardwood floor.

“Well?!” Soonyoung begged, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his sweatpants. “Did you talk to them? Is she okay? Where is she, Shua-hyung?”

Joshua didn't answer right away. He let out a long, slow breath, his eyes dropping to the floor for a beat before he looked up to meet the younger boy's frantic gaze. The absolute lack of his usual gentle, comforting smile made Soonyoung’s face go entirely pale.

“The manager said she called in sick last night, right after the afternoon shift ended,” Joshua said softly, his voice carrying a heavy, somber weight. “She took a formal two-day medical leave. She’s not coming in today, Soonyoung. And she’s not coming in tomorrow.”

“Sick?” Soonyoung whispered, his throat bobbing violently as he swallowed hard. “But... but she looked completely fine on Wednesday afternoon when she poured the americanos. She was just... she was just quiet. She didn't look sick.”

“She isn't physically sick, you complete moron,” Seungkwan snapped suddenly from behind Joshua. His voice didn't carry its usual sharp, theatrical sting; instead, it was cracking with a sudden, overwhelming wave of genuine, defensive anger. He stepped forward, his eyes flashing as he glared directly at the performance leader. “This is completely our fault. Put two and two together, idiot”

Soonyoung flinched back as if he had been physically struck, his jaw slackening. “What... what do you mean? What did we do?”

“Think about it, Soonyoung-ah,” Jeonghan chimed in, his characteristic calm demeanor shifting into a cold protective seriousness as he crossed his arms. He leaned against the studio wall, his dark eyes locking onto the trembling boy. “Yesterday afternoon. Y'all ran down the stairs like a pack of loud, ungrateful animals. You stood right in front of her counter, completely wrapped up in our own little world, planning a massive Han River hangout right in her face. And not a single one of you thought to ask if she was free. You didn't even look at her posture.”

The silence that followed was brutal, Soonyoung stood absolutely frozen. His eyes blinked rapidly as Jeonghan’s words began to violently tear through his memories of Wednesday afternoon. The euphoric high of the creative breakthrough with Minji instantly evaporated, replaced by a cold, sickening realization. He remembered leaning on the marble counter. He remembered turning his head to look at the tablet screen instead of her face. He remembered grabbing his cup and walking out, gesturing a dance formation to Joshua while the glass doors clicked shut behind him.

He hadn't even looked at her. He had treated the person who usually looked at him like he was the center of the universe like background scenery.

“Oh my god,” Soonyoung breathed, his voice dropping into a broken, horrified whisper. He looked down at his hands, his fingers trembling violently as a hot tear finally escaped his lashes, splashing onto the hardwood floor. “The group photo... Dokyeom sent that photo to the main chat. Fuck! We fucked up, I, I fucked up!”

“Soonyoung, sit down and shut up,” Jeonghan said.

He didn't uncross his arms from where he leaned against the studio mirror, his eyes fixed on the performance leader with a cold, absolute gravity.

Soonyoung froze, his fingers still white-knuckled around his car keys. “Hyung, she’s sitting in her apartment thinking she’s nothing to us—”

“And going there to make a scene while she’s on medical leave is going to fix that?” Jeonghan countered, “You’re not going anywhere near her today. She needs space from this entire building, and honestly, she needs space from you.”

Soonyoung flinched, his chest heaving as he looked over at Joshua, silently begging for support. But Joshua just kept his eyes on the floor, his face drawn and uncharacteristically tense.

Jeonghan finally stepped away from the glass, his gaze sweeping over Joshua and

Seungkwan. “I had production meetings until late Wednesday night. I open the group chat at midnight, and what do I see? A massive media dump. Chicken boxes, convenience store ramen, and a full group photo at the river lot.” He looked directly at Joshua. “Knowing you all I'm sure you stood at her counter in the afternoon, planned the entire thing right in front of her face, and not a single one of you thought to look at her?”

“Hyung, we thought she was busy because she closed early—” Seungkwan started, his voice cracking with a sudden, defensive panic.

“Bullshit! You didn't invite her. You just assumed she’d always be there behind the marble whenever you felt like dropping by.”

“It wasn't just us!” Seungkwan burst out, his face flushing as the guilt turned into frantic deflecting. He pointed a sharp finger toward the empty corridor outside the door. “Mingyu was the one flying across his screen ordering the hotpot! He was the one managing the logistics! If anyone was supposed to send the invite, it was him!”

“Yeah, Mingyu was literally handling the food layout,” Joshua muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice heavy with a quiet, hollow shame. “We just... the momentum of the day was too loud. We didn't think.”

“Mingyu isn't in this room, and he isn't the one she looks for every morning,” Jeonghan said, his eyes shifting back to Soonyoung, who was staring blankly at the floorboards, completely unraveled. “But the three of you? You're supposed to be her friends. You've spent months treating that cafeteria like your personal living room because she made it feel like one. I am so disappointed in you all, when she comes back, you two” he pointed at Seungkwan and Joshua “are gonna apologize. And you” he pointed at Soonyoung “You need to give her space.”

Thursday 3:45 pm

Practice was dismissed for the day, too many mistakes, no energy, it was just too much. While Soonyoung was putting his things away, Minji approached him.

“You know, If you had been clear about your feelings for her from the beginning, perhaps you would already be together.”

Soonyoung’s hands froze over the zipper of his gym bag. He let his shoulders sag, a heavy, exhausted sigh rattling through his chest as he kept his eyes strictly on his half-packed bag.

“Minji-ya, please,” Soonyoung muttered, his voice dropping into a flat, incredibly weary register. He dragged a hand down his face, looking older than his years under the harsh fluorescent studio lights. “Don't tease me right now. Not today. I already feel like the worst person on this entire floor.”

“I'm not teasing you,” Minji replied smoothly, her tone entirely devoid of its usual playful edge. She leaned her shoulder completely against the metallic clothing rack next to his locker, crossing her arms. “I'm being serious. If you had just told her how you felt weeks ago instead of lingering around the counter like a nervous middle-schooler, she wouldn't doubt her position in your life.”

Soonyoung slowly zipped his bag, the metallic screech of the zipper sounding painfully loud in the empty, quiet practice room. He finally turned to look at her.

“I didn't want to rush her,” he whispered, his throat bobbing hard as he gripped the strap of his bag. “I wanted to do it right. I wanted to make sure she felt safe. But instead, I... I did exactly what Jeonghan-hyung said. I treated her like background scenery because my brain was stuck on random bullshit, when she matters to me the most.”

He took a sharp, shaky breath, his defenses completely crumbling as he looked at Minji, desperately searching her face for any kind of answer.

“What do I do, Minji-ya?” Soonyoung asked, his voice cracking with a terrifyingly genuine vulnerability. “Jeonghan-hyung told me to give her space, so I'm not going to her apartment. I'm not going to suffocate her. But the silence is literally making me sick. I can't just sit in the dorms for the next forty-eight hours knowing she’s hiding from me. What can I actually do to make this right?”

Minji looked at him for a long beat, taking in the absolute desperation rolling off his posture. The anger she had felt on your behalf earlier in the afternoon softened just a fraction, replaced by the practical, protective instinct of a peer.

“You stop trying to pull her into your bubble, and you start stepping into hers,” Minji said flatly, her voice grounded and firm. “Right now, she thinks she doesn't belong in your world because she doesn't dance. She thinks there's a barrier between us and her. So when she comes back just give her space, and when she's ready to talk, she'll reach out.”

Soonyoung wasn't satisfied with that answer. How could he bear not speaking to the love of his life? But perhaps if that was the solution, he would endure it. “Alright then… Thanks.”

Soonyoung threw his gym bag into the corner of his bedroom, the heavy thud doing nothing to break the suffocating quiet of the apartment. He didn't turn on the lights. He just walked over to his window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass, staring down at the city streetlights starting to flicker on in the early twilight.

Give her space. Minji’s voice kept looping in his head, a clinical, detached prescription for a pain that felt entirely visceral. *ÑWhen she's ready to talk, she'll reach out.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over her contact name. He wanted to call. He wanted to text a paragraph of frantic, clumsy explanations. But he remembered Jeonghan’s cold, absolute warning from this morning, and his hand dropped back to his side. The restraint felt like physical weights tying him down.

To escape the urge to look at his screen, he closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp, ragged breath.

But the darkness only brought her back.

