✮

BLOODHOUNDS→

✮Kim Geon-woo - Everytime

✮Kim Geon-woo - Obssesed

✮Allen - Freaky

✮Baek-Jeong - Bastard

WEAK HERO→

✮Ahn Su-ho - No Games

✮Ahn Su-ho - Ruin the Friendship

SMOSH→ (Anthony P, Ian H, Shayne T, Demian H)

✮ Anthony Padilla - Risk

✮Anthony Padilla - Hard Launch

✮Anthony Padilla - Back Then, Back Now

✮Demian Haas - Truth or dare

✮Demian Haas - Try Not To Flirt

✮Ian Hecox - Inevitable

RAPPERS→ (whoever you ask for)

✮Eminem - Who’s the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and the big bad mm?

✮Eminem - Only bought this dress so u can take it off

✮Eminem - Cut!

✮Eminem - shoutout

MARVEL→

✮Steve Rogers - The Way

✮Steve Rogers - Mission: US

✮Johnny Storm - Shhhhh

✮Johnny Storm - Flame Off

✮Johnny Storm - Sparks Fly

✮Bob Reynolds - The Boy Is Mine

✮Bob Raynolds - Hostage

✮Bob Reynold - Can't Help It He's So Cute (part 1 of Sun Or Noon)

✮Bucky Barnes - That Way

✮Bucky Barnes - Dont Blame Me

✮Bucky Barnes - Even The Silence Screams

✮Bucky Barnes - Collide

✮Bucky/Bob - Sun Or Moon

✮Avengers - Hot People

RANDOM CHARACTERS →

✮Bradley Simpson - Missing You

✮Zed Necrodopolis - A Girl And A Zombie

✮Zayn Malik - There You Are

✮Zayn Malik - Attraction

✮Zayn Malik - Back Again

✮Sebastian Stan - Lucky Girl

✮Sebastian Stan - The 3 F (Fall, Filth, Fury)

✮Sebastian Stan - Nothing is enough for you, but someday Ill be everything for somebody else

✮Eddie Munson - Beauty And The Freak

✮Steve Harrintong - Supernatural

✮MinHo - Finally

✮Jake Sully - Our Way

✮Spencer Reid - Pretty Boi

OUTER BANKS→

✮Rafe Cameron - Mad In Love

✮Rafe Cameron - Will We Ever Learn?

✮Rafe Cameron - You Belong With Me

✮Rafe Cameron - Heartache

✮Rafe Cameron - I Can't Love You In The Dark

✮Rafe Cameron - Not Ok

✮Rafe Cameron -I Hate You

✮Rafe Cameron - Cause I Knew You Were Trouble

✮JJ Maybank - Clandestine meetings and longing stares

TEEN WOLF→

✮Peter Hale - The More Wrinkled The Raisin The Sweeter

✮Derek Hale - Weakening

✮Stiles Stilinski - Not Exactly Your Type

✮Void Stiles - He Thinks You're Cute

FORMULA 1→

✮Daniel Ricciardo - Dude, she's just so into u

SERIES→

✮Bucky Barnes✮

I. So Close Yet So Far

II. So Close Yet So Far

III. So Close Yet So Far

IIII. So Close Yet So Far

✮Bucky Barnes✮

I. I Hate You (But Not Really)

II. I Hate You (But Not Really)

III. I Hate You (But Not Really)

His oversized hoodie swallowed half his hands, hair messy from constantly pushing his fingers through it, and he looked far too relaxed for someone being watched by thousands of people. But then again, Keeho had always been strangely good at making lives feel less like broadcasts and more like late-night conversations with friends.

Hi's like that, a friendly birdy.

He talked too much, complained dramatically about everything, started fake arguments with the comments, and somehow managed to make even the dumbest stories entertaining.

“Tour life is actually miserable,” he sighed dramatically as he scrolled through comments, not sounding miserable whatsoever. “Nobody here understands me emotionally, I’m suffering every day.”

The comments immediately flooded with people calling him dramatic, and Keeho only looked more offended by it, placing a hand over his chest like he’d just been personally betrayed.

“You guys are proving my point,” he continued. “No empathy, cero kindness. This is a hostile environment.”

He paused for a moment, eyes scanning the screen before a slow grin spread across his face, the kind that usually meant he was about to say something ridiculous just to entertain himself. “actually,” he started casually, like he was simply recalling part of his day, “bestie tried to kiss me earlier today. I mean… I understand why, I don’t blame her. But I think boundaries are important.”

There was a loud crash somewhere outside the room, and second later, the door flew open so aggressively it slammed against the stopper.

“BRO, STOP LYING! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” you stood in the doorway pointing accusingly at him while laughing so hard you could barely get the words out properly, and the second Keeho saw your expression, he completely lost it. He doubled over laughing immediately, shoulders shaking so hard he nearly knocked over the phone holding up the live.

The comments exploded instantly.

“OMG she's hereeeee!!!!!” “HE GOT CAUGHT” “IM LIVING FOR HIM RAGE-BAITING HER”

People were spamming messages faster than either of you could properly read them, losing their minds over the fact that you’d appeared out of nowhere.

Keeho wiped at the corner of his eye dramatically, still laughing. “See? She’s mad because I exposed her.”

“You’re actually insane,” you shot back as you walked into the room, kicking the side of his leg lightly on your way past him. “Why do you wake up every day and decide spreading misinformation is your passion?”

“Because it keeps life exciting.” he simply says.

“You told people last week that we were divorced.”

“We are divorced emotionally.”

You stared at him for a second before looking toward the phone with disbelief written all over your face. “Do you guys hear this? He’s genuinely delusional.”

Keeho gasped dramatically, placing a hand against his chest again. “Wow. Public humiliation AND gaslighting on live, that’s crazy.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop laughing as you finally dropped down onto the side of the bed. It was obvious you’d come in just to yell at him before leaving again, but like always, somehow you ended up staying.

The second you sat down, the entire atmosphere of the live shifted naturally into the usual chaos people expected whenever the two of you were together. Keeho instantly started talking more, laughing more, interrupting you every five seconds just to annoy you, while you stole his drink without asking and exposed embarrassing stories about him to the viewers.

At some point, without either of you noticing when exactly it happened, Keeho shifted closer, one minute there was a small gap between your shoulders, and the next his arm was stretched lazily across the mattress behind you, his body angled slightly toward yours while he leaned closer to read comments over your shoulder.

But the fans noticed everything, especially the way Keeho kept looking at you while you talked not even realizing he was doing it.

You were busy arguing with someone in the comments who said Keeho looked clingy, laughing as you defended yourself dramatically while Keeho just stared at you with the stupidest grin on his face, clearly more entertained by you than the live itself “he IS clingy,” you insisted “you guys don’t understand. If I ignore his texts for more than ten minutes he starts acting like I died” you glance at him out of the corner of your eye for a few seconds "or like he's gonna kill me"

“That is not true,” Keeho defended immediately.

You laughed loudly at that, leaning forward slightly while shaking your head, and Keeho’s eyes followed you again automatically before he even realized it himself.

“he's so touchy around her” “dude is gonna wear her out looking at her so much”

You squinted at the phone suddenly before bursting into laughter. “Oh my god, they’re saying you look at me lovingly.”

He scoffed loudly “maybe it’s because you’re my ex-wife,” he replied smoothly “there’s history there.”

You shoved his face away with your hand while laughing again, and he only laughed harder, letting himself lean dramatically against your shoulder for a second before sitting back up again.

Keeho started reading comments aloud in fake offended voices, you threatened to expose middle school photos of him, and at one point the two of you argued for nearly five full minutes over whether or not he cried during a movie earlier that week.

“I did not cry,” he insisted for the tenth time.

“You literally had tears running down your face.”

“It was just... cinematic appreciation.”

“You SOBBED.”

Keeho looked directly into the camera with the most serious expression he could manage. “This is why relationships fail.”

That only made you laugh harder, your head falling back against the mattress behind you. Sometimes, in tiny moments like this, he noticed it all over again.

How easy you felt.

How every room felt lighter when you were in it.

And maybe that realization lingered a little too obviously on his face, because the comments suddenly started moving impossibly fast again.

“bro just kiss her” “I cantttt”“he's in luuuuuuvee for sure, we lost him”

Keeho blinked before immediately grabbing the phone.

“Okay!” he announced loudly, suddenly sounding far too defensive. “That’s enough for today, you guys are actually getting weird now bye!”

The flight had barely started and already the three of you were being threatened by staff to “please keep it down” not that any of you were actually being that loud.

Well… maybe a little.

The plane lights were dimmed slightly now that everyone had settled into their seats, most of the passengers either asleep already or quietly watching movies with headphones on, but your row was still painfully awake. Mostly because sitting between Keeho and Intak was possibly one of the worst decisions anyone could’ve made for your ability to have a peaceful flight.

The three of you had been talking nonstop since takeoff... maybe saying talking was generous. It was more like aggressively bullying each other for entertainment.

“You’re actually disgusting,” you muttered while staring at Keeho’s phone screen in horror.

Keeho looked personally offended immediately. “What now?”

“You take selfies from that angle on purpose?”

“It’s my good angle” now even more offended.

“There are no good angles in this photo”

Intak snorted beside you, leaning over slightly to look at the screen too “damn, she got you”

Keeho narrowed his eyes slowly. “Interesting, you switched sides fast” you just smile at him egocentricity.

At one point Intak had stolen your headphones just to annoy you, which turned into you threatening to expose his embarrassing predebut photos, which somehow turned into Keeho loudly claiming he was the only sane person in the group while both you and Intak stared at him in disbelief for a solid ten seconds before laughing in his face.

“You know what your problem is?” you told Keeho eventually while shaking your head.

“That I’m too beautiful?”

“That you genuinely think you’re funnier than everybody else” you corrected him rapidly.

“I AM funnier than everybody else.” he assures, looking the most serious and... well, surer than any other time.

Intak immediately leaned closer to you slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “See? This is why you should sit with me more often instead.”

You laughed instantly at the obvious bait in his tone, already knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Intak nodded seriously “I’m peaceful, calm, easy to be around.”

Keeho stared at him with complete disbelief “you literally barked at a flight attendant thirty minutes ago.”

“That was a joke, okey? she totally got it.”

You laughed again, shoulders shaking slightly as Intak grinned beside you, clearly proud of himself for making you laugh, and Keeho noticed immediately. Noticed the way Intak kept leaning closer while talking to you. The teasing tone in his voice. The way you were laughing a little harder than usual now just because the two of you kept teaming up against him.

It wasn’t that serious, you and Intak had always joked around like this, constantly dramatic and playful with each other just for the reaction.

Still… something about it irritated him more than it should’ve.

Not enough to genuinely get upset, but enough that he found himself watching the interaction with narrowed eyes now, interrupting more often, suddenly needing to be included in every joke.

“You’re actually flirting in front of me right now,” he muttered dryly after Intak complimented your smile in the most exaggerated voice possible.

Intak looked at him innocently “what if I am?”

“It’s embarrassing for both of you” he answers fast "and disgusting..." he adds "...and pathetic"

You turned toward Keeho immediately, grinning “okey we get it, why? jealous?”

Keeho scoffed so fast it almost sounded defensive “please, of him? Be serious.”

Intak smirked beside you, clearly entertained now that he’d gotten a reaction. Intak definitely noticed it, which only encouraged him more.

The teasing continued for a while after that, though slowly the energy started dying down as the flight stretched longer into the night. The cabin lights dimmed further, conversations around you quieting into near silence while exhaustion finally started catching up to everyone after days of nonstop schedules.

Your laughter became softer eventually, slower between sentences while your head leaned further back against the seat.

Keeho noticed immediately.

“You’re falling asleep,” he said.

“I’m literally awake.”

“You just closed your eyes for like thirty seconds.”

“I was thinking.”

“You don’t think.”

The conversation was just whispers, now somewhat scared that if the flight attendant heard you shouting one more time she would kick your asses to your destination.