His mind pulled up a quiet, ordinary Tuesday afternoon from last month. The cafeteria had been completely empty during the post-lunch lull. He had snuck down under the pretense of needing an extra sleeve of cup lids for the studio, but really, he had just wanted a break from his own head.

He remembered leaning against the marble counter, watching her quietly restock the pastry display. She looked peaceful, her fingers carefully arranging the small tarts, humming a low, repetitive Indie track he didn't recognize.

When she noticed him watching. She had just paused, wiped her hands on her black apron, and leaned her elbows on the opposite side of the counter, looking up at him with a soft, steady understanding that always made his frantic energy instantly ground itself.

“Choreo block again?” she had asked softly, her voice a calm, flat line that felt like a lifeline in a building that was always too loud.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dropping his head onto his arms.

She hadn't offered advice. She hadn't tried to speak his language. She had just reached into the fridge, pulled out a small glass bottle of chocolate milk—the cheap kind from the convenience store that he loved but the company nutritionists hated—and slid it against his forearm. “Drink. The world isn't going to stop spinning if you take ten minutes off, Soonyoung-ah.”

They had just stood there in the quiet lounge for a full fifteen minutes, not saying a word, the only sound being the low hum of the espresso machine. She had created a border around him, a tiny sanctuary where he didn't have to be the invincible leader of anything. He had just been a boy taking a break.

Now, standing alone in his dark bedroom, the memory felt like a ghost pressing against his chest.

He remembered the group photo Dokyeom had sent on Wednesday night—the one where Minji sat dead center, and he was smiling with his chopsticks pointed at the lens. He remembered the exact second it was taken. He had been riding the adrenaline of the successful run-through, completely blind to anything else. He hadn't even noticed who was missing from the frame. He had let the ease of someone who actually shared his job completely rewrite the space where his friend was supposed to be.

A sharp, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. It wasn't just that he had embarrassed her, or that he had been loud. It was that he had taken her presence for granted so entirely that he hadn't even checked to see if she was standing in the dark while he ran toward the light.

Soonyoung let out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead pressing harder against the cold window pane.

He was going to follow the rules. He was going to let Thursday and Friday pass in absolute, agonizing silence. He wouldn't suffocate her with frantic texts or show up at her door like a child demanding forgiveness. But as he watched the traffic blur into long golden streaks below, his jaw set into a firm, unyielding line.

Friday 7:20

She was already awake; she couldn't sleep any longer because of her routine. Her wake-up time was always 6 a.m., and this day was no exception. She was staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise. When she heard a knock on the door.

You didn't move at first. You stayed completely still under the covers, your eyes locked onto the white plaster of the ceiling as your heart did a sudden, chaotic leap against your ribs.

Who could it be at 7:20 on a Friday morning?

You slowly threw the blanket off your legs, your bare feet hitting the cool floorboards.

You walked down the short, dim hallway, your hands trembling slightly as you neared the entryway. You didn't look through the peephole. You just took a breath, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the heavy door open a fraction of an inch.

Standing in the corridor, completely devoid of any chaotic energy, was Jeonghan.

He was dressed casually in an oversized knit sweater, a soft black beanie capping his hair, and his hands were tucked loosely into his jacket pockets. He didn't look frantic, and he didn't look like he had run up the stairs. He just offered you a quiet, remarkably gentle smile, his dark eyes instantly taking in your puffy eyelids and the tired slope of your shoulders.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan murmured softly, his voice carrying that characteristic, unbothered calm that always felt completely grounding. He lifted his right hand from his pocket, revealing a plain plastic bag with two steam-fogged containers from the porridge shop down the street. “I figured your internal clock wouldn't let you sleep past six anyway. Can I come in?”

You blinked, the breath leaving your lungs in a long, shaky sigh. You stepped aside, opening the door wider to let him pass.

“Thanks, hyung,” you whispered, locking the door behind him.

Jeonghan walked into your small living room as if he had been there a hundred times. He didn't comment on the darkness, the closed curtains, or the heavy silence of the flat. He just set the bag of food down on the kitchen counter, pulled two stools out, and unceremoniously took a seat, peeling back the plastic lids to let the warm, savory scent of chicken porridge fill the room.

“Sit,” he instructed lightly, pointing his chopsticks at the stool opposite him. “You look like a breeze could blow you over. Eat first, then we can talk.”

You quietly slid onto the stool, your fingers wrapping around the warm paper container. For the first few minutes, the only sound between you was the light scrape of plastic spoons. Jeonghan didn't push you. He didn't force you to give an explanation, and he didn't start listing off excuses for Wednesday afternoon. He just let the silence exist, changing it from a suffocating weight into a safe, quiet space

“Normally I would give you, some more time, you know, but this needs to be solved, so, go ahead, talk, tell me what's on your mind”

You stared down at the swirling steam of the porridge, the plastic spoon heavy in your hand. The warmth of the container against your palms felt entirely too real, breaking through the numbness you’d been clinging to since Wednesday night.

“I just feel like a fool, hyung,” you whispered, your voice sounding thin and small in the quiet room. You didn't look up, keeping your eyes fixed on the pale liquid. “I stood in front of my mirror on Wednesday morning, putting on makeup and choosing a new cardigan, thinking... thinking it mattered. And then an hour later, I was completely invisible. They didn't even leave me out on purpose. They just entirely, effortlessly forgot I was even in the room the second they started talking about their real world.”

You let out a shaky, bitter breath, your fingers tightening around the warm paper bowl. “Minji belongs in that frame. She speaks the language of sweat and rhythm. I’m just the person who pours the drinks that fuel the brainstorm. I got too comfortable thinking I belonged in their bubble, but the second they step outside the cafeteria walls, I dissolve. I'm just staff.”

Jeonghan didn't interrupt. He didn't offer a quick, comforting platitude or tell you that you were overthinking. He just listened, his head tilted slightly, as he let you empty out the heavy, suffocating thoughts you had been harboring alone.

When you finally fell silent, the faint hum of your refrigerator was the only sound left between you.

Jeonghan slowly set his spoon down against the counter with a soft, deliberate click. He didn't lean forward with his usual mischievous grin. Instead, his expression stayed completely serious, carrying a rare, protective gravity.

“Are you done?” he asked quietly.

You nodded slowly, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Good. Because half of what you just said is complete garbage,” Jeonghan said, his voice smooth and entirely direct. He reached across the small counter, his long fingers gently but firmly tapping the top of your hand.

“Wednesday afternoon was a mess. Shua, Seungkwan and Mingyu were riding a rehearsal high like a group of loud, ungrateful idiots, which they absolutely are. They took your space for granted, and I already told them how disappointed I am in both of them. They are going to apologize to your face when you come back, and it's going to be humiliating for them. I'll make sure of it.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as his tone dropped into a lower, heavier register.

“But you are not 'just staff,' and you never have been. If we wanted just a barista, the company could hire anyone. We come down those stairs every single day because you are the person behind that counter. You are the one who knows how chaotic our schedules get, who tolerates Seungkwan's ridiculous orders, and who actually makes that suffocating building feel like a place we want to be.”

Jeonghan leaned back on his stool, crossing his arms as a small, weary sigh escaped his lips. “And as for Soonyoung... he didn't look right through you because you're invisible. He looked right through you because he is a hyper-focused idiot who gets completely blinded by the adrenaline of his work. But the second that high wore off? Yesterday was an absolute graveyard in the practice room. He didn't hit a single cue. He sat in the dark corner of the mirrors staring at his shoes, completely miserable because he realized his own loud brain had made you feel like a stranger.”

Jeonghan pointed his chopsticks at your porridge, his features softening back into that familiar, calm demeanor. “He wanted to sprint to your apartment this morning. I had to physically threaten to hide his car keys just to keep him from showing up on your doorstep and suffocating you. I told him he needs to give you space, and he's going to suffer through it.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes holding a deep, quiet sincerity. “Let your brain stop bullying you. But tomorrow morning, you unlock those glass doors, you tie your apron, and you let them apologize to you, mhm?”

You smiled faintly, and just nodded.

Jeonghan was right all the time; you liked Kwon Soonyoung

Friday, January 13th 2026 7:35 a.m.

The rhythmic, heavy hum of the espresso machine was the loudest sound in the cafeteria.

Outside, the winter sky was a biting, pale gray, and the cold seeped through the polished glass doors of the agency’s ground floor. You had only been working at the lounge for a few weeks, still finding your footing among the massive stacks of ceramic cups, the steep learning curve of the complex employee beverage accounts, and the intimidating atmosphere of a building populated entirely by famous, larger-than-life artists.

To you, back then, the members of Seventeen were just a whirlwind of loud voices, expensive coats, and dizzying schedules. You knew them by their faces, of course, and you knew how to charge their respective unit budget cards, but you remained firmly behind the safety of your customer-service shield. You were polite, perfectly tuned to standard company hospitality, and entirely determined to keep your distance.

Until that morning.

The heavy glass doors gave a sudden, sharp click, and before you could even lift your head from the register screen, a blast of frantic, chaotic energy practically exploded into the room.

“Oh, hi good morning! Please tell me the espresso lines are fully pressurized because my brain is running on absolute zero beats per minute!”

It was Kwon Soonyoung. He bounced toward the marble counter, clad in an oversized black puffer jacket that made him look twice his size, his hair a thoroughly disheveled, damp nest from a rushed post-practice shower. He was practically vibrating, shifting his weight from one sneaker to the other, his sharp eyes wide and hyper-focused. Behind him trailed Seungkwan and Jeonghan, both buried deep into their winter scarves, moving at a much more human pace.

“Good morning,” you said, defaulting instantly to your practiced, smooth hospitality voice. “What can I get started for you today?”

“An iced americano! Extra shot! No—wait, a hot latte? No, iced. Definitely iced americano,” Soonyoung babbled, leaning his forearms heavily against the cool marble counter, completely invading your personal space without a second thought. He tilted his head up, his gaze locking directly onto yours with an intensity that caught you completely off guard. “Actually, what do you think? What's the best drink to wake up a tiger whose legs feel like jelly?”

You blinked, your fingers hovering over the touchscreen. Up close, without the barrier of a television screen or a crowded hallway, he didn't look like an unapproachable superstar. He looked incredibly human, his cheeks flushed pink from the winter wind, a faint scent of fresh soap and cedarwood radiating off his jacket.

“Um, a tiger?" you stammered, your voice coming out a fraction less polished than usual. “Uh, if your legs feel like jelly, maybe something with sugar? A vanilla latte usually helps the staff on the upper production floors.”

Soonyoung’s entire face instantly lit up. A massive, brilliant grin split his features, his eyes crinkling into those distinct, happy crescent moons that you hadn't expected to see directed entirely at you. “A vanilla latte! Brilliant! Genius! Let's do that. Make it an iced one, though. I need the frost to wake up my neurons.”

As you tapped the order into the screen, you felt a strange, sudden flutter in the pit of your stomach—a tiny, uncalled-for spark of warmth that knocked the wind out of your lungs. You quickly looked down, your face burning as you processed the transaction. “will that be cash or card?”

“Card, please!” Soonyoung beamed, but he didn't slide his card across the counter. Instead, he just kept his elbows planted on the stone, his chin dropping into his palms as he simply watched you.

It wasn't a casual glance. It was a heavy, fascinated stare, his eyes tracking the way you reached for a clean plastic cup, the way you leveled off the coffee grounds, and the careful precision of your movements. On any ordinary day, a customer staring that intensely would have made you incredibly uncomfortable. But under Soonyoung's gaze, the blood in your ears began to rush with a furious, deafening heat. Your fingers trembled slightly as you locked the portafilter into the machine, and you accidentally knocked a stray paper straw onto the floor.

Behind Soonyoung, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes darted from the performance leader's unblinking posture to the sudden, brilliant crimson creeping up your neck. A slow, wicked grin instantly spread across Seungkwan's face.

He nudged Jeonghan hard with his elbow.

“Hey, Jeonghan-hyung,” Seungkwan chimed in, his voice dripping with an exaggerated, theatrical sweetness that made your heart instantly drop. “Do you smell that? I think the espresso machine is overheating. Or maybe it's just the atmosphere around the register. It feels incredibly...warm in here all of a sudden.”

Jeonghan let out a soft, amused hum, pulling his scarf down just enough to reveal a pure, saintly smile. His dark eyes danced with pure mischief as he leaned against the pastry display, casually looking between you and Soonyoung. “Ah, you're right, Seungkwan-ah. The lounge has a very distinct energy today. Quite bright. Almost... romantic, wouldn't you say?”

“STOP,” Soonyoung barked suddenly, his head snapping around to glare at them, his own ears turning a violent, betraying shade of red. He straightened up from the counter, coughing nervously into his fist. “Don't bother her. She's working. She's a professional. Unlike you two, who are just standing there breathing my air.”

“Oh, we're bothering her?” Seungkwan scoffed, crossing his arms and stepping right up to the counter, entirely ignoring his leader's warning.

He peered over at your burning face, his expression full of absolute delight. “Barista-nim, please tell the truth. Is our leader being obnoxious? Because if he's staring too hard, we can write a formal complaint to HR on your behalf. He tends to look at things he likes with the intensity of a wild predator.”

“I am a tiger!” Soonyoung defended hotly, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to push Seungkwan away from the counter.

“You're a golden retriever who forgot how to blink,” Jeonghan corrected smoothly, his voice the definition of pure, unbothered calm. He looked at you, throwing you a slow, wicked wink that made your brain go entirely blank. “Don't mind him, lovely barista. Our Hoshi here usually has a very loud brain, but the second he comes down to the ground floor, his vocabulary mysteriously shrinks into single-syllable stutters. It's a medical anomaly.”

You stood behind the espresso machine, the steam wand giving a loud, aggressive hiss as you frothed the milk, desperately using the noise as a shield to hide your total meltdown. Your heart was doing tiny, chaotic gymnastics against your ribs. You had spent your entire life being practical, but looking at Soonyoung—who was currently trying to suffocate Seungkwan with his puffer sleeve while his cheeks burned a bright, beautiful pink—you realized your emotional defense system was completely compromised.

You capped the iced vanilla latte, your hands still shaking, and slid it onto the pickup station with a soft click.

“Here is your drink,” you murmured, forcing your eyes to look anywhere but his face. “Have a great rest of your day.”

Soonyoung instantly stopped wrestling with Seungkwan. He snatched the cup, his fingers brushing against yours for a fraction of a second, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight up your arm. He looked at the cup, then back at you, his eyes incredibly soft and meltingly sweet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a low register that made your breath catch. “I'll... I'll see you later. For real. I'll come back down when it's quiet.”

“HEY! practice waits for no man, lover boy, let's go!” Seungkwan yelled, grabby-handing his own simple iced americano from the tray and physically dragging a dazed, grinning Soonyoung toward the heavy glass doors.

The glass doors clicked shut behind them, their distant, overlapping laughter fading down the polished corridor. You stood alone behind the marble counter, clutching a clean cloth, the cold air outside completely forgotten against the raging, brilliant fire blooming in your chest.

Saturday 7:20 a.m.

You were putting away the last few things you needed, you were sure that at least Jeonghan would come today.

And finally the glass doors opened, there he was, pulling Seungkwan and Joshua by one ear. “Alright we're here, it's time to apologize.” He said, in his characteristic calm demeanor.

Jeonghan let go of their ears with a sharp, synchronized flick of his wrists. Seungkwan immediately whined, clapping both hands over his throbbing, bright-red earlobe, while Joshua merely rubbed the side of his head, wincing.

“Ouch! Ouch! Hyung! Everyone's watching!” Seungkwan meowled, his voice a sharp, high-pitched pitch that echoed off the empty tables.

“I don't care,” Jeonghan stated, his voice completely flat, carrying that terrifying, unshakable calm demeanor. He crossed his arms, staring down the two of them with an unblinking, heavy gaze. “I wouldn't even care if the CEO looks at this. You two are going to stand right there, and you are going to say exactly what you need to say.”

Instead of stepping forward with a standard, scripted apology, Seungkwan didn't say a word. He looked at your rigid, perfectly straight posture and the completely empty, professional mask you were wearing—and his face crumpled. He reached into his oversized hoodie pocket and pulled out a small, slightly crumpled brown paper bag, sliding it gently across the marble counter toward you.

You didn't move. You kept your hands neatly folded over your front, your gaze tracking the bag. Through the thin paper, the distinct, sweet aroma of toasted sugar and fried dough hit your nose.

“It's from that bakery near your apartment,” Seungkwan whispered, his voice incredibly quiet, completely devoid of his usual theatricality. “The one you said makes the only good strawberry tarts in the city. I went there at 6:00 this morning because... because I knew you wouldn't eat breakfast today. I knew your brain would be looping, and I just... I wanted you to have something sweet.”