Your head tilted slightly sideways as sleep finally won, your body relaxing completely without you even realizing it, unfortunately for Keeho, gravity betrayed him... because instead of falling toward his side, your head slowly dropped onto Intak’s shoulder.

Intak looked down immediately before looking over at Keeho with the most obnoxious grin imaginable “oh wow,” he whispered dramatically “she chose me.”

Keeho stared at him flatly.

Intak looked way too pleased with himself already, trying not to laugh while you remained completely asleep against him, breathing evenly and completely unaware of the situation you’d just created.

“Don’t start,” Keeho warned quietly.

“She looks comfortable,” Intak teased softly “maybe this is fate.”

“You’re actually insufferable” Keeho tried to sound annoyed, but his eyes kept drifting back toward you anyway.

The way your face had relaxed completely in your sleep, the slight crease between your brows disappearing now that you weren’t talking, and maybe that tiny irrational feeling from earlier returned again when he saw your head against Intak’s shoulder, because before he even fully thought about it, Keeho was already moving.

Carefully, trying not to wake you, one hand gently reached over, fingers brushing lightly against the side of your head as he slowly guided you away from Intak and toward himself instead.

Intak watched the entire thing with a look of pure amusement.

“Oh my god,” he whispered “you ARE jealous.”

“Shut up” Keeho ignored him completely after that, adjusting slightly in his seat so you could rest more comfortably against his shoulder.

The second your head settled there, your expression softened even more in your sleep, like your body recognized the familiarity automatically. Then ,without waking up once, your hand moved... sleepily, your fingers wrapped around Keeho’s arm beside you before squeezing lightly, holding onto him unconsciously.

Intak saw it happen instantl, the smug teasing expression on his face disappeared into disbelief for a second before he looked toward Keeho again.

And Keeho... Keeho looked back at him with the most satisfied expression Intak had ever seen in his life, victorious, ike he’d won something neither of them had officially been competing for.

After weeks of packed schedules and rushed meals eaten backstage or in hotel rooms, finally having a free evening almost felt strange, especially when the company manager had reluctantly agreed to let all of you go out together for dinner.

The restaurant itself was beautiful, intimate but chill and friendly, warm lighting reflected softly against dark wooden walls and low music played quietly somewhere in the background.

You had barely sat down before the teasing started.

“Can somebody tell Soul to stop taking photos of the menu?” Theo complained from across the table.

“It’s aesthetic,” Soul defended immediately without looking up from his phone.

You laughed quietly while reaching for your water glass, but before you could even properly settle into your seat, you felt a familiar warmth at your side. Keeho had chosen the seat beside you without hesitation the second everyone sat down, like it had been decided automatically long before any of you entered the restaurant.

Not that anyone was surprised.

At this point, people naturally expected the two of you to end up together somehow no matter where the group went, it had become so normal that nobody questioned it anymore. Still, tonight felt… different somehow.

Maybe it was because Keeho looked unfairly good.

His simple black shirt was rolled slightly at the sleeves, exposing the rings on his fingers every time he reached for his drink, and his hair had been styled just enough to leave him looking effortlessly attractive without trying too hard. Which honestly irritated you a little.

Mostly because he knew it too.

“You keep staring at yourself in every reflective surface,” you muttered under your breath while opening the menu.

Keeho looked at you immediately, with a big-ass cocky grinn on his face “Because I look incredible tonight.”

You snorted softly, shaking your head, but Keeho only grinned wider beside you before lazily stretching one arm behind your chair, the second his arm settled behind you, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric near your shoulder, you became painfully aware of how close he suddenly was.

Sometimes his hand rested loosely against the back of your chair while he talked to the others, absentmindedly brushing his fingers against your shoulder every now and then. Other times his palm slid briefly against your waist whenever he leaned closer to show you something on his phone or laugh at one of your comments.

None of it was technically unusual, Keeho had always been touchy with you, but tonight there was something almost possessive about it. Subtle enough that nobody could really call it out directly, but obvious enough that every single member at the table noticed eventually.

Especially Intak, and unfortunately for Keeho, Intak found this entire situation incredibly entertaining.

“So,” Intak started casually at one point while looking across the table toward you, “you and I should go explore the city tomorrow.”

Keeho didn’t even look up from his drink “no”

You immediately laughed “I don’t remember asking you.”

“I’m protecting you from bad decisions.”

Intak leaned back in his chair dramatically “see? This is what I deal with.”

“You flirt with her exclusively to annoy me,” Keeho replied flatly.

“And it’s working beautifully.” Keeho finally looked over at him then, narrowing his eyes slightly while Intak tried (and completely failed) to hide how amused he was by the reaction. His hand would suddenly find your waist again. Enough that he’d interrupt conversations to pull your attention back toward him... that he kept leaning closer whenever Intak made you laugh too hard.

The conversation drifted naturally throughout dinner, at some point you started laughing so hard at one of Jongseob’s stories that you nearly choked on your drink.

Keeho instantly turned toward you, one hand pressing lightly against your back while he laughed too “careful baby” he said absentmindedly.

The word shouldn’t have affected you, he called you baby all the time.

Baby, babe, honey, wife, ex-wife, the love of his life whenever he wanted something from you, it had always been a joke between you.

But this time… the word came out differently.

Maybe it was because he’d been touching you all night without thinking or maybe it was because he was sitting so close you could feel his shoulder brushing yours every few minutes, the way his hand was still resting warm against your back while he looked down at you with genuine concern mixed into his amusement.

But for a second, the nickname didn’t feel like a joke at all.

Your laughter faded slightly as you looked at him, and Keeho seemed to notice the tiny shift immediately because his expression changed too for the briefest moment.

“Oh my god,” Intak groaned dramatically. “Can you two either date already or get a divorce? I can’t keep watching this.”

The moment shattered instantly, you burst out laughing again while Keeho leaned back in his chair with an offended expression, though his arm stayed hooked behind you anyway.

“You’re obsessed with us,” Keeho accused.

“We're exhausted by you” Theo corrected from further down the table.

“You literally just called her baby like you pay taxes together,” Jiung added.

Keeho scoffed loudly. “You guys are projecting your fantasies onto us" meanwhile, his thumb absentmindedly brushed once against your waist underneath the table before he finally pulled his hand away.

But not before you noticed.

And judging by the small, satisfied look Intak gave Keeho from across the table… neither had he.

KEEHO

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KEEHO Had to carry her drunk ass to the hotel btw.

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By the time everyone left the restaurant, the city had become even more beautiful. The cold air outside felt refreshing after the warmth of the restaurant, but unfortunately for you, it did absolutely nothing to help the amount of alcohol currently in your system.

You were drunk, drunk enough that walking in a straight line had become a genuine challenge.

“You almost walked into traffic three times,” Keeho laughed while keeping one hand firmly around your wrist as the group walked back toward the hotel.

Theo loudly announced that he was never drinking with you again because you’d spent fifteen minutes arguing with a taxi driver about whether pigeons had emotions.

Keeho hadn’t let go of you once. Not when you stumbled slightly stepping off the sidewalk, or when you dramatically complained that your feet hurt, not even when you stopped in the middle of the street to point at a random building because you thought the lights looked pretty.

By the time the group finally reached the hotel elevators, you were visibly exhausted, all the chaotic energy from earlier slowly fading. The others were still talking loudly around you, but at some point you had unconsciously leaned closer into Keeho’s side, your head briefly resting against his shoulder while waiting for the elevator doors to open.

His expression softened for just a second before he looked away quickly, like he didn’t want anyone catching it.

“You’re never drinking this much again,” he informed you seriously while unlocking your hotel room.

You laughed softly as you stepped inside the room, immediately dropping face-first onto the bed without even bothering to properly take your shoes off.

Keeho snorted quietly behind you while closing the door “you’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you” you groaned dramatically into the mattress before finally turning your head enough to look at him. Your hair was messy now, your makeup slightly smudged from the long night, but your eyes still carried that sleepy warmth that always made Keeho’s chest feel strangely tight lately.

Then, in the softest voice imaginable, you asked, “stay tonight?”

You and Keeho had shared beds countless times before over the years. During long schedules, flights, movie nights, stressful tours, exhausting rehearsals. Sometimes one of you would fall asleep in the other’s room accidentally, and eventually it had simply become normal.

So Keeho should not have felt his heartbeat immediately speed up the way it did now.

“Yeah, obviously.”

You smiled sleepily at that before shifting over slightly to make space for him beside you. Your head rested against his chest while one arm wrapped lazily around his waist, and Keeho automatically pulled the blanket higher around you before his arm settled carefully across your back.

Keeho stared quietly at the ceiling for a long time, one hand slowly rubbing comforting circles against your back while his heart refused to calm down properly.

The next morning arrived slowly.

The sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains was warm enough to wake you eventually, though the pounding headache you groaned softly, burying your face deeper into the pillow for a second before blinking awake properly.

The bed beside you was empty now, but the room smelled faintly like coffee and breakfast. Confused, you slowly sat up, immediately spotting Keeho near the small table by the window.

Freshly showered already, blond hair still slightly damp, dressed in comfortable gray sweats and a black t-shirt, he looked unfairly awake for someone who’d gone to sleep almost as late as you had, and in front of you, carefully arranged on a wooden breakfast tray sitting across the bed, was food.

Coffee. Toast. Fruit. A headache pill beside a bottle of water.

“You’re actually the best person in the world” Keeho looked up from his phone immediately, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“I know, baby,” he answered easily. “I know.”

That nickname again shouldn’t have affected you anymore considering how often he used it, but lately something about the way he said it felt different.

You tried not to think about it too much, instead, you patted the empty space beside you on the bed “come eat with me” Keeho didn’t hesitate for even a second.

At one point you nearly spit out your coffee because Keeho started aggressively mocking the way you danced while drunk the night before.

“You’re jealous because I have rhythm.”

“You fell into a decorative plant” Keeho laughed loudly, falling back dramatically against the pillows while shaking his head at you.

He loved making you laugh.

Eventually, after breakfast disappeared and your headache became slightly more manageable, the room settled into a quieter kind of comfort. Keeho stretched out lazily across the bed beside you, arms behind his head while looking over.

“Be grateful we only have recording tonight,” he said “you have all day to recover.”

You groaned softly before turning your head toward him with a pout.

“Can we watch a movie?” the second the words left your mouth, Keeho smiled, then he opened one arm toward you silently. You moved beside him without hesitation, resting comfortably against his chest while his arms wrapped naturally around you, pulling you closer until your face was tucked beneath his chin.

“Should we watch Officer Black Belt?” you asked while grabbing the remote.

Keeho immediately scoffed “absolutely not.”

You looked up at him “oh come on, why?”

“Because you only want to watch it because Kim Woobin fights people and you think he’s attractive.”

You burst into laughter instantly “what’s wrong with that?” Keeho narrowed his eyes suspiciously “are you jealous because he fights well and you don’t?”

“Please,” he scoffed dramatically “I could fight better than him.”

That only made you laugh harder. Keeho couldn’t stop looking at you while you laughed, couldn’t stop noticing how beautiful you looked when you were happy... how natural you felt in his arms, how he genuinely couldn’t imagine his life without this anymore.

“So what’s your problem with him then?” you asked eventually, still smiling.

Something shifted quietly in Keeho’s expression then, the joking faded slightly around the edges “You like him,” he answered quietly.

You blinked up at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Keeho’s hand moved slowly against your back, fingers brushing gently across the fabric of your shirt while he looked down at you with an expression you’d never seen this clearly before.

“I like you,” he admitted softly. “A lot.”

Your heartbeat instantly stumbled, Keeho let out a quiet breath before continuing, almost laughing nervously at himself. “I think I’m about to fall in love with you.”

Nothing about this felt wrong, because your friendship had always been built on trust first, on comfort... years of laughter and honesty and being each other’s safest place without even realizing when it happened.

So instead of panic, all you felt was happiness, warm and overwhelming happiness.