The icy, defensive wall you had spent all night building suddenly suffered a massive, unexpected crack.

Joshua stepped up right next to him, but he didn't lean on the counter or invade your space. He kept his distance, his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes heavy with a profound, quiet exhaustion that matched yours.

“We aren't here to make excuses,” Joshua said softly, his voice carrying a calm, grounded weight. “We know we completely erased you on Wednesday. The high of the choreo breakthrough was loud, but that doesn't make it okay that we treated you like part of the furniture. But when we went to the river... it wasn't a celebration. Not really. Seungkwan spent the whole night looking at his phone because we kept waiting for a text from you. We realized halfway through the night that the only reason our hangouts ever feel warm is because you're the one holding the camera, making sure everyone is taken care of.”

Joshua reached out, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the glass pastry case. “Minji asked where you were, too. She told us we were absolute idiots for leaving our best friend behind. We didn't forget you because you don't belong, barista-nim. We forgot to be good friends because we're used to you always being our anchor. And that's the worst mistake we could've made.”

You stared at the small paper bag, your fingers trembling slightly against your apron. The robotic, customer-service script you had prepared felt completely useless against the raw, quiet honesty dropping from their lips.

They weren't just saying 'sorry'; they were admitting that their world felt cold without you in it.

“I brought something too,” Jeonghan chimed in, his calm demeanor shifting into a small, remarkably gentle smile. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, professional-grade camera strap, setting it down right next to the pastry bag.

You blinked in confusion, finally looking up to meet his dark, perceptive eyes. “What's that, hyung?”

“It's a wireless shutter remote,” Jeonghan murmured, leaning his elbows on the counter, his voice dropping into a soft, older-brother tone. “From now on, nobody is volunteering to take the photos. We're setting up a tripod, and you're going to be dead center in every single frame, right where you belong. If you aren't in the picture, the performance unit doesn't get their coffee. It's a new rule.”

A small, broken laugh escaped your throat before you could stop it, a single, hot tear finally slipping over your lashes and splashing onto the marble. You quickly wiped it away with your sleeve, your chest heaving as the suffocating numbness of the last forty-eight hours finally began to dissolve.

“You guys are so annoying,” you whispered, your voice cracking completely as you looked at the three of them.

“We know,” Seungkwan sniffled, a relieved, watery smile finally breaking across his face as he reached over and lightly nudged your bandaged hand. “We're the worst. But please don't freeze us out. The practice room and the dorm has been a total graveyard. Soonyoung is currently upstairs sitting in the dark corner of the mirrors, holding his phone and staring at your profile picture like a pathetic, wet tiger. He hasn't even tied his shoes today. Please don't be mad at us.”

"STOP, HE'S NOT!" you cried out, your voice catching as your cheeks instantly flared with a sudden, betraying heat.

You shoved your hands deep into your apron pockets, desperately trying to summon back the rigid, professional mask that had just been completely pulverized. “He is not doing that. You guys are exaggerating just to make me feel better. He’s probably upstairs right now counting beats with a stopwatch or... or eating a lunchbox with the rest of the team.”

Right on cue, the glass doors chimed loudly, rattling as a massive figure practically tumbled through the entrance.

It was Mingyu. He was completely out of breath, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he was carrying a giant cardboard crate overflowing with premium coffee beans and fresh milk jugs he’d clearly sprinted down to the loading dock to fetch. To make things even more ridiculous, he had somehow managed to find a spare black apron from the back supply closet and had it tied tightly over his broad shoulders, looking like a hopelessly oversized, stressed-out trainee.

“He's definitely not eating!” Mingyu gasped, slamming the heavy crate onto the floor with a loud thud and immediately leaning his huge frame over the marble counter, his puppy-dog eyes wide with panic. “Barista-nim, please believe them! Hoshi-hyung hasn't touched a single carb since Thursday. I tried to force-feed him a sweet potato in the dorm kitchen yesterday and he literally hissed at me!”

You stared at Mingyu, your jaw slightly slack.

“Mingyu? Why are you wearing an apron?”

“Because he's doing penance,” Jeonghan answered smoothly, not even blinking at the giant's chaotic entrance. He adjusted his beanie, a sharp, satisfied glint returning to his eyes. “Since he was the master coordinator of the Han River picnic who forgot to check the invite list, his punishment is manual labor. He is your personal assistant for the next 3 days. He will grind the beans, he will carry the ice, and if you tell him to scrub the floorboards with a toothbrush, he will do it gladly.”

“I will!” Mingyu nodded aggressively, raising a hand as if taking a solemn oath. “I'll do the dishes, I'll restock the fridge, I'll even stand outside and scream the daily specials to the executives. Just please don't look at us with that blank customer-service smile anymore, barista-nim. When Shua-hyung told me you left because of us, I felt like the biggest piece of shit in the building.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes dramatically, though he subtly shifted over to make room for Mingyu at the counter. “Look at him. He’s practically vibrating from guilt. We all are.”

You looked from Mingyu’s desperate, oversized-puppy expression, to Seungkwan’s watery smile, to the tiny crumpled paper bag of strawberry tarts sitting on the stone. Your hands slowly slid out of your apron pockets, the cold, rigid mask you had spent forty-eight hours practicing completely falling apart.

A small, genuine laugh finally escaped your lips, your shoulders dropping as a wave of pure, comforting relief washed over your chest.

“You guys are completely ridiculous,” you whispered, wiping a stray, emotional tear from the corner of your eye. “All four of you.”

“We know,” Jeonghan murmured, his trademark, faux-angelic sweetness returning in full force as he tapped his fingers against the marble. “Now, Boss, your assistant is waiting. Tell Mingyu to start lifting those milk jugs before he cuts off the circulation in his shoulders with that apron. And you,” he pointed a finger at you, his eyes softening into a quiet, knowing look. “Drink some water. Eat Seungkwan's tart. And rest, you deserve it, let Mingyu handle the place”

Mingyu didn't even wait for you to give a verbal command. The second Jeonghan gave the green light, he let out a loud, eager gasp and scrambled around the edge of the counter, completely taking over your space with his massive, clumsy frame.

“I'm on it! I'm totally on it!” Mingyu chanted, his long arms already reaching into the cardboard crate he’d dragged in. He began stacking the heavy milk jugs into the under-counter fridge with terrifying speed, humming a nervous, fast-paced melody under his breath. “Do you want the oat milk in the front or the back? I'll put it in the front. You use a lot of oat milk, right? I've observed this. I'm a highly observant assistant.”

“Mingyu, slow down, you're going to break a shelf,” you breathed, a genuine, wide smile finally breaking across your face. It felt incredible to let your muscles relax, to let the hollow, symmetrical customer-service curve melt away into real, breathless amusement.

“Let him break it,” Seungkwan sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve as he watched Mingyu frantically organize the syrup bottles. "If he shatters the glass, he has to pay for it out of his wallet. It's good for his character development.”

Joshua let out a low, soft laugh, leaning his hip against the outer edge of the counter. The heavy, exhausted shadow that had hung over his eyes all morning was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, quiet relief. “He really will do whatever you tell him today. Don't be easy on him.”

“Alright, that's enough hovering,” Jeonghan cut in smoothly, clapping his hands together once with a sharp, authoritative snap. He reached over the marble, picked up the crumpled brown paper bag of strawberry tarts, and gently shoved it into your hands, his dark eyes sparkling with pure satisfaction. “The lounge is officially under new management. Shua, Seungkwan, out. We are going back to the fourth floor.”

“But hyung, I wanted to watch Mingyu do the dishes!” Seungkwan protested, whining as Jeonghan physically caught him by the back of his hoodie collar, steering him toward the glass doors.

“You have a vocal check in ten minutes, Seungkwan-ah,” Jeonghan reasoned with a saintly, unbothered calm, throwing one last, long, meaningful wink over his shoulder at you. “And besides, we need to go report to a certain wet tiger that the crisis has been averted. If we don't tell him soon, he might actually start chewing on the practice room floorboards.”

“STOP, HYUNG!” you yelled out, your face instantly combusting into a brilliant, fiery crimson as you clutched the pastry bag to your chest.

Joshua just chuckled, giving you a small, gentle wave as he followed them out. “Eat breakfast. We'll see you later.”

The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind the three of them, leaving the cafeteria suddenly quiet again—but this time, it wasn't a suffocating, lonely quiet. It felt warm. It felt safe.

Behind you, the loud, aggressive whir of the espresso grinder suddenly filled the room. You spun around to find Mingyu gripping the portafilter, his brow furrowed in intense, dramatic concentration as he stared at the coffee grounds falling into the metal basket.

“Okay, so,” Mingyu muttered, looking over at you with a completely serious, stressed-out expression. “I leveled it off, but... how hard do I press the tamper? Is it like... thirty pounds of pressure? Shua said it's thirty pounds. How do I measure thirty pounds with my hands, barista-nim?”

You let out a loud, helpless laugh, setting your strawberry tarts down on the counter and walking over to pull the heavy metal tamper out of his oversized fingers.

“Step aside, trainee,” you teased, your heart doing a light, happy skip against your ribs. “Watch and learn.”

Saturday 2:30 p.m

The chaotic lunch rush had finally subsided into a sluggish mid-afternoon lull. The stainless-steel surfaces behind the counter were spotless, courtesy of Mingyu’s relentless, eager scrubbing. He had washed every blender pitcher twice, organized the syrup bottles by height, and carried three more crates of oat milk up from the basement loading dock without a single complaint. But despite the warmth of your friends’ aggressive apologies and Mingyu’s massive, comforting presence beside the espresso machine, a different kind of suffocating quiet began to settle into your chest.

Your mind, ever its own worst enemy, started looping again.

The initial rush of relief from the morning was fading, leaving a hollow, aching question mark right where your heart was. Where was he?

Every single time the heavy glass doors of the cafeteria hallway gave a slight, echoing click, your head would instantly snap up, your breath catching in your throat. But it was never him. It was a marketing executive. It was a lyricist. It was a stray backup dancer.

Your eyes kept tracking the long, polished corridor leading toward the elevators. Twice during the midday rush, you had caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar gray hoodie lingering near the vending machines just outside the lounge perimeter. It was unmistakably Soonyoung. He had walked past the glass doors twice, his head ducked low, his hands shoved so deep into his pockets his shoulders were entirely hunched forward. He looked incredibly small, completely stripped of his usual explosive, tiger-like aura. He had tilted his head just enough to look through the glass, his sharp eyes blinking softly as he watched you hand a cup to a customer—but the second your gaze had drifted toward the door, he had flinched violently, spun on his heel, and sprinted back toward the emergency stairwell like a frightened animal.

He was terrified. He was entirely convinced that if he stepped across that marble threshold, the icy, detached customer-service mask would drop right back over your face. He was protecting your space, just like Jeonghan had ordered him to, but his absolute avoidance was triggering a brand-new wave of agonizing overthinking in your own head.

Is he actually just giving me space? you thought, your fingers tightly gripping a clean microfiber cloth as you stared blankly at the steaming milk pitcher. Or is he relieved? Maybe after spending forty-eight hours with Minji, he realized how exhausting it is to constantly run down here and stutter over an americano. Maybe he’s up on the fourth floor right now, laughing at another one of her brilliant contemporary counts. Maybe he’s already moved past the awkward, unconfessed pining because his real world is just too loud, too fast, and too perfect for a barista to keep up with.

A heavy, visible sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders slumping into a posture of sheer, quiet exhaustion.

From the corner of his eye, Mingyu noticed everything. He paused mid-wipe on the espresso tray, his sharp, perceptive gaze tracking the way your eyes lingered on the empty hallway, the way your thumb kept nervously tapping the edge of your apron, and the profound, heavy sadness clouding your face. He didn't say a word out loud. He didn't tease you, and he didn't call attention to the sudden drop in your energy. He just quietly pulled his phone from his pocket beneath the counter, his thumbs flying across the screen into a private, four-way group chat titled:

OPERATION: FIX THE TIGER’S LOVE LIFE.

Mingyu: Guys, it’s bad. She’s doing that thing where she stares at the door and sighs every three minutes. She thinks Hoshi doesn't care anymore because he keeps doing that pathetic drive-by pacing in the hallway without coming inside.

Seungkwan: I swear to God, Kwon Soonyoung is the most tragic creature on this planet. He’s currently sitting in the corner of the practice room entirely convinced she’s going to hand him a corporate resignation letter if he breathes her air.

Joshua: We need to intervene. Jeonghan-hyung, do the thing.

Jeonghan: On it. Mingyu, get ready to clear the room.

Exactly three minutes later, your phone buzzed sharply inside your apron pocket. You pulled it out, your heart doing a strange, frantic leap when you saw a direct message from Jeonghan.

Jeonghan-hyung: Hey, lovely barista. The management team just trapped me in a recording review and I am literally dying of exhaustion. Shua and Seungkwan are down the street doing a wardrobe fitting, and the performance studio is completely empty right now. Can you do me a massive favor and bring a large iced americano up to the studio? Just leave it on the sound system ledge. You’re a lifesaver.

You stared at the screen, a sudden, nervous flutter hitting your stomach. The practice room was empty. Soonyoung wasn't there. It was just a simple delivery for Jeonghan. You could run up, drop the coffee in the quiet room, and escape back downstairs before anyone from the performance team returned from their midday break.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you said, your voice coming out a little breathless as you turned around. “I... I have to run a quick delivery up to the fourth floor for Jeonghan-hyung. Can you watch the register for ten minutes?”

Mingyu snapped his posture upright, throwing you a massive, entirely too innocent puppy-dog grin that should have made you suspicious if your brain hadn't been so compromised by overthinking. “Yes! Absolutely! Go! Take your time! I am the master of this lounge now! No corporate executive shall pass!”

You let out a small laugh, quickly pouring a fresh double shot of espresso over ice and cold water. You capped the drink, slid a black sleeve over the plastic cup, and took a deep, steadying breath. You pulled off your black apron, hanging it neatly on the hook behind the door, and stepped out into the corridor, your bare arms suddenly feeling chilly against the air conditioning as you boarded the elevator.

The ride up to the fourth floor felt agonizingly slow. When the metallic doors finally slid open, the polished concrete hallway of the training sector was completely silent. The usual thumping bass lines and echoing shouts of trainees were missing, the entire floor wrapped in a rare, mid-rehearsal quiet.

You walked down the long corridor, your sneakers making faint, squeaking sounds against the floorboards. Your chest felt tight, your fingers tightening around the cold plastic cup as you neared the heavy acoustic door of the studio.

You paused outside, taking one final breath to steel your nerves. You reached out, turned the heavy metal handle, and pushed the door open.

The room was vast, bright, and entirely hollow. The massive wall of mirrors reflected the empty hardwood floor, the high ceilings making the soft hum of the air conditioner sound incredibly loud.

But it wasn't completely empty.

Sitting dead center in the far corner of the room, flush against the mirror, was Soonyoung.

He was just sitting on his knees, his broad shoulders deeply slouched forward under his gray hoodie, his head buried completely in his arms.

The heavy door clicked shut behind you, the latch engaging with a sharp, final sound.

Soonyoung’s head snapped up violently at the noise. His sharp eyes were wide, heavily bloodshot, and completely clouded with panic.

The second his gaze locked onto your face—taking in your casual cardigan, your hair falling over your shoulders, and the iced americano clutched in your hands—his entire body went rigid. He scrambled to his feet so fast his sneakers skidded against the wood, his car keys clattering loudly out of his pocket and across the floor.

But instead of stepping forward, he immediately began to back away, his hands flying up in a defensive, frantic gesture.

“I won't bother you,” Soonyoung choked out, his voice rough, broken, and completely stripped of his usual bright volume. He wouldn't even look you in the eye, his gaze darting wildly toward the exit. “I'm leaving. I'll go. I won't breathe your air, I promise. I'm going.”

He practically bolted toward the door, his shoulder hunched as he tried to brush past you to escape into the hallway.

“Stop treating me like a stranger!” you cried out, your voice cracking sharply as you stepped directly into his path, blocking the exit.

The cold plastic cup of the americano trembled violently in your grip. The absolute absurdity of it all—the drive-by pacing in the hallway, the weeks of unconfessed pining, the sudden, freezing wall he was throwing up—completely broke through your remaining restraint.

Soonyoung halted mid-stride, his chest heaving violently under his gray hoodie. He finally looked down at you, his jaw tight, his expression twisting into a mix of raw defensive panic and unmitigated hurt.