A smile slowly spread across your face while you studied every detail of his expression.

“That’s good news,” you whispered softly, “because I like you a lot too.” Keeho’s eyes searched yours carefully while you continued smiling against his chest “I don’t even know when it happened,” you admitted quietly “I just know it did"

His hand still rested against your back while your face remained tucked close to his chest, both of you smiling softly like this entire moment somehow felt inevitable.

Then slowly, carefully, Keeho leaned down toward you... tkiss was soft at first, everything your relationship had always been.

Years of friendship existed inside it, inside the familiarity of his hands against you, the quiet laughter that escaped between kisses because neither of you could stop smiling, the overwhelming comfort of finally understanding what had been growing between you all this time.

Keeho pulled you a little closer against him, one hand sliding carefully up to your cheek while the other stayed secure around your waist, and when you kissed him back more fully, he smiled into the kiss immediately.

Between kisses, Keeho laughed softly against your lips “so…” he murmured, still holding you impossibly close “do you still wanna watch the movie?”

You shook your head immediately, smiling too hard to even pretend otherwise “fuck the movie,” you whispered before kissing him again.

Then suddenly his expression changed “what?” you asked immediately, narrowing your eyes.

Keeho tried to hide the smirk appearing on his face. “I’m just realizing something.”

“Oh shit, are you thinking? That's dangerous.”

He ignored that completely. “Now that we’ve crossed into kissing territory…”

“Oh my god.”

“…does this mean I finally get boyfriend privileges?” his tone kinda funny.

You stared at him. “You already acted like my boyfriend for free.”

“That’s true,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly I was doing full-time labor with no contract.”

You laughed so hard you nearly fell off him entirely, immediately hiding your face against his chest while Keeho looked far too proud of himself for making you laugh again.

“See?” he said smugly while wrapping his arms tighter around you. “This relationship is healthy already. I’m hilarious, you’re obsessed with me...”

“I am NOT obsessed with you.”

Keeho clicked his tongue. “Baby, you literally asked me to sleep over.”

“You’ve slept in my room like fifty times!”

“Yeah,” he replied smoothly, looking down at you with the most annoying grin imaginable “but now it’s romantic.”

The polished table sat at the center of the room, surrounded by too many chairs. Staff members moved quietly along the edges, adjusting microphones, checking angles, preparing for another shoot.

“Alright,” a staff member announced with a bright, practiced smile, “welcome to Say it or Do it with ATEEZ.”

The introduction barely finished before the table erupted into noise. You leaned forward instinctively, resting your elbows against the table, your excitement impossible to hide. “This is going to be a disaster,” you said, though the grin on your face betrayed how much you were looking forward to it.

Across from you, Wooyoung let out a quiet scoff, already shuffling through the cards. “Relax,” he replied smoothly, glancing up at you. “I’ll carry this.”

“You?” you shot back, incredulous. “That’s concerning.”

And he only smiled wider.

At first, everything followed the usual pattern, the cards were harmless, at least in the beginning. Questions that prompted exaggerated answers, dares, moments designed to entertain. The room filled easily with laughter, teasing and interrupting each other without hesitation.

Wooyoung’s turn came sooner than expected. He picked up a card, flipping it between his fingers with his casual confidence that immediately drew attention. For a brief moment, his expression remained unreadable, his eyes scanning the words in silence.

Slowly, his lips curved.

“Oh,” he said, almost to himself, though the shift in his tone was enough to pull everyone’s attention toward him. “This one’s interesting.”

You leaned back slightly, narrowing your eyes. “I don’t like that tone.”

“You shouldn’t,” he replied lightly.

San urged him to read it aloud, but instead of immediately giving in, he took his time. He tapped the edge of the card against the table, dragging out the moment.

Finally, he spoke. “Choose one member and flirt with them for a whole minute.”

You let out a groan, dropping your head briefly into your hands before looking back up at him with a mixture of suspicion and reluctant amusement. “If you pick me, I’m walking out,” you warned, though there was no real weight behind the threat.

Wooyoung didn’t hesitate. “I pick you.”, fucker.

Somewhere along the table, Mingi’s expression stilled, but no one really noticed. You look into the camara before saying "these are the moments when being the only girl kinda sucks" and everyone laughs.

What started as teasing didn’t stay that way for long. “You look good today,” he said, his voice quieter now, though still loud enough for the others to react.

You rolled your eyes immediately, waving him off. “That’s your big move? Seriously?”, but he didn’t pull back.

Instead, he leaned in just slightly more, his expression unwavering and his arm resting in the back of you chair, letting him get closer and closer “No,” he said calmly. “That’s just the truth.”

“You always look good,” he continued. “But today…” He tilted his head slightly, studying you in a way that felt just a little too real. “It’s distracting.”

Mingi noticed, the way you hesitated, even a little. The way Wooyoung didn’t break eye contact and the moment stretched just a little too far beyond what the game required.

His jaw tightened subtly, his fingers curling against his leg beneath the table, the movement hidden but deliberate. Crossing his arms, his jaw clenching and resting his back on the chair...doing anything to stop himself from saying or doing something.

When it was your turn again, the card you picked only made things worse.

You read it once, your expression shifting into something between disbelief and amusement before you finally spoke. “Sit on a member’s lap while answering the next question.”

The reaction was immediate, louder than before.

It wasn’t a big deal, or at least it shouldn’t have been a big deal, but without overthinking it, you moved. You ended up on Wooyoung’s lap.

From your perspective, it was simple. He was the closest, the easiest option. You keep telling yourself that you chose him because with Wooyoung it didn't really mean anything beyond a challenge or a few laughs, but of course everyone wondered why you hadn't chosen your best friend, Mingi. Deep down, though, everyone knew the answer, even you both.

But from across the table, Mingi saw it differently.

He saw the way Wooyoung’s arm settled naturally around your waist steadying you without hesitation. He saw the way you laughed, completely at ease, unaware of how it looked from the outside, the way the others reacted, encouraging it.

The cameras were still rolling, and the moment wasn’t his to interrupt so he smiled when he was supposed to. He laughed when it was expected.

Backstage, everything returned to its usual noise. Voices overlapped again, replaying moments from the interview, teasing each other without restraint. Yeo-sang brought up the flirting and immediately the attention turned back to you.

Wooyoung, still far too pleased with himself and (as he says) his "skills", pulled his arm into your shoulders. “You didn’t seem to hate it.”

You nudged him lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Am I wrong?”

And without yall even noticing, something exploded.

“Move.” before you could fully process it, Mingi was there, stepping in between you and Wooyoung with a presence impossible to ignore. There was something firm in the way he positioned himself, something that made the air feel heavier all at once.

He didn’t look at anyone else, only you.

“Come here,” he said, his deep voice moving something inside you.

The noise that had filled the room only seconds ago fades, you feel it.

Mingi stands close enough now that the space between you feels almost nonexistent, his presence grounding and overwhelming at the same time.

Your brows knit slightly as you look up at him, confusion and something else “What is going on with you?” you ask, your voice quieter now, no longer teasing, no longer light.

For a second, it almost seems like he might walk away again, like earlier, like he’s still fighting whatever this is. His jaw tightens, his gaze flickering briefly past you, to the boys that were still behind you laughing super loud a moment agio.

“You really don’t see it,” he says finally, his voice low, controlled in a way that only makes the tension sharper.

You frown, taken aback by the accusation more than the words themselves. “See what?”

“The way they act around you,” he continues, and though his tone remains even, there’s an edge beneath it now, something restrained but unmistakable. “The way he acts around you.”

You don’t need to ask who he means.

Your chest tightens slightly, more from the intensity of his gaze than the accusation itself. “It was just a game,” you reply, though the words feel weaker now than they had earlier. “You know how he is...always sassy” you try to break a joke.

But he wasn’t having it.

“I do,” Mingi says, almost immediately. “That’s exactly the problem.”

“You’re overthinking it,” you insist, though your tone softens without your permission. “None of it meant anything.”

He lets out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and something far more frustrated, running a hand through his hair as if trying to gather his thoughts before they spill out in a way he won’t be able to take back.

“It meant something to me,” he says.

That settles between you, thick and shifting the entire weight of the moment. Your lips part slightly, but for once, nothing comes out.

Mingi takes a step, making you even closer.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he continues, quieter now, though the intensity in his voice only deepens. “The way you looked at him. The way you didn’t pull away.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” you reply, your voice barely above a murmur, though there’s a hint of something defensive beneath it now. “It wasn’t serious.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

And for a brief moment, he hesitates. Not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because saying it out loud makes it real in a way there’s no coming back from.

“Anyone else can joke about it,” he says slowly, each word measured, careful in a way that suggests he’s choosing them with intention. “They can flirt, tease, act like it doesn’t matter.”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

“I can’t.”

Your heart stumbles, not really processing what’s going on but internally being froze because you understand every word and the meaning behind it.

“Why?” you ask, though the answer is already forming somewhere in the back of your mind.

Mingi exhales slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion “because I don’t like sharing you,” he says.

There’s no immediate reaction from you, no teasing remark or quick dismissal to soften the moment. For once, the usual rhythm between youf alls away completely, leaving something far more exposed in its place.

“You don’t… get to say that like it’s normal,” you manage after a moment.

“I know,” he admits “and I know I should’ve said something earlier,” he continues, his voice dropping slightly, softer now but no less intense. “Before it got to this point.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to piece together the version of him standing in front of you now with the one you’ve always known.

“You’re an idiot,” you say softly.

He lets out a breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah, I know.”

“No,” you step closer, poking his chest lightly. “Like, actually. You really thought I didn’t notice you?”

He frowns slightly. “What?”

“You think I’ve been this close to you for years and didn’t feel anything?” you ask.

“You’re serious,” he says quietly, straight face like he's scared to fuck it all up by just a wrong facial expression.

“Very.”

He exhales, finnaly daring to stepping closer until there’s barely any space left between you. His hand hesitates for half a second before settling at your waist, pulling you in now... more desperately. You grab the front of his shirt, “next time,” you murmur, “don’t wait until you’re about to lose your mind to tell me something like this.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Noted.”

“And stop ignoring me whenever you get mad” you add.

“Also noted.”

“And stop getting jealous...”

“That one’s not happening.”

You grin. “Yeah, I figured.”

While looking into each others eyes like they’re the mos beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, the space between you disappears, you can feel the warmth of his breath before anything else.

His lips finally meet yours. Your fingers curl more firmly into his shirt without thinking, and he squeezed your waist tighter, as if he wanted to really feel you, a confirmation that this was finally happening.

His forehead rests lightly against yours, the distance between you barely returning, his breath still uneven in a way that mirrors your own.

“You couldn’t wait five minutes?” San blurts out, completely incredulous, one hand dragging down his face like he’s personally offended. “We’re literally still in the same room!”

Hongjoong lets out a loud laugh. “No, because what was that...”

“You said it didn’t mean anything!” Wooyoung points at you accusingly.

You immediately try to push Mingi away, except you don’t get very far, because his hand is still at your waist, unmoving, rock hard.

“Can you take care of dinner tonight?” she asks, her voice gentle but worn down at the edges.

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to help, but because you already know how this is going to go. Slowly, your gaze shifts past her, toward the living room. The low, excited commentary coming from the living room, the occasional thud of movement, the unmistakable sound of your brother and his best friend completely absorbed in something that, apparently, matters more than basic survival.

Your brother, Geon-woo, sitting forward on the couch and right next to him, just as focused, just as still, is Hong Woo-jin. The glow of the TV reflects faintly against their faces, both of them locked into whatever fight is playing like it’s happening right in front of them instead of on a recording.

“Why me and not them?” you complain, pointing openly toward the living room, your tone edged with disbelief. “They’re literally doing nothing.”

“I heard that,” your brother mutters, not even turning his head.

“Good,” you shoot back immediately. “Then you can also hear me asking why I’m the one stuck cooking while you sit there like—like a statue.”