“I'm treating you the way you want to be treated!” Soonyoung snapped back, his voice suddenly rising, echoing sharply off the studio mirrors. It wasn't his stage voice; it was a rough, defensive defense mechanism born out of sheer terror. “You treated me like a total stranger first! You wouldn't even slide the coffee to my hand! You wanted space, you took formal leave, and now I'm trying to give it to you, and you're still mad?!”

“Because you looked through me first!” you shouted right back, a hot, angry tear finally spilling over your lashes, your chest heaving as the months of suppressed feelings finally erupted into the quiet room. “On Wednesday afternoon, you stood less than two feet away from me and completely erased me! You talked about your choreography, you talked about Minji, you planned a whole life outside the building right in my face, and you didn't even notice I was standing there holding the cloth! You made me feel like an absolute ghost, Soonyoung! You made me realize that when the music starts, I'm just the staff member who pours your drinks!”

“That's bullshit and you know it!” Soonyoung roared, stepping right into your personal space, his face flushing a brilliant, angry crimson that rushed all the way to his ears. He slammed his hand against his own chest, his eyes flashing with a desperate, furious vulnerability. “I have never thought of you as just staff! Never! You think I want to buy coffee for thirteen people every single morning? You think I care about pistachio shit and mochas with cold foam? I spent forty minutes upstairs on Monday trying to bait the guys into wanting drinks just so I had an excuse to see your face for thirty seconds! I am completely pathetic for you, and everyone in this building knows it except you!”

“Then why didn't you say anything?!” you screamed back, the tears flowing freely now, your voice trembling with a raw, agonizing heartbreak. “Why did you leave me out? Why was I the only one missing from that blanket at the river while you were sitting there laughing with someone who actually speaks your language?!”

“Because I was terrified!” Soonyoung yelled, his voice cracking completely, entirely unraveled. “I didn't look at you on Wednesday because if I looked at you for even a second, everyone would have seen how desperate I am! I didn't invite you because I thought you were too busy for me! I sat on that blanket all night staring at my phone, wanting to die because my own loud, stupid brain had made the one person who actually matters to me feel like an outsider!”

“Well, you fucking succeeded!” you sobbed, turning your heel to finally smash the handle of the door, desperate to escape the suffocating intensity of his presence. “You made me feel completely irrelevant, and I don't want to stand here and—”

Before you could even touch the metal latch, Soonyoung’s hand shot forward. He didn't just catch your wrist—he gripped it, his long, warm fingers wrapping securely around your skin and physically yanking you back into the center of the room. The sudden momentum sent the iced americano flying from your grip, the plastic cup clattering against the hardwood floor and spilling dark liquid across the wood, completely ignored.

“Let go of me!” you gasped, twisting against his grip, but Soonyoung didn't let go.

Instead, he stepped completely into your space, his broad frame entirely trapping you against his chest. His other hand shot up, his fingers embedding deeply into the hair at the back of your neck, his thumb anchoring tightly against your jawline to force your head up.

“I'm not letting you go,” Soonyoung whispered, his breath hot and ragged against your lips, his eyes wide, fierce, and swimming with a terrifyingly beautiful, unyielding certainty. “I'm done being a coward.”

Before another word could leave your throat, he leaned down and slammed his mouth against yours.

The kiss wasn't gentle, and it wasn't hesitant. His lips were hot, demanding, and incredibly soft, parting yours with a fierce, unyielding hunger that instantly knocked the remaining air straight out of your lungs.

Your hands, which had been raised to push him away, instantly lost all their strength. Your fingers tangled into the rough fabric of his gray hoodie, pulling him closer as the tight, suffocating ice in your chest completely, beautifully shattered.

Soonyoung let out a low, ragged groan into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening until he was physically lifting you off your feet, pressing you flush against the solid warmth of his chest.

He kissed you until the room spun, until the memory of Wednesday afternoon, the overthinking about Minji, and the boundaries of the cafeteria walls completely dissolved into the background. There was no performance leader, no barista, and no crowd—just his heartbeat drumming a frantic, echoing rhythm against yours.

The kiss deepened, raw and desperate, years of swallowed feelings pouring out between you.

Soonyoung’s mouth moved against yours like he was starving, tasting you with a low groan that vibrated straight into your chest. His hands were everywhere—one still tangled in your hair, the other sliding down your back to pull your hips flush against him. You could already feel how hard he was through his sweatpants, thick and insistent against your stomach.

“Fuck… I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough and shaky. He kissed you again, slower this time, sucking gently on your bottom lip before deepening it with a needy tilt of his head. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about you behind that counter… how many times I got hard just from thinking about fucking you dumb on that damn counter.”

Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie, a soft whimper escaping as heat pooled low in your belly. He walked you backward until your back met the cool mirror wall, the contrast making you gasp. Soonyoung didn’t waste a second—he dropped his head to your neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees weak.

“Tell me you want me,” he murmured against your throat, voice sweet and wrecked at the same time. “Please, baby… need to hear it.” “I want you,” you whispered, sliding your hands under his hoodie to feel the warm, firm muscle of his back. “Soonyoung, I want you so much.”

He made a broken sound and pulled back just enough to tug your cardigan open, hands gentle but urgent as he pushed it off your shoulders. His eyes darkened as he looked at you, drinking in every inch. “God, you’re so pretty,” he said, almost reverently, cupping your breasts through your shirt before sliding his hands underneath. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, already tight and sensitive, drawing a shaky moan from you. “Look at you… been dreaming about touching you like this. These perfect tits in my hands—soft and warm, fuck, they fit so good.”

You arched into his touch, heat flooding your face. He kissed you again, deep and filthy, while his fingers worked your shirt up and off.

Your bra followed quickly, and then his mouth was on you—hot and wet, sucking one nipple while his hand kneaded the other. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the quiet studio, mixing with your soft gasps.“Soonyoung—” you moaned, threading your fingers through his hair.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. “That’s it, say my name just like that. You’re doing so good for me already, baby. So responsive… I love how your body reacts when I touch you.” He switched sides, licking and sucking until your legs trembled, praising you between every swirl of his tongue.

“These pretty nipples are so sensitive. Look how hard they get for me. You’re perfect, you know that?” One of his hands slid down your stomach, fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants. “Can I touch you here, baby? Been dying to feel how wet you are for me.”

You nodded quickly, whispering, “Yes—please.”

Soonyoung groaned in relief, the sound low and hungry. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, sliding them down your legs. He helped you step out of them, his hands warm and steady on your thighs, all while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“Fuck, look at you…” he murmured, voice dropping into a soft, sweet coo. “My pretty baby, standing here all bare for me. Aww, don’t get shy now.” He tilted his head, a teasing little smirk tugging at his lips even as his eyes stayed soft. “You’re dripping down your thighs already, sweetheart. That’s so cute.”

His fingers returned between your legs, sliding through your slick folds with an obscene, wet sound. He let out a low whistle.

“Shit, baby… you’re absolutely soaked. This pretty little pussy is making such a mess just from a few kisses.” He circled your clit slowly at first, then faster, two fingers pressing inside you with a smooth, careful thrust. “Mmm, so warm and tight. Listen to that… hear how wet you are for me?”

You rocked against his hand, a broken whimper slipping out. Soonyoung leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he cooed again, sweet and slightly mocking in the gentlest way.

“Aww, listen to you. Already riding my fingers like a needy girl. That’s it, baby, fuck yourself on them. Look at you—so desperate and pretty.” He curled his fingers perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you, stroking it steadily while his thumb kept rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Who would’ve thought my sweet barista gets this fucking wet? All those mornings you smiled at me so innocently… and you were hiding this greedy little cunt?”

He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans while his fingers kept their relentless rhythm. When he pulled back, his voice was husky but still laced with that affectionate, teasing coo.

“Good girl… such a good fucking girl for me. You’re squeezing my fingers so tight, like you don’t want to let them go. Does it feel that good, baby? Hmm?” He nipped at your bottom lip, eyes half-lidded with lust and adoration. “You’re taking two so well already. Can’t wait to see how you stretch around my cock. Bet you’ll look so fucking cute trying to take all of me.”

Your legs started to tremble. Soonyoung noticed immediately and pressed his body closer, supporting you against the mirror as he finger-fucked you a little faster, wet sounds echoing softly in the empty studio.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he cooed sweetly, almost like he was soothing a shy lover. “Don’t fight it, pretty. Let it build. I want to feel you come on my fingers first. Can you do that for me? Can my sweet, shy baby make a mess all over my hand?”

He kissed down your neck, sucking lightly while his fingers curled again and again against that perfect spot.

“That’s my girl… so wet, so warm, so perfect. God, I love how you sound. Those little whimpers are driving me crazy.” His voice dropped lower, filthier, but still wrapped in that tender, teasing tone. “You’ve been hiding this needy pussy from me for months? Bad girl… but such a pretty one. Come on, baby. Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart like the good little thing you are.”

The praise, the filthy cooing, and the steady pressure of his fingers finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard with a broken cry of his name, clenching rhythmically around his fingers as pleasure crashed through you.

Soonyoung kept stroking you through it, slow and gentle now, murmuring soft praises against your temple.

“There you go… that’s my good girl. So beautiful when you come. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

He dropped to his knees suddenly, gentle but eager, spreading your thighs wider with warm hands. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your hip bone, then another just below your navel, like he was worshipping every inch of you.

“Let me taste you. Please?” His voice was already hoarse with need. “I need to, baby. Been dying to bury my face in this pretty pussy.”

At your breathless nod, Soonyoung let out a relieved groan and leaned in. He dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, savoring every drop, before letting out a deep, shameless moan against your core.

“Oh my god… you taste so fucking sweet,” he murmured, almost in awe. “My pretty baby is dripping for me. Aww, look at you—already making such a mess on my tongue.”

He licked and sucked at your clit with focused hunger, alternating between slow, broad strokes and quick flicks that made your hips jerk. Two fingers slid back inside you, pumping steadily while his mouth worked you open. His free hand gripped your thigh firmly, holding you spread for him as he devoured you like a man starved.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear those pretty sounds,” he cooed against your slick folds, voice muffled and sweet. “Don’t hold back for me. Fuck, you’re doing so well already… grinding that needy little pussy on my tongue like a good girl.”

Your legs started shaking. You gripped his hair tighter, soft whimpers and moans spilling from your lips. Soonyoung hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight through you.

“Mmm, listen to how wet you are,” he teased gently, pulling back just enough to look up at you with dark, adoring eyes. His chin was already shiny with your arousal. “You’re soaking my face, sweetheart. So cute. Is my shy barista really this greedy? Getting this messy just because I’m on my knees for her?”

He dove back in, sucking your clit between his lips while his fingers curled perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet studio, mixing with your broken gasps.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he praised between licks, voice thick with lust and affection. “My perfect girl. So sweet and warm and tight. I could stay right here for hours, baby—eating this pretty cunt until you can’t even stand. You taste even better than I imagined. Fuck, I’m addicted already.”

He kept cooing soft, filthy praise against your core, never stopping the steady rhythm of his fingers.

“Aww, your thighs are shaking so much. Poor baby… feels that good, huh?” He sucked harder on your clit for a moment, then soothed it with slow, gentle licks. “That’s okay. I’ve got you. Come whenever you need to, okay? Want to feel this pretty pussy fluttering on my tongue. Be a good girl and make a mess for me.”

You came for the second time with a broken cry of his name, thighs trembling violently around his shoulders as you clenched rhythmically around his fingers.

Soonyoung moaned loudly against you, licking you through every wave—slow and gentle now, drawing out your orgasm until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Only then did he pull back, kissing your inner thigh softly before rising to his feet.

He pulled you into a deep, hungry kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other stroked down your spine.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your lips, breathing hard. His cock was straining painfully against his sweatpants, but he still took his time, pressing soft kisses to your flushed cheeks and forehead. “So fucking sexy when you come for me like that… I almost cummed on my fucking pants just watching you fall apart. My good girl.”

His hands roamed your body again. He looked at you with pure adoration, eyes soft even as lust burned behind them.

“I love you,” he said quietly, forehead resting against yours. “Want to be inside you so bad, baby. Want to feel this tight, perfect pussy around my cock while I tell you how much you mean to me.” He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, voice dropping into a wrecked, gentle plea. “Can I have you? All of you? Will you let me fuck you dumb on this practice room, hmm?”

You nodded frantically “I'm gonna turn your brain into fucking mush, baby, I'm gonna make you feel so so sooooo good, my pretty girl.”

He turned you around gently but firmly so you were facing the massive wall of mirrors. Your naked body were reflected back at you—flushed skin, his broad chest behind you, his hands sliding possessively over your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, eyes locked on yours in the mirror.

“Look at us, baby,” he cooed softly, voice sweet and teasing. “Look how pretty you look against me. Aww, already so flushed and needy… my shy little barista all spread open for me.”

He pushed his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening. One hand stayed on your hip while the other guided himself between your legs, rubbing the head slowly up and down your soaked folds.

“So wet… still dripping from my tongue, huh?” He nipped at your earlobe. “Gonna watch every second of this. Don’t look away, okay? Want you to see how well you take me.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a deep, guttural groan. “Fuck… so tight. That’s it, baby—relax for me. Good girl… taking my cock so nicely already.”

You gasped at the fullness, your hands pressing against the cool mirror for support. Soonyoung bottomed out with a shaky breath, his chest flush against your back, and wrapped one arm around your waist to hold you steady.

“Feel that?” he murmured right against your ear, eyes never leaving yours in the reflection. “Feel how deep I am? This pretty pussy was made for me. So warm and wet… squeezing me like you never want me to leave.”

He started moving—slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The wet sound of skin meeting skin echoed softly in the empty studio. His free hand slid up to cup one of your breasts, thumb teasing your nipple while he fucked you.

“Look at you,” he cooed again, voice dripping with affection and lust. “Look how cute you look getting fucked. Those pretty tits bouncing every time I thrust… fuck, you’re perfect. My perfect girl.”

He picked up the pace just a little, still controlled, angling his hips to hit deeper. “That’s it, baby. Push back on me. Show me how much you want it.” He kissed your shoulder, then bit down gently. “Been dreaming about bending you over, fuck! You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl letting me fuck you like this.”

After several long, toe-curling minutes, Soonyoung pulled out with a soft hiss. He spun you around to face him, then lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the mirror again. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.

“New position, pretty,” he breathed, lining himself up and sliding back inside you in one smooth thrust. “Want to see your face while I fuck you. Want to watch those eyes when I’m buried deep.”

He held you up like you weighed nothing, strong hands gripping your ass as he started thrusting again—deeper and harder now, the new angle making you moan louder. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and full of love as he watched every expression cross your face.

“Fuck, baby… you feel even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough but still sweet. “Look at me. Don’t close your eyes. Want you to see how much I love being inside you. This tight, perfect little pussy is gonna ruin me… but I don’t care. I’m yours.”

He kept fucking you against the mirror, steady and relentless, murmuring filthy praise between kisses.

Soonyoung kept bouncing you on his cock against the mirror, deep and steady, his eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Baby,” he cooed softly, voice sweet and raspy between thrusts, “you know you’re the only one, right? My only one.” He pressed a messy kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to watch your face. “Minji? She’s nothing to me like this. Never has been. She doesn’t make me lose my mind. She doesn’t make me hard just by smiling. That’s all you, pretty girl. Only you.”

He groaned when you clenched around him, clearly affected by his words.

“Aww, you liked hearing that, huh?” He smirked sweetly, eyes sparkling with affection even as he fucked you harder. “Good. Because it’s true. This cock is yours. This -tiger- heart is yours. No one else gets me like this. Just my sweet, perfect barista.”

He slowed down, then carefully lowered you to your feet. With gentle but firm hands, he turned you around again, pressing your front against the cool mirror.

“Bend forward a little for me, baby. That’s it… hands on the glass.” He kicked your feet wider apart and lined himself up from behind, sliding back in with one smooth, deep thrust. “Fuck—yes. Look at you in the mirror. So fucking pretty taking me like this.”

His hips snapped against your ass in a steady rhythm, one hand gripping your hip while the other reached around to rub your clit.

“You feel so good,” he praised, voice dripping with honeyed filth. “This tight little pussy keeps sucking me in… greedy girl. But I love it. Love spoiling her.”

He kept talking, sweet and teasing, eyes never leaving your reflection. “That’s my good girl… look how well you’re taking every inch. So cute when you’re getting fucked dumb in front of the mirror. You’re clenching so much, baby. You close already?”

Your moans grew louder, legs shaking as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. Soonyoung’s fingers circled your clit faster, perfectly in time with his thrusts.