“Because we have to watch the fight!” he calls back, like that alone should end the conversation.

“It’s a recorded fight,” you argue, stepping a little closer, your voice rising just enough to carry into the room. “Not live. You can watch it after you help me.”

Your brother leans forward slightly, completely absorbed again, and Woo-jin doesn’t even pretend to care, if anything, his focus sharpens, like the conversation behind him has already faded into background noise. Your jaw tightens.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.

Your mother exhales softly, cutting in before you can escalate it further, her voice calm but firm. “Don’t fight with them. It’s just for tonight, okay? Tomorrow, they’ll help.”

And just like that, the irritation drains out of you, replaced with something softer, heavier. You can see it now, the way her shoulders slump just slightly, the quiet exhaustion she’s trying not to show too much of.

“Fine,” you mumble, running a hand through your hair as you turn toward the kitchen. “But if they starve tomorrow, I’m not stepping in.”

The kitchen is quiet in a way that feels almost too heavy at first. The overhead light stays off... you don’t even consider turning it on. Instead, you rely on the softer, dimmer glow from the small lamp near the corner, casting warm shadows across the counters. It’s easier this way. The harsh white light above has always made your chest tighten, dragging up memories you don’t like to linger on, sterile hallways, the faint beeping of machines, the cold stillness of places you never wanted to be.

The dough comes first, flour dusting your hands. It doesn’t take long before your rhythm finds you, your thoughts quieting as your body moves on instinct alone.

The filling simmers softly on the stove, releasing a warm, savory smell that fills the room as you stir it, occasionally glancing back at the dough to make sure it’s the right consistency. The rhythm settles in quickly, mix, knead, fold, stir, until the silence becomes something softer, something almost peaceful.

“Do you need help?” The voice comes from behind you, low and casual, but close enough to make you stiffen for just a second before recognition settles in.

You don’t turn right away.

“Nope, I’m fine,” you reply quickly, a little too quickly, already setting the dough aside to focus on the filling like that’s been your only priority all along.

“Forget I even asked” Woo-jin says, his tone laced with that familiar mix of amusement and mild annoyance. “Sometimes I forget how stubborn you are.”

You finally turn just in time to see him pulling his red sweatshirt over his head, the fabric catching briefly before it slides off completely. For a split second, his shirt lifts with it, revealing a glimpse of toned skin, the faint line of muscle from training that you definitely don’t stare at—

“…What should I do?” he asks casually, like he didn’t just walk in here and completely ruin your train of thought.

You busy yourself with the spoon in your hand, stirring the filling again even though it doesn’t really need it. “What about the fight?” you ask, finally glancing back at him.

He shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the counter like he belongs there. “It’s not that important.”

You raise a brow “really?”.

“Really" he just watches you for a few seconds, eyes lingering a little longer than they should, like he’s taking something in, memorizing it, or maybe just enjoying the fact that you’re alone in here and not out there. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he adds, “Besides, I’m afraid you’ll poison the food to kill me and your brother.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, nudging him lightly with your arm. “Please. If I wanted you dead, I’d be way more creative.”

He catches your arm before you can pull it back, quickly. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to pull you a step forward, closing the space between you until there’s barely anything left of it. His other arm comes around you just as naturally, drawing you into a brief, warm hug like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

It shouldn’t feel like this.

But it does.

“Now tell me…” he murmurs lightly, his voice low near your ear, “what should I do?”

You blink, a little thrown off, your hands hovering awkwardly for a second before you gently push against his chest to create some space again. “First,” you say, trying to sound unaffected, even though your heart’s beating just a little faster now, “go wash those hands. Who knows where they’ve been?”

He looks down at his hands like he’s considering it, then back at you with a slow, teasing grin “I bet you’d like to know where they’ve been.”

“Woo-jin!” your eyes widen slightly.

He laughs amused, completely unbothered by the way you’re glaring at him now like you’re seconds away from throwing something. “Relax,” he adds, holding his hands up in mock surrender before finally pushing himself off the counter. “I’ll wash them.”

What you don’t know... what you can’t know

Is that the fight playing in the other room is one Kim Geon-woo and Hong Woo-jin have been waiting months for. That they talked about it for weeks, argued over it, analyzed every move like it actually mattered.

And yet Woo-jin walked away from it without a second thought, because the chance to be alone with you, even like this, even just helping with something as simple as dinner outweighed everything else.

-

The gym feels unfamiliar. New space, new people, new eyes. And after everything that happened over the past year, the move, the constant quiet worry about leaving your mother alone for too long, it takes a moment to settle back into something that used to feel like second nature.

You roll your shoulders back, adjusting your stance in front of the punching bag, fingers tightening inside the wraps as you focus.

Breathe.

Then strike.

The impact travels cleanly through your arm, you hit again, sharper this time, letting your body fall back into rhythm, memory, into something that doesn’t require overthinking.

“You sure know how to hit.” You glance to the side, noticing him again, the guy who’s been hovering nearby for the past half hour. Tall, broad-shouldered. He leans casually against the post beside your bag, watching you with an easy smile that doesn’t even try to hide his interest.

“I know,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips as you land another hit, lighter this time, more for rhythm than force.

He chuckles, pushing himself off the post, stepping just a little closer. “Confidence too, huh? I like that.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as you adjust your stance again. “You don’t even know me.”

“I can learn.”

There’s something playful in his tone and you don’t think much of it. It’s harmless. Just conversation, someone being friendly in a space where that’s not unusual.

A few meters away, Kim Geon-woo lowers his hands slowly, his focus no longer on the training in front of him but somewhere else entirely.

On you, more specifically...on the way the guy beside you keeps stepping closer. “…Hey,” he mutters, nudging the person next to him without looking away. “He’s getting pretty close, isn’t he?”

Beside him, Woo-jin is already watching, has been watching longer than he should or he'd like to admit. Tracking every small movement... the way the guy leans in, the way you laugh softly at something he says, the way you don’t move away when he closes the distance again.

Something twists in his chest.

“I don’t want to be overprotective, but…” Geon-woo trails off, his brows pulling together slightly, something uncertain settling in his expression.

“Do you want me to separate them?” he asks, his tone controlled, but there’s an edge underneath it now, something that wasn’t there before.

Geon-woo finally glances at him, a little surprised. “What? No, of course not—” But he doesn’t get to finish, because Woo-jin is already moving.

“Don’t worry,” he throws over his shoulder, not even waiting. “I’ll handle it.”

-

“I can show you how to do a proper hook, if you want.” the guy’s voice is closer now, you notice it this time.

You shift your weight slightly, glancing at him with mild curiosity. “You think I need help?”

He grins. “I think you could hit harder.”

“Oh?” you challenge lightly, raising a brow.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping in just a bit more, lifting his hand slightly as if to demonstrate. “Here...your form’s good, but if you rotate more—” his fingers reach toward your wrist, and don’t quite make it, because someone else gets there first.

Your breath catches slightly as your arm is pulled just enough to the side, your attention snapping up immediately “I’ll show her.”

The voice is low, Woo-jin steps between you and the guy without hesitation, placing himself squarely in the space that had been slowly disappearing. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, solid and unyielding in a way that leaves no room for argument.

“You can go,” he adds, not even sparing the other guy more than a glance. “I’ll take care of it.”

You blink, caught off guard, your gaze flicking between them. “Woo-jin, there’s no need—” you start, your voice softer, a little confused, a little embarrassed by how abrupt this is.

“You came with me,” he cuts in, not looking at you, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly, enough to keep you there. “I’ll help you.”

It’s not a suggestion, he doesn’t even gives you space to deciding, but you don’t understand why that doesn’t bother you as much as it probably should.

The other guy scoffs under his breath, his expression hardening as he looks Woo-jin up and down “…Right,” he mutters, stepping back. “Didn’t realize you needed a bodyguard.”

The guy lingers for half a second longer, like he’s considering pushing it, but something in Woo-jin’s stance, in the way he doesn’t move, makes him reconsider.

Just like that, gone.

-

Your gaze drops almost unconsciously to where his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, firm and steady, as if he had never intended to let go in the first place.

For a moment, you simply look at it, at the contrast between your skin and his, at the subtle tension in his grip, at the way his thumb rests just slightly against your pulse point as if he can feel the rhythm there.

“…You’re acting weird,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now, softer than before, as if raising it might disturb whatever this is between you. Your brows pull together slightly, confusion settling into your expression as you try to read him, to understand what just happened and why it feels like more than it should. “What was that?”

The answer comes too fast.

“Nothing.”

You watch him for a second longer, searching his face, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze flickers just briefly before steadying again.

“It wasn’t nothing,” you insist, your tone still gentle but more grounded now, more certain. You don’t pull away from him, but your attention sharpens, your focus narrowing entirely on him. “You just… cut him off like that. You didn’t even let me answer.”

“He was too close,” he says, and this time, his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s a firmness to his words, something that suggests he believes it entirely, that in his mind this explanation is more than enough. “I did the right thing.”

Your eyes drop again, drawn back to the point of contact between you. His hand hasn’t moved. The grip may have softened slightly, but it’s still there, still holding you in place as if the conversation itself depends on that connection not being broken.

You swallow lightly before looking back up “…Then why are you still holding my wrist?”

The question is quiet, but it lands harder than you expect. His gaze flickers downward, following yours, as if only now realizing what he’s doing, or maybe as if he’s been aware of it the entire time and simply chose to ignore it.

His grip loosens gradually, his fingers relaxing just enough to ease the pressure without fully breaking the contact, as if some part of him is reluctant to let that connection disappear entirely.

“Why are you so upset about it?” he asks instead, deflecting the question rather than answering it, his voice quieter now but edged with something sharper underneath.

You blink, momentarily thrown by the shift “I’m not upset,” you reply, your brows knitting together again as confusion settles deeper. “I just… don’t understand.”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he says finally, his voice lower now, controlled in a way that feels deliberate, like every word is being held back just enough to keep something else from slipping through, something that’s been sitting beneath the surface for longer than either of you has acknowledged.

Your breath catches before you can stop it “…What does that mean?” you ask, softer now, your voice almost cautious, suddenly aware that you’ve stepped into something deeper than you intended.

He just looks at you. The space between you feels smaller now, despite the fact that neither of you has moved. The air shifts, thickening with something unspoken.

-

You barely have time to process the look on Hong Woo-jin’s face before he moves.

It isn’t abrupt in a way that draws attention, but it’s decisive, his hand tightening around your wrist again. The contact sends a small, involuntary jolt through you, your breath catching as he turns, already guiding you away from the open space of the gym floor before you can fully react.

“Woo-jin...what are you doing?” you start, your voice low, more confused than alarmed as you try to keep up with him, your steps falling into pace with his without much resistance.

He just keeps walking, weaving past equipment and people until the noise begins to fade, until the open space gives way to a narrower hallway leading toward the back rooms.

Only when he pushes open the door to an empty training room and pulls you inside with him does he finally stop.

The door shuts behind you with a soft but definitive click.

It’s just the two of you.

The quiet presses in almost immediately, heavier than before, thick with everything that hasn’t been said. You take a step back instinctively, your wrist still caught in his hand as you look at him, trying to read what’s going on behind the tension in his expression.

“What is wrong with you?” you ask, your voice still hushed, though there’s no real need for it anymore. The question is threaded with a frustration you don’t fully understand yourself.

He lets out a breath, running his free hand through his hair, pacing once across the small space before stopping again like he doesn’t trust himself to stay still. “Nothing,” he says, but it comes out rough, unconvincing, like the word itself doesn’t carry enough weight to cover what’s actually going on.

“You dragged me in here over nothing?” you press, your brows pulling together as your confusion sharpens into something more insistent.

That does it, you can see the shift the moment it happens, the way something in him snaps tighter.

“Keep your voice down,” he mutters, stepping closer, his tone low and edged, his eyes flicking briefly toward the door.

You blink, thrown off. “Why?”

“Because if he hears this,” he says, quieter now but more intense, each word deliberate, “I’m done.”

Your breath catches, the meaning behind it sinking in before you can stop it “…Done?” you repeat, softer now, your voice dipping unconsciously to match his.

He exhales slowly, like he regrets saying it, like he didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Woo-jin…” you start, hesitant now, testing the ground carefully. “Why would that matter?”

He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it, just frustration

“That’s the problem,” he says, shaking his head slightly, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to you. “You really don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me,” you insist, stepping closer again, closing the distance he had tried to maintain. Your voice is quieter now, “because right now, you’re the only one acting like something’s wrong.”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice lower now, rougher, like the words are being dragged out of him instead of chosen.

You don’t answer, you don’t have to.

Because he’s already stepping closer, already closing the last bit of space between you until there’s nothing left of it. “I didn’t like him looking at you like that,” he admits, the words coming out sharper than he probably intended, frustration threading through them. “I didn’t like you laughing with him like it was nothing. Like I’m supposed to just stand there and watch.”

The air shifts again, “You don’t have any right to that,” you say quietly, not accusing, just stating what you’ve always known to be true.

“I know,” he snaps, the response immediate, almost defensive. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

His gaze drops briefly to your lips before snapping back up, like even that was too much, like he’s fighting himself with every passing second. “The point is,” he says, slower now, more controlled but no less intense, “I shouldn’t feel like this in the first place.”

Your heart skips.

He exhales sharply, his hand tightening slightly around your wrist again, not enough to hurt but enough to ground himself. "Like this,” he repeats, quieter now. “Like I want to pull you away every time someone gets too close to you. Like I—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head as if the words are too much once they start forming. “You’re his sister. I shouldn’t even be this close to you right now.”

But he doesn’t step back, not even a little.

You swallow, your pulse quickening, something warm and unfamiliar curling low in your chest as his words settle in.

"Just kiss me" you say breathlessly, like taking the courage to say that took everything in you.

His hand comes up to your face, fingers brushing your cheek with a firmness that isn’t gentle but isn’t rough either... but certain, like he’s done hesitating.

“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost unsteady now.

“I mean it.”

And that’s all it takes, the distance between you disappears in an instant.

He kisses you like he’s been holding it back for too long, because he has. It’s not careful, not slow, not something he’s thought through. It’s sharp and sudden and intense, his hand tightening slightly at your jaw as yours instinctively grip his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking.

For a brief moment, everything else seems to fall away so completely that it almost feels unreal. All that remains is this.

And then, just as suddenly as it all came together...it breaks.

“Hey, did you see where they went?” It’s Geon-woo.

The effect is immediate, the moment shatters almost violently, the weight of reality crashing back in as both of you freeze without thinking, your breath catching mid-motion. Woo-jin pulls back just enough to create the smallest space between you, though not enough to fully separate, his forehead resting briefly against yours as if he needs that second to steady himself, to gather whatever control he’s just lost.

Outside, footsteps echo faintly in the hallway, closer than they should be.

“Woo-jin?” your brother calls again, his voice clearer now, close enough that it sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Your heart reacts before your thoughts can catch up.

Woo-jin moves first, his hand slips from your face back to your wrist, the motion quick but careful, and he guides you with a quiet urgency toward the side of the room, out of direct view from the door. His other hand braces lightly against the wall beside you, placing himself just slightly in front, not blocking you entirely but close enough that, if anyone were to look in, you wouldn’t be immediately seen.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it barely carries beyond the space between you.

The footsteps move again, fading, until they disappear completely.

Only then does the tension shift, though it doesn’t disappear. It lingers, settling into the space between you in a different way now.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still close, close enough to feel the warmth of him, to notice the uneven rhythm of his breathing, to realize that yours isn’t much steadier.

Eventually, Woo-jin exhales quietly, the sound softer than before, edged with something heavier now. When he finally speaks, his voice has changed.

“…We can’t do this.”

You lift your gaze to him, searching his face, trying to reconcile what he’s saying with what just happened only moments ago. “…Then why did you?” you ask, your voice softer now, not accusatory, just honest in its confusion.

His gaze drops for a moment, like he’s considering something, like he’s weighing what to say and what to leave unsaid. “…Because I wanted to,” he admits quietly.

“…You keep saying we can’t,” you murmur after a while, your voice softer now, more thoughtful than before. Your fingers shift slightly where they still rest against him, not pulling away, just… there. “But you’re still here.”

That makes him pause, ike your words land somewhere deeper than you intended. “And you didn’t stop,” you add, quieter now, your eyes not leaving his. “Not when you should have.”

A faint breath leaves him, a disbelieving laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. “Neither did you,” he points out.

For a second, it seems like he’s about to step back, like he’s going to put distance between you again, rebuild whatever control he lost. His shoulders shift slightly, his gaze dropping as if he’s already thinking about everything that comes after this, what Kim Geon-woo would say, what it would mean, what it would complicate.

“You really don’t make this easy,” Woo-jin says quietly, though there’s something softer in his tone now, something less like resistance and more like acceptance.

You tilt your head slightly, a faint, almost teasing smile touching your lips despite everything. “You’re the one who dragged me in here.”

“Yeah,” he admits under his breath. “I did.”

“If you’re going to keep saying we can’t,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper now, “then you should probably stop looking at me and go away, now."

Just a moment where the space between you closes naturally, like it was always meant to, like neither of you is trying to fight it anymore.

His hand lifts to your face again, gentler now, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as if he’s grounding himself in the reality of it.

You meet him halfway, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt as you close the last inch between you, the second kiss coming easier, more certain, like both of you already know you’re not pulling away from it.

For a moment, nothing else matters. Not even the fact that your brother could walk back in at any second, or that your mother would have a hundred questions you don’t have answers to yet.

“…We’re going to get in trouble,” you murmur, though there’s no real fear in your voice.

"I don’t care" he answers between kisses, not wanting to leave your lips not even for a second.

Your lips curve slightly, something warm settling in your chest as you nod once, like that’s enough, like you don’t need anything more complicated than that right now.

Your steps were slow, your bag hanging loosely from your shoulder as you made your way toward the exit. It wasn’t that you had anywhere else to be, it was the opposite. You knew exactly what was waiting for you outside. Or at least… you had a very strong suspicion.

And, as it turned out, you were right.

He was there.

Seon-je stood just beyond the gates, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world, a cigarette resting between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily into the air as students passed by, their voices lowering, their steps quickening. Some dared to glance at him, but only briefly, their curiosity always outweighed by caution.

Everyone knew who he was, everyone knew better than to get too close. For a moment, you considered doing exactly what they were doing, keeping your head down, walking straight past him, pretending you hadn’t noticed him at all. It would’ve been easier.

But the thought didn’t last, because deep down, you already knew the truth. Nothing ended unless he decided it did, and ignoring him wouldn’t make him disappear, it would only make things worse.

So you exhaled slowly and forced your feet to move toward him instead.

The moment you got close enough, he straightened, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his shoe without a second thought. His hand came up to adjust his glasses in a careless motion, but his gaze was anything but careless as it settled on you.

“Why did you leave so late?”

No greeting, no softness. Just a question, direct and expectant, like you owed him an answer.

“Hi to you too” you replied, your tone edged with irritation.

He didn’t react, didn’t even acknowledge it. He just kept staring at you, waiting, and that silence was more pressuring than if he’d raised his voice. “It was eight minutes,” you added after a moment, your patience already thinning. “Someone borrowed my notes.”

He nodded slowly, his lips pressing together as if that explanation made sense, pretending it.

“And that someone… is…?”

He was testing you, for the way that he asked it, dragging out the words, made it clear he wasn’t just curious.

You didn’t answer, because there was no right answer to give. Lying would only make things worse when he inevitably found out. But telling the truth… that felt just as dangerous.

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, low and humorless “I’m going to kill him.”

The words were said so casually, so matter-of-fact, that something in your chest tightened, not out of fear, but frustration.

“You know what? fuck you” you muttered, your voice sharp despite how low it was, already turning away before he could respond.

You didn’t even think about where you were going, you just needed distance, or anything that wasn’t him. Your steps quickened, your frustration carrying you until the noise of the street faded behind you, replaced by the quieter space of an alley you hadn’t even meant to turn into.

But his hand grabbed your shoulder, firm. You barely had time to react before you were pushed back, your spine hitting the wall as he stepped into your space, too close, too sudden. “What did you say?” His voice was low, but there was something sharp underneath it, something that made your pulse spike.

His eyes locked onto yours, his brow furrowed deeply, like he couldn’t quite believe you had actually said it. “Is your fucking phone a fucking ornament?” he snapped, irritation slipping through now. “Or were you too busy with your fucking little friend to fucking answer?”

He was pissed. Your jaw tightened immediately.

“You’re not going to tell me who I can or can’t hang out with,” you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. “Gotak is...”

“I don’t give a shit who he is,” he cut in sharply, his expression hardening even more at the mere mention of the name. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“I don’t care what you want,” you fired back, your frustration finally spilling over completely. “I’m fed up, Seon-je, tired. All you do is treat me like I belong to you, like I’m something only you can have! what's wrong with you?”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than anything you’d said before, and yet, even as you said them, you felt that pull. Everything about him was wrong. The fights, the anger, the control...he was trouble in every sense of the word, something you should’ve stayed far away from.

And still… it was him.

Because for every moment like this, ugly, tense, suffocating...there were others, quieter ones, softer ones. Moments where his touch wasn’t rough, where his voice dropped into something almost gentle, where being close to him felt like the safest place in the world.

“Is this what I get for trying to protect you?” he shot back, his voice rising now, frustration bleeding through. “You’re only safe with me. I can protect you from everything, I want to. I want you to be with me. I want you to only want me. Is that wrong? am I fucking crazy for that?”

You shook your head quickly, your hands clenching at your sides. “That’s not the issue, and you know it,” you said, your voice strained now, caught between anger and something far more complicated. “Stop twisting shit”

But he didn’t care about that, he never cared about the full argument, only the part that mattered to him...being right, and keeping you at all costs.

“Is it wrong to want you to only want me?” he repeated, quieter this time, a low tone that freeze you in place. His gaze sharpening, locking onto yours like he was waiting for something important.

“…No.” that word came out softer than you intended..

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as his hands came up to your face, cupping it in a way that felt almost too gentle after everything that had just happened.

“I just want it to be the two of us,” he murmured, his voice calmer now, steadier. “You have to listen to me.” He leaned in just enough to press a brief kiss to your forehead, the gesture so unexpectedly soft that it made your chest tighten.

“You always come back to me,” he added quietly, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “That means I’m doing something right.” You felt yourself give in.

How couldn’t you?

He leaned in slowly after that, deliberately closing the distance between you, his lips brushing lightly against yours..not quite a kiss, more like a warning, or maybe a test.

“Seon-je…” you whispered, your voice barely steady now.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured against your lips.

“Kiss me.” a quiet breath of amusement escaped him, his forehead nearly resting against yours.

“You know that’s not what I want to hear,” he whispered, his voice lower now, closer. “I don’t need permission to kiss you, ” he always did this when he felt you slipping, like he needed to pull you back in, to make sure you were still there, still his, “ ,tell me what you need.”

For a second, you hesitated, because you knew what this was you knew how it worked. Every time you said it, you were letting yourself fall right back into something you had just tried to escape, but in the end...you said it anyway.

“I need you.”

And just like that, the distance between you disappeared.

He kissed you slowly, deliberately, not rushed, not careless...ike he was reminding you of something, of everything that kept you here. The intensity, the pull, the way being close to him made everything else fade, even if only for a moment.

And as his hand tightened just slightly against you, keeping you close...It became painfully clear that you weren’t running.

“Absolutely not.”

Sieun didn’t even look up from his book when you and Su-ho first brought it up, his tone flat, immediate, final.

“You didn’t even think about it,” you protested, leaning across his desk, your fingers drumming insistently against the wood. “That was too fast, suspiciously fast.”

“I did think about it,” he replied calmly, turning a page. “The answer is still no.”

Su-ho, sprawled lazily across the chair beside you, let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’re seriously going to spend your Friday night reading?”

“Yes.”

-

By the time you actually got to the bar, the energy had already shifted.

Music pulsed through the space, bass heavy enough to settle in your chest, colorful lights cutting through the dimness in flashes of pinks and blues and golds that made everything feel cinematic, unreal, like you had stepped into a different version of your life where nothing bad had ever touched you.

“This is insane,” Beom-seok murmured, eyes wide as he took it all in.

Sieun said nothing, but he stayed close, his presence steady beside you like always, even as his eyes scanned the room with quiet caution.

“This was a good idea,” you declared, leaning back into the cushions, your voice raised just enough to be heard over the music.

You leaned your head back, eyes scanning the shifting lights above...and then your song came on.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, sitting up so fast it startled Beom-seok beside you. “I love this song!”. Su-ho had just gotten up moments before, muttering something about the bathroom, so you didn’t even think, you didn’t hesitate.

You turned straight to Sieun, already reaching for his hand.

“Dance with me!” He stared at you with a blank expression.

“…No”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back in dramatic despair. “Oh, come on.” You leaned closer, narrowing your eyes at him, a playful challenge sparking there. “Just one song.”

“No.”

Your eyebrows lifted slowly, deliberately, your signature look, the one that had gotten you your way more times than you could count. He knew it, you knew he knew it.

“…Just one,” you repeated softly.

Sieun exhaled quietly, glancing away for a second before looking back at you, something resigned but not unwilling settling into his expression. He couldn’t believe was he was about to do. “…Fine.”

You didn’t even try to hide your grin. Instead, you pulled him up, weaving through the crowd until you reached the center of the dance floor, the music louder here, the energy sharper, alive. You laughed, grabbing his hands and guiding him into something resembling rhythm, your movements easy, natural, completely uninhibited.

Sieun, in contrast, was stiff at first... controlled, minimal, but he didn’t pull away. He let you lead, let you spin under his arm when you felt like it, let himself adjust little by little until he found something that worked.

Something comfortable, and then, a glimpse of what could possibly be a smile appears on his face.

“There you go,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “You’re having fun.”

Across the room, Su-ho returned, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back into the noise. He didn’t see you at first. His gaze flicked to the couch. “…Where are they?”

Beom-seok pointed toward the dance floor, a small smile on his face. “They’re dancing.”

Su-ho followed the direction of his hand.

The lights caught on you in fragments...your dress, the way it moved with you, the way your hair fell loose around your shoulders, slightly messy but intentional, like you didn’t have to try too hard to look like that.

The way you laughed as Sieun awkwardly tried to keep up with you, the way your hands stayed linked, the way you leaned in just slightly when you spoke to him like he was the only person in the room.

Something twisted in Su-ho’s chest, he clicked his tongue lightly against the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing just slightly as he watched.

He didn’t like the distance, didn’t like the idea of someone else standing where he usually did.

“…Looks like they’re having fun,” Beom-seok added quietly.

Su-ho didn’t answer.

By the time the song came to an end, the energy you had poured into it seemed to linger in your limbs, your chest rising and falling a little faster than usual as laughter slipped easily past your lips. Without really thinking about it, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms loosely around Sieun’s neck, the gesture natural in its spontaneity, careless in the way only moments like that could be.

“You were great,” you told him, your voice warm, bright with genuine surprise and amusement.

You pulled back with a grin, completely unfazed, your hands dropping back to your sides as you laughed lightly. “Don’t worry,” you added teasingly, tilting your head at him, “I won’t force you again, buddy.”

Together, you made your way back through the crowd, weaving between people until you reached the couch tucked into the corner of the bar.

Su-ho was already there.

There was no mistaking it, the way his posture shifted the second you came into view, the way his attention settled entirely on you as if he had been tracking your return from the moment you stepped onto the dance floor. But there was something off about it.

“Looks like you guys had a great time,” he commented, his voice light, edged faintly with mockery, as though he were brushing the whole thing off as nothing more than a passing joke.

You didn’t hesitate to match his tone. “Well, it was great, wasn’t it?” you replied, turning your head slightly toward Sieun, your smile still lingering as if the music hadn’t quite left you yet.

Sieun gave a small nod in response.

You turned back to Su-ho, a smirk tugging at your lips as you added, almost too casually, “Better than you.”

It was meant to be light, a joke. The kind of teasing that had always existed between you without consequence.

There was no sudden flare of anger, no sharp reaction that would have made it easy to dismiss or laugh off. Instead, it was quieter than that. Subtler. Something that settled into Su-ho’s expression almost imperceptibly, tightening just slightly around the edges.

It was a need. A quiet, undeniable pull to close the distance that had just been created, to erase the image of you laughing with someone else, to replace it with something that felt more familiar, more his, even if he didn’t consciously frame it that way.

Before you could fully register it, he was already moving. He pushed himself up from the couch in one fluid motion, his hand found yours without hesitation, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with a certainty that didn’t leave room for argument.

“Hey—” you started, caught off guard by the suddenness of it.

He simply pulled you along with him, guiding you back toward the dance floor with an ease that made it feel inevitable, like this had always been the next step.

shiny wood floors underneath my feet, dsco ball makes everything look cheap

“This again?” you teased, though there was something breathless in your voice now, something that hadn’t been there before.

“This,” he replied, his tone steady, almost casual, though his grip didn’t loosen, “is how you actually dance.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, amusement flickering across your expression. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

There was a natural confidence in the way he moved, like the music existed somewhere under his skin, like pulling you into it was the most effortless thing in the world.

He spun you without warning, catching you just as easily, his hand sliding to your waist as if it belonged there, keeping you close in a way that felt deliberate without crossing into anything you could easily call out.

Made it just a little harder to think clearly.

“Okay—okay,” you laughed, your hand coming up to rest against his shoulder as you steadied yourself, the movement instinctive, familiar. “Maybe I lied a little.”

“What?” a smirk curved at his lips, subtle but unmistakable.“I can’t hear you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him immediately. “Liar.”

“What?” he frowns, still, with a playful smile on his face.

He leaned in slightly, tilting his head as if genuinely trying to catch your words over the noise, his fingers tapping lightly against his ear in an exaggerated gesture. “I can’t hear you.”

You rolled your eyes, already aware that he was playing with you, but you stepped closer anyway, rising just enough on your toes to close the distance between you, your voice lowering as you leaned toward him.

“I said—”

The words caught. because his hand tightened at your waist, enough to stop you from pulling away again. Enough to keep you right there, suspended in that space between movement and stillness, closer than before.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice suddenly clear despite the music, his breath warm against your ear as a faint, smug smile touched his lips. “I can give you some lessons later.”

There it was again, your heart stuttered at that.

You pulled back slowly, just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his without quite meaning to, and he was already looking at you.

Something else had settled there, something steadier, more focused, like whatever line you had both been careful not to cross was suddenly a lot closer than it used to be.

He didn’t let go.

You didn’t step away.

“…Do you want to sit down?” you asked eventually, your voice softer now, quieter, as though you were the one breaking something fragile before it had the chance to fully form. “I think I need something to drink.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze lingered on you, unwavering, like part of him was still caught in that moment you had both refused to step into completely.

Then, after a beat...He nodded, very slowly, still focused on you, his hand remained at your waist for just a second longer than necessary before finally slipping away.

It was not...convenient, no

-

grey overpass full of neon names, you drive...85

The rush of the day softened into something looser, neon signs flickering to life, casting shifting colors across the pavement.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you were wrapped around Su-ho.

The motorcycle cut smoothly through the streets. You had done this enough times for it to feel natural, like second nature; your arms circled his torso without hesitation, your body leaning with his whenever he turned, your helmet bumping lightly against his back every now and then.

Helping him with deliveries had started as something casual, something you insisted on once, then twice, and then it just… stuck. Now, it was routine. Expected. He even had a helmet just for you, tucked away like it had always belonged there.

You rested your chin lightly against his shoulder for a moment, watching the city blur past in streaks of color and light, your grip tightening slightly when he slowed down.

The motorcycle came to a smooth stop in front of a building, the sudden stillness almost surprising after the constant motion. You pulled your legs off one side and hopped down easily, adjusting your balance without bothering to remove your helmet.

Su-ho turned slightly in his seat, watching you as you reached for the order in the delivery box, your movements quick, familiar. “Are you sure you’re going up to make the delivery yourself?” he asked, his voice carrying that quiet edge of concern he never quite hid when it came to you. “You can stay here. I’ll do it.”

You glanced at him, already smiling as a small laugh slipped out. “Of course not,” you replied, lifting the bag with ease. “I can do it. That’s why I came with you, to help you, remember?”

He let out a soft sigh, though the corner of his mouth lifted slightly despite himself. “I still don’t know why you do it.”

You shook your head, like the answer should’ve been obvious, like he was the one being unreasonable. “Don’t be silly,” you said, shifting your weight as you stepped toward the entrance. “Just tell me the floor and apartment number.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before giving it to you anyway, knowing there was no point arguing when you had already decided. “Fourth floor,” he said. “Apartment 402.”

“Got it.”

The stairwell was quiet compared to the outside, your footsteps echoing faintly as you made your way up, taking the steps two at a time without much effort. It wasn’t difficult. You were used to this, used to the rhythm of it, the quick in-and-out, the satisfaction of being useful in a way that didn’t feel forced or complicated.

By the time you made it back down, Su-ho was exactly where you had left him, leaning casually against the motorcycle, one hand resting on the seat as he looked up the second you appeared.

“That was fast,” you said, pulling your helmet up just slightly to catch your breath, though your grin made it clear you were already pleased with yourself.

“Actually,” he started, straightening up as he stepped toward you, “it took you two minutes longer than your record.”

You blinked at him.

Your mouth fell open slightly in disbelief before you scoffed, nudging his arm with your elbow. “It’s still faster than you do it.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, unapologetic, already knowing exactly how this would go.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but genuine as he reached up, his hands moving instinctively to your helmet. His fingers brushed against the sides of it as he adjusted the strap, tightening it just slightly, his movements careful in a way that contrasted with the teasing from seconds ago. “You really don’t need to help me,” he said, his voice quieter now, less joking, more honest.

You rolled your eyes immediately, even as you stood still to let him finish fixing the strap. “Are you still on about that?” you asked, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze through the visor. “I do it because I can, and because I want to.”

“What could be better than spending a Friday night with you?” you added, your smile easy, unfiltered, like the answer was obvious.

He snorted softly “Literally anything.”

“Literally anything is boring and pointless without you,” you shot back, your tone still teasing, but there was something honest woven through it now, something that lingered longer than the joke itself. “And besides, I don’t like you doing this alone” you stepped closer again, your shoulder brushing his lightly.

“Everything’s better with company.”

Then you turned, breaking it before it could settle into something heavier, swinging your leg back over the motorcycle and settling into your usual spot behind him. Your hands found their place around his waist without hesitation, fingers linking loosely at first before tightening just slightly.

He didn’t start the engine right away.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter than before. He turned his head just enough to glance back at you over his shoulder, his expression softer, more open than he usually allowed. “You make me love doing this with you.”

It wasn’t said lightly.

You bit your lip, a small smile forming despite yourself, trying to keep everything else...the thoughts, the feelings, the things you could say...firmly in place where they belonged.

“Now let’s go,” you added quickly, nudging him lightly as if that would erase the moment. “We still have two more orders. And after that, we can go to my place and watch a movie, I'll cook something and you can stay over"

You leaned forward slightly, your helmet brushing against his shoulder again.

You felt it, the way his body relaxed “Yeah,” he said softly, but there was something brighter in it now. “Okay.”

Your smile...miles wide

-

The movie had been playing for a while now.

Long enough that the dialogue had started to blur into background noise, long enough that neither of you could really say what had happened in the last ten minutes. The screen cast a soft, shifting glow across the room, light flickering over the walls, over the furniture, over the two of you...but it didn’t feel like the focus of the night anymore.

You sat on the floor with your back resting against the couch, legs stretched out lazily in front of you, your head tilted slightly as if you were watching, as if you were following along. Behind you, Su-ho was half-slouched into the cushions, one arm draped loosely over the edge of the couch, his posture relaxed in that effortless way he always had.

Close.

His hand hung just at the edge of your shoulder, fingers brushing against you every now and then when he shifted, light, almost accidental contact that was easy to ignore.

“You’re not even watching,” you murmured after a while, your voice quiet enough to match the late hour, your gaze still fixed on the screen even though you weren’t really seeing it.

There was a brief pause before he answered. “I am.”

You huffed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself as you finally glanced up at him. “You just missed, like, five minutes.”

“I didn’t miss anything important.”

You shook your head, turning your attention back to the movie, though your focus didn’t improve, not when he was this close.

His fingers moved, not by accident this time.

They shifted just slightly, brushing more deliberately against your shoulder, the contact lingering for a fraction longer than before. It was subtle, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it entirely.

Your breath caught almost imperceptibly, your body going just a little still as your mind tried (and failed) to treat it like nothing. “…Su-ho,” you said softly, your voice quieter now, like speaking too loudly might break something fragile you couldn’t quite see.

“Yeah?” He didn’t move his hand away, if anything, it stayed exactly where it was, warm and present and impossible to ignore.

You shifted your gaze upward again, meeting his eyes, and for a second, everything else faded just slightly into the background.

He was already looking at you.

Not with that usual teasing glint, not with the lazy amusement he wore so easily. This was different. Like he wasn’t trying to hide anything in that moment or maybe like he had forgotten how.

There was something in his expression that made your chest tighten.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper now, like you were naming something you both understood without ever defining.

“What thing?” There was a faint curve to his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

“You know what thing.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, his eyes searching yours in a way that made it hard to breathe normally.

“Then say it,” he said quietly.

The words were simple, but they landed heavy. Your heart stumbled, the steady rhythm you had been holding onto faltering under the weight of what he was asking.

Because you could say it.

You could ask him why he was looking at you like that, why he never pulled away first, why everything between you felt like it was balancing on something fragile and unnamed.

You could ruin it.

Instead, you looked away.

Your gaze dropped back to the screen, though the images meant nothing, your voice finding something lighter, something safer to hold onto. “That thing where you act like you’re not paying attention,” you said, deflecting with practiced ease.

It slipped into place so naturally it almost felt automatic, it was safe, the safest thing to do, but not the right.

The silence that followed felt different, he didn’t respond immediately. You could feel it, the way his attention lingered on you for just a second longer, the way something unspoken hovered between you, waiting.

Then, slowly, he leaned his head back against the couch, his posture loosening again as if the moment had passed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess I do that a lot.”

But his hand didn’t move. It stayed there, resting lightly against your shoulder, the warmth of it steady, grounding and at the same time, unsettling in the way it made everything else feel too real.

The way it would be so easy to turn your head, to shift just a little, to close the space between you in a way that would change everything.

You chose to moved forward. The contact broke as his hand slipped from your shoulder, falling back to rest against the couch instead, the absence immediate and noticeable in a way you hadn’t expected.

You kept your eyes on the screen, even though you still weren’t watching, because you had both felt it. That moment, that quiet, fragile line you had stood on for just a second too long.

The one you always stepped back from.

Staying friends is safe, doesn't mean you should

-

The hospital had stopped feeling unfamiliar a long time ago.

At some point over the past few months, the cold hallways, the smell of antiseptic, the constant murmur of distant voices and rolling carts had stopped feeling temporary. They had become part of your life in the quietest, cruelest way possible, settling into your routine until you no longer had to think about where to turn or which elevator reached his floor the fastest.

Every morning before school, you came.

Every afternoon after classes ended, you came back.

And at night, when the city outside dimmed into scattered lights and quieter streets, when most visitors had already gone home and the hospital halls became still and empty, you were still there, sitting beside him like leaving would somehow make this more real than it already was.

People had tried, at first, to convince you to stop spending so much time there.

“You need rest.”

“You can’t keep exhausting yourself like this.”

“He wouldn’t want you worrying so much.”

But none of them understood. Going home felt wrong when he was still here, lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Living normally felt wrong when his entire world had stopped moving, so you stayed.

You stayed through every passing weeks, through every tiny improvement the doctors spoke about carefully, through every disappointment hidden behind polite expressions and cautious optimism.

The only sounds came from the steady beeping of the monitor beside him and the occasional muffled footsteps passing outside in the hallway. Dim light filtered through the half-open blinds, casting pale shadows across the room and over his face.

Your eyes lingered on the soft rise and fall of his chest for a long moment, on the dark strands of hair falling messily over his forehead, on the stillness that never stopped feeling wrong.

That was the thing you hated most.

Su-ho had never been still.

Even when he was exhausted, even when he acted lazy or half-asleep, there had always been movement in him somehow...a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, fingers tapping against a table, his voice interrupting silence before it could settle too long.

But now...there was nothing.

You sat curled slightly into the chair beside his bed, your fingers loosely gripping the sleeves of your hoodie as your gaze drifted downward toward his hand resting against the sheets.

Your chest tightened instantly because you remembered those hands too well. You remembered the way they used to grab your wrist suddenly before pulling you somewhere without explanation, the way his fingers always lingered a little too long against your waist whenever he teased you, like neither of you fully understood where the boundaries between friendship and something else had started to blur.

You remembered dancing with him, the warmth of his hand at your waist, the way he looked at you sometimes when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You remembered motorcycle rides through the city, your arms wrapped around him while he pretended not to notice how tightly you held on.

You remembered movie nights on your couch, sitting so close you could feel his breathing behind you.

Always almost, every memory felt unfinished now.

A quiet breath escaped you as you slowly leaned back into the chair, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You know what I keep thinking about?” you murmured eventually, your voice soft from disuse, barely louder than the machines around you.

No answer came, of course, only the steady rhythm of the monitor beside him. Your eyes stayed fixed on him anyway.

“All those times we almost said something" your throat tightened around the words.

It sounded pathetic when spoken out loud like this, but it haunted you constantly now. Every tiny moment you used to brush aside suddenly replayed endlessly in your head, sharper and crueler than before.

A weak, humorless smile tugged faintly at your lips. “It’s kind of stupid,” you whispered. “We acted like we had forever.”

MY ADVISE IS ALWAYS RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP

Your gaze dropped slowly to his hand again, and after a long hesitation, you reached for it carefully, your fingers slipping against his with a gentleness that almost hurt. Your thumb brushed lightly over his knuckles, and instantly your chest ache.

SHOULD'VE KISSED YOU ANYWAYS

Lately, the exhaustion was wearing holes through everything holding you together.

“We were so scared of ruining things,” you continued quietly, your fingers tightening around his hand. “Like crossing that line would destroy us.”

Your eyes lifted toward him again, searching his unmoving face desperately, hopelessly. “But this…” Your breath shook softly. “This is so much worse.”

MY ADVISE IS ALWAYS ANSWER THE QUESTION

BETTER THAT THEN TO ASK IT ALL YOUR LIFE

A tear finally slipped down your cheek, and you laughed quietly under your breath at how weak you sounded now, how exhausted you felt carrying months of things left unsaid.

“You’d make fun of me so badly for crying this much,” you murmured softly, your thumb brushing over his hand again like muscle memory.

Your shoulders shook faintly as you lowered your gaze.

“But I think…” Your voice cracked again. “I think you would’ve kissed me back.” the words settled into the silence of the room without an answer.

My advise is always ruin the friendship, better that then regret it for all time.

Should’ve kissed you anyway

Which is exactly why Ahn Su-ho stood out so much.

A quiet sound of disgust slips from you as you glance to your side just in time to catch him waking up, his head lifting abruptly from his desk like he’d been pulled out of a deep sleep. His movements are slow at first, unfocused, one hand coming up to drag lazily across his mouth as he blinks away whatever dream he’d been buried in. It only takes a second for you to notice, though, and your expression twists immediately.

“Ew,” you say, your nose wrinkling in clear judgment. “You were drooling.”

Most people would have reacted, flushed, stammered, at least attempted to defend themselves, but Su-ho doesn’t even look remotely bothered. Instead, his lips curve into something dangerously amused, and he runs his tongue along them in a way that feels less like embarrassment and more like he’s deliberately making it worse just to get a reaction out of you. When he finally looks at you properly, there’s that familiar glint in his eyes, the one that always makes it feel like he’s already one step ahead of whatever you’re about to say.

“I was dreaming about you,” he replies, his voice low and still slightly rough from sleep, as if the statement is the most natural thing in the world.

You narrow your eyes at him, but instead of backing down, you push your chair back and stand, closing the distance between you without hesitation because there’s no way you’re letting him have the last word, not when he’s looking at you like that. The moment you step closer, his attention sharpens almost imperceptibly, like he’s been waiting for you to react, and that faint hint of interest flickers in his expression before settling back into something lazy and teasing.

“Well,” you start, crossing your arms as you stop right in front of him, tilting your chin just enough to hold your ground, “enjoy those dreams, because it’s the closest you’ll ever get to me.”

It’s the kind of line that usually works, the kind that leaves people caught off guard or scrambling for something to say, but Su-ho doesn’t even hesitate. He simply looks at you for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable, before a quiet laugh slips out of him, low and amused, like he finds the entire situation far more entertaining than he should.

“I sure do,” he says, pushing himself up from his chair in one smooth motion until he’s standing close enough that you’re suddenly very aware of the lack of space between you. His hands slide into his pockets as if he has all the time in the world. “Now stop flirting with me,” he adds, his head tilting slightly as his eyes move over your face with deliberate slowness, “or who knows what I’ll dream about you next.”

Your breath catches before you can stop it, the reaction so brief it almost doesn’t register, but the way his gaze lingers tells you he noticed anyway. Bbefore you can come up with something better to throw back at him, he’s already turning away as if the conversation has run its course, dropping back into his seat without a second glance.

You stare at him for a second longer than you should, your expression twisting into something that tries to pass as annoyance.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, turning away with a small scoff.

-

The voices reach you before you even realize you’ve stopped walking.

“I heard he has the accounts, contracts, and drugs at his house…”

You freeze just outside the classroom door, your hand hovering over the handle as the words settle uneasily in your mind. Drugs? Contracts? What the hell were they talking about? It doesn’t sound like the kind of conversation anyone at school should be having, and yet the low, serious tones inside make it impossible to brush off as a joke. You lean in just slightly, barely daring to breathe as you try to catch more, curiosity pulling you in despite yourself, but before you can make sense of anything else, the door creaks loudly under your hand as you push it open.

Three heads turn toward you instantly.

“Oh—” you start, caught completely off guard, your voice faltering as you straighten up.

“What are you doing eavesdropping, you nosy girl?” Ahn Su-ho says from across the room, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his red and black jacket as if he hasn’t just been discussing something suspicious enough to get all of you in serious trouble.

You huff, more offended than embarrassed, crossing your arms as you step inside. “I’m not a nosy girl, and I wasn’t eavesdropping. I forgot my phone at my desk,” you reply quickly, pointing behind him. “Unlike some people, I actually have things to do.”

His gaze flicks toward where you pointed, and without a word, he turns and walks over to your desk. You watch him pick up your phone, your phone, like it belongs to him now, and the second he turns back around, there it is that small, infuriating smile tugging at his lips as he swings it lightly in his hand on his way back to you, like he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

He stops just close enough to make you aware of it.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, eyes fixed on yours in a way that feels a little too sharp to be casual.

“Almost nothing,” you answer quickly, your tone slipping into something defensive without you meaning it to. “Just… something about drugs…” Your voice trails off as you realize how weak that sounds, and the look on his face makes it obvious he doesn’t believe you for a second.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but instead he lets out a quiet, amused laugh, the sound low and knowing. “Okay,” he says slowly, like he’s humoring you, “then what were you doing standing outside the door like that?”

You hesitate for half a second before sighing dramatically. “Fine, I heard quite a bit,” you admit, your curiosity taking over again as you lean in just slightly. “So what were you talking about?”

“That’s none of your business,” he replies immediately, the playfulness still there but edged with something firmer now as he holds your phone just out of reach for a second longer than necessary. “Take your phone and leave, and don’t tell anyone what you heard. If you do, I’ll find out.”

“Oh, come on,” you say, your tone softening as you tilt your head, a small smile forming as you try a different approach. “I swear I won’t say anything.” When he doesn’t budge, you add lightly, “And if you don’t tell me, I’ll go to the principal and tell him you were out of class.” You even sway slightly as you say it, feigning innocence in a way that would work on almost anyone else.

Su-ho just sighs.

He glances back at the other two boys for a moment before looking at you again, studying your expression like he’s trying to figure out how serious you are, how far you’d actually go. “If you open your big mouth—”

“I know, I know,” you cut in, rolling your eyes as you reach out and snatch your phone from his hand. “You know how to fight, and you’ll shut me up with your fists.”

That familiar, mischievous smile returns instantly.

“Not with my fists.”

You blink at him once, and then your expression twists in realization. “What an idiot,” you mutter under your breath, brushing past him before he can say anything else, though the faint warmth creeping up your neck betrays you more than you’d like.

You walk straight toward the other two, letting your attention shift away from him as if you haven’t just been caught off guard. “Hey, Sieun!” you say brightly, offering a small smile that’s much softer than anything you’d given Su-ho.

The dark-haired boy beside him looks between the two of you, clearly confused. “You two know each other?”

Yeon Si-eun gives a small, almost reluctant nod. “I sometimes tutor her.”

Su-ho makes a quiet sound behind you, something between surprise and understanding, and when you glance back, his eyebrows are raised slightly as he looks between the two of you. “You two… just the two of you?”

You give him an obvious look. “That’s usually how tutoring works,” you reply, your tone light but pointed. “I’m not very good at math, but it turns out Sieun is more than excellent.”

Sieun glances at you briefly, clearly not used to the attention, but there’s a faint softness in his expression that wasn’t there before. You’ve always been kind to him, patient in a way most people weren’t, and he remembers that.

Su-ho notices too.

He notices the way Sieun, who barely looks at anyone, doesn’t completely avoid your gaze. The way you speak to him differently, softer, like you actually mean it when you compliment him. And he definitely notices the part about the two of you being alone together, more often than he realized.

Something about it sits wrong with him, not enough to say anything, but enough to make his jaw tighten just slightly.

He’d never admit that it bothers him, not out loud, not even to himself.

The conversation shifts after that, the mood growing more serious as they explain what’s been going on, the situation they’ve gotten themselves into, and the plan they’re trying to piece together. You listen carefully, far more involved than any of them expected you to be, and by the time they’re done, it’s clear you’re not just going to walk away and pretend you didn’t hear any of it. Su-ho shuts the idea down immediately, insisting you stay out of it, but you push back just as quickly, unwilling to leave them to deal with something like that alone.

Eventually, the four of you end up leaving the school together, the air outside cooler but no less tense, especially as the reality of what you’re about to do settles in. Su-ho walks slightly ahead at first, his hands in his pockets, but the way his eyes move says he’s already thinking three steps ahead.

“I’m starving,” he mutters under his breath, though his attention is clearly elsewhere, fixed on the situation waiting just a few meters ahead.

He slows down abruptly, subtly pushing the rest of you back a step as his gaze sharpens. “Let me go first.”

“What?” Sieun asks, frowning slightly.

“If he really has everything in his office, we should bring the police,” Su-ho says, his tone more serious now. “Just photos won’t be enough.”

“I’ll call them,” Sieun replies immediately.

“No,” Su-ho shakes his head. “They need to catch him there. I’ll buy time. I’ll go in first and give you the address.”

“Suho, you shouldn’t do that,” you cut in, stepping closer to him without thinking. “I’ll give them the money instead. This is dangerous.” Your voice softens at the end, concern slipping through before you can hide it.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and that familiar, cocky smile tugs at his lips again, though it’s quieter this time. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says. “What, are you worried about me?”

“You know what I mean, idiot,” you reply, frowning as you lightly punch his arm, the contact instinctive. “This is actually dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and for a moment, the teasing fades, something softer taking its place. “I promise.”

Neither of you seems to notice how close you’ve gotten, how the space between you has disappeared entirely, or how your voices have dropped like you’re sharing something meant only for each other. Your eyes meet, and for a second, everything else fades into the background, the others, the plan, the tension...leaving just the quiet weight of something neither of you is quite ready to name.

You exhale softly, your shoulders dropping as you nod, even though you know you don’t really have a choice.

Su-ho is going to do this anyway, and as much as it frustrates you, as much as it scares you a little there’s a part of you that understands it.

A part of you that, somehow, likes it more than it should.

Even if you’d never admit that out loud.

-

Your chest burns with every breath you drag in, your lungs struggling to keep up with the pace you’ve forced them into as your feet pound relentlessly against the ground. You’ve never run like this before, not for a race, not for fun, but out of pure, unfiltered desperation. The image of him walking away earlier, so sure of himself, so certain nothing would happen, keeps replaying in your mind in a way that makes your stomach twist painfully. You knew he shouldn’t have gone alone, you knew it the moment he said it, and yet you let him, standing there like you had any right to believe his stupid promise that he’d be fine.ç

Keeping up with Yeon Si-eun isn’t hard, not for you. Your body moves easily, your steps quick and controlled despite the urgency, and for once, you’re grateful for every hour you’ve spent training, for every moment you’ve pushed yourself just a little further, because right now, slowing down isn’t an option.

“I think I can hear them,” Si-eun says between breaths, his voice tight as he suddenly changes direction, heading toward the center of the abandoned amusement park.

Your heart drops.

They’re all there.

Too many of them.

And right in the middle of it, exactly where you feared he’d be, Ahn Su-ho is on his knees, tied up alongside Beom-seok, his posture tense even in restraint, his head tilted slightly like he’s already looking for a way out.

“Damn it… are we too late?” you say out loud without even realising, your hands bracing against your knees as you try to steady your breathing, your eyes darting over the scene, calculating, searching for any opening.

“I thought you were a coward,” an older man’s voice cuts through, laced with mockery as he steps forward, his presence loud in a way that immediately makes your skin crawl. His gaze shifts to you, dragging slowly over your figure with a grin that makes your stomach turn. “And who’s this gorgeous doll with you? Your girlfriend? Very pretty.”

Before you can even react, there’s movement behind him, and Su-ho’s voice cuts through the air, low and dangerous in a way you’ve never heard before. “Shut your mouth,” he snaps, struggling violently against the ropes binding him, his jaw clenched tight with anger. “Or I’ll kill you when I get out.”

The man chuckles, clearly entertained, though he gives a small nod like he’s humoring him. He gestures lazily with the knife in his hand, pointing it toward Su-ho. “So he’s your boyfriend,” he says, amusement dripping from every word. “You should thank God a girl like that even looks at you.” his gaze trying to get into Suho's nerves.

Something in your chest tightens, but before the situation can spiral any further, Si-eun steps forward, his voice cutting through the tension with calm precision. “This is over,” he says firmly. “The police are here. They’re going to search your car.”

The shift is immediate. The man’s expression darkens, irritation flashing across his face as he mutters something under his breath before signaling to the others. Within seconds, they begin retreating, heading back toward where their car must be parked, their confidence cracking just enough under the threat.

And just like that, they run.

You don’t waste a second. Both you and Si-eun rush forward, dropping to your knees beside them, your hands already moving to untie the ropes around Su-ho’s wrists. Up close, the damage is clearer, the split in his lip, the faint bruising already forming, and something in you twists uncomfortably at the sight.

“It’s unbelievable that even in situations like this you can’t keep your big mouth shut,” you mutter, your tone sharp in an attempt to mask the lingering worry. He smiles.

And for a moment, it throws you off completely, because there’s something different in it, something softer beneath the usual teasing edge, like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect, seeing you worried about him was something he didn't know he'd like so much.

“Your lip,” you add, your voice lowering slightly as your fingers brush against his wrist while you work the knot loose.

“Even so…” he exhales, his gaze lifting to meet yours, steady and unreadable in a way that makes your breath hitch for just a second. “Just like I promised… I’m fine.”

You sigh, a mix of relief and frustration bubbling up at the same time.

“Anyway,” he continues, that familiar hint of mischief slipping back into his tone, “maybe it was worth it if you help me clean my wounds later.”

It doesn’t sound entirely like a joke, and that catches you off guard just enough that you don’t immediately fire something back. Instead, you push yourself up, brushing your hands off as you extend one toward him.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

He takes your hand without hesitation, his grip firm as he pulls himself up, though this time, he doesn’t quite have the energy to match your smile.

“Ugh, I’m never going to an amusement park again,” he mutters, letting out a quiet laugh as he rubs at his wrists, trying to shake off the lingering stiffness. For a moment, it almost feels like things might settle.

“They’re back?”

The shift in his tone is immediate, sharp enough to snap your attention forward as the distant sound of sirens grows louder, only to be drowned out by the returning footsteps of the group you thought had left. The older man reappears, a phone in his hand, his expression twisted with irritation and something far more dangerous.

“You kids are really clever,” he spits, before throwing the phone aside in frustration. “Get them. And bring me that brat’s girlfriend.”

Everything happens at once.

Su-ho moves on instinct, stepping in front of you without even thinking, but the second two guys rush him, he’s forced to engage, his focus shifting entirely to the fight in front of him. Leaving you inevitably alone.

For about half a second.

Because the moment someone comes at you, something in you clicks into place, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up. You move easily, naturally, dodging the first hit with a speed that surprises even you, your reflexes sharp and precise as your fist connects solidly with your opponent. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, just movement after movement, clean and effective in a way that makes it clear you’ve done this before.

Across the chaos, Su-ho notices, and for the first time since this started he relaxes. Not completely, not enough to let his guard down, but enough to know you’re not someone he has to protect in the way he thought.

The fight doesn’t last long. Between the three of you, it’s over within minutes, the sound of approaching police finally breaking through clearly as the remaining attackers scatter. But even then, it’s not enough. The son of a bitch manages to slip away.

And Si-eun, already moving, takes off after him without hesitation.

You and Su-ho exchange a look, it’s brief, but it’s enough. No words are needed, no explanation, just that same understanding that seems to exist between you whether you like it or not, his hand finds yours before you can even think about it, fingers wrapping around yours with a firmness that leaves no room for argument. (you really were not gonna argue tho)

Suddenly you are running again, together.

-

The hospital didn’t feel the way it usually did.

It wasn’t cold, or distant, or suffocating in that sterile, uncomfortable way that made you want to leave as soon as possible. You stayed.

Even after Yeon Si-eun and Beom-seok left to speak with the police, you didn’t move from your spot near the foot of his bed, your presence quiet but constant.

Su-ho watched you for a moment before breaking the silence. “How do you fight like that?” he asked, his voice calmer now, though there was still curiosity in it. “Where did you learn?”

You let out a small laugh, already expecting the question. Of course he’d ask, there was no way he wouldn’t after what he’d seen.

“Well…” you began, leaning back slightly in the chair, a faint smile forming as you glanced down at your hands. “I have three older brothers.”

That alone said enough.

“Being the youngest, and the only girl, I kind of had to learn how to defend myself,” you continued, your tone light but honest. “And they were always… a little overprotective, so they made sure I could handle myself. They didn’t want me to ever feel weak.”

Su-ho lets out a quiet huff of amusement, shaking his head slightly. “They did a hell of a job,” he mutters. “You almost took that guy apart.”

Before you can respond, the door opens again, and Si-eun steps inside