“Come on, pretty. Let go for me,” he cooed, almost mockingly gentle. “Make a mess on my cock. I want to feel you gush all over me. Be a good girl and squirt for me, yeah?”

The orgasm hit you hard. Your vision blurred as pleasure exploded through your body. You cried out his name, thighs trembling violently as you gushed around his cock—hot, wet, and messy. Your release dripped down your thighs and onto the studio floor, the obscene sound of it mixing with his low groan.

“Fuuuck, baby— that’s it,” Soonyoung moaned, voice wrecked with pride and lust. He kept thrusting through your orgasm, slower but still deep, drawing it out as you made a complete mess. “Look at that… my pretty girl squirted so much. So fucking cute. You made such a big mess for me.”

He didn’t stop moving. Even as you whimpered from the overstimulation, he kept rolling his hips, grinding against that sensitive spot inside you while his fingers gentled on your clit.

“Aww, don’t tap out yet, sweetheart,” he cooed, leaning over your back to press kisses along your shoulder. His voice was sweet and teasing, dripping with affection. “You can handle a little more, can’t you? Just a little. My perfect girl is so strong… this pussy still feels so hungry for me.”

He gave you a few slow, deep strokes, letting you feel every inch while you trembled against the mirror.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby. Let me take care of you.” His hand stroked soothingly down your side as he kissed the back of your neck. “We’re not done yet… I still need to fill you up properly. You can give me one more, right? Be good for me.”

Soonyoung’s thrusts grew faster and more desperate, the mating press keeping you folded helplessly under him as he chased his high.

“Fuck, baby… I’m so close,” he groaned, voice cracking with need. “Gonna fill you up—need to cum so deep inside you. Please, let me— fuck—”

With a few final, punishing thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. A broken moan ripped from his throat as he pulsed inside you, flooding your walls with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding slowly, pushing it as deep as possible while panting against your neck.

“Good girl… taking all of it… so good for me…”

He stayed buried deep for a few seconds, trembling, then flipped you both with a shaky breath. He laid on his back on the thick mat and pulled you on top, your knees straddling his hips. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he gripped your waist with slightly trembling hands and immediately started fucking up into you with deep, powerful strokes.

“Ah—shit—” he hissed sharply, eyes squeezing shut for a second. His voice was already turning breathy and broken. “S-so sensitive… fuck, baby, you’re so warm and full of my cum… it’s dripping everywhere.”

Even though he was clearly oversensitive, he didn’t stop. He kept snapping his hips up, driving his cock back into your messy, cum-filled pussy with wet, filthy sounds. His hands guided you down to meet every thrust, bouncing you on him.

“Look at you… sitting so pretty on me,” he babbled, voice sweet but wrecked, words starting to slur together. “My messy baby… all creamy and wet… making such a big mess on my cock. Aww, you feel t-too good— hnn— I can’t— fuck—”

You were barely coherent yourself, moaning and whimpering as he hit that perfect spot over and over. Soonyoung’s thumb found your clit again, rubbing messy circles while he continued thrusting up hard, even as his own body twitched from overstimulation.

“C’mon, pretty— please,” he pleaded softly, eyes glassy as he stared up at you. “Squirt for me again… wanna feel you gush all over me. I know you can, baby— my perfect girl— please make another mess— I’m so close again already—”

You came hard with a shattered cry, squirting all over his stomach and chest in messy pulses, your release soaking him completely.

Soonyoung’s eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as your walls clamped down around his oversensitive cock.

“F-fuuuck— baby— you’re squeezing me so tight— I’m— I’m cumming again—!”

His hips stuttered violently as he came for the second time, pumping more cum deep inside you with a broken, whimpery groan. He kept thrusting up through it in short, desperate jerks, babbling praises and nonsense the entire time.

“So good— you’re so fucking good— my pretty girl— making me cum so much… love you— love this pussy— too sensitive but I can’t stop— ah— fuck—”

His movements eventually slowed to lazy, shallow rolls of his hips as you both trembled and panted. He pulled you down against his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly, still buried deep inside your dripping, cum-filled pussy.

“Stay… just stay right here, baby,” he whispered breathlessly, pressing sloppy kisses to your forehead and cheeks, still slightly incoherent. “My perfect girl… made such a pretty mess… love you so much.”

Soonyoung’s arms stayed wrapped tightly around you as you both came down, his chest heaving beneath yours. He was still buried deep inside you, cock twitching with aftershocks, overly sensitive and warm. Soft, broken whimpers kept slipping from his lips every time your walls fluttered around him.

“Baby… fuck, you’re still squeezing me,” he whispered shakily, voice hoarse and sweet. He pressed lazy kisses all over your face — your forehead, your closed eyes, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. “My perfect girl… you did so well. Made me cum so much. Look at the mess we made together. Fuck, I still feel like I'm fucking shaking.”

You were completely boneless on top of him, brain still floating. Soonyoung gently rolled you both onto your sides, finally slipping out of you with a low hiss. A thick trickle of his cum immediately leaked out onto your thigh. He stared at it with dark, satisfied eyes before letting out a soft, tired laugh.

“Aww, don’t move, pretty. Let me take care of you.”

He reached for the clean towels stacked near the practice mats (always kept in the studio for sweat) and gently wiped between your legs with careful, tender strokes.

“Shhh, I know you’re sensitive,” he cooed softly when you twitched. “Such a good girl… you took me so deep and made such pretty messes for me. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Once he cleaned you up the best he could, he wiped himself quickly and pulled you back into his chest, wrapping you up in his oversized gray hoodie. He tucked your head under his chin, one hand stroking slow circles on your back while the other cradled your head.

“I love you,” he murmured again and again, voice soft and a little raspy. “So much. You’re mine now, okay? You’re my girl.”

You mumbled something incoherent against his neck and he chuckled warmly, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, I know. Brain’s all mushy, huh? That’s okay. I’ll keep you right here until you come back to me. My sweet baby.”

He rocked you slowly in his arms, pressing endless gentle kisses wherever he could reach, whispering praises and love confessions until your breathing evened out.

Down the hallway, just past the corner from the practice room door, the four of them were still loitering, trying their best to look like they had any business being there.

Seungkwan leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, wearing the smuggest expression known to man. He wiggled his fingers expectantly.

“Alright, pay up. Don’t make me wait.”

Joshua exhaled slowly, pulling out his wallet with visible regret. He counted out the bills and handed them over. “I genuinely thought he’d at least take her somewhere nice first. Or, you know… confess like a normal human being. Not turn the practice room into his personal love nest in the middle of the afternoon.”

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, groaning as he forked over his money. “I’m never going to unsee that image. Every time I look at those mirrors I’m going to remember. My brain didn’t need that upgrade.”

Jeonghan, who had been quietly scrolling on his phone, finally looked up with a lazy smile. He peeled off a few bills and dropped them into Seungkwan’s hand.

Seungkwan pocketed the money with a satisfied grin, patting his pocket proudly. “Man’s been holding back for too long. Tiger mode activated. Zero chill left.”

Mingyu shook his head, half-laughing, half-horrified. “During the day, though? With the door not even locked? That’s bold even for him.”

“Bold?” Joshua chuckled. “That’s straight-up fearless. Or reckless. Probably both.”

Jeonghan slipped his phone into his pocket. “He’s been staring at her like she hung the moon for months. We should’ve seen this coming.”

Seungkwan nodded sagely. “Exactly. That’s why I set the terms. Thank you all for doubting the power of a man who’s completely whipped. Your contributions will be put to good use.”

Joshua let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless.”

“Uh-uh, I'm strategic, I don't bet unless I know I'm going to win.” Seungkwan corrected, tapping his temple. “Someone has to be the realist here.”

Mingyu glanced nervously back toward the practice room door. “We should probably bounce before they come out. I don’t want to get caught. Hoshi gets extra scary when he’s embarrassed, and I’m not trying to fight him today.”

Jeonghan pushed off the wall smoothly. “Yeah, and she’ll definitely throw something at us if she spots us lurking. Let’s not ruin their happy little bubble.”

The four of them started walking down the corridor, keeping their voices low but still snickering.

As they turned the next corner, Mingyu muttered, “Mirrors, man… Why the mirrors?”

Seungkwan patted his shoulder with mock sympathy. “Accept it. And next time you bet against me, just pay faster. My instincts are expensive.”

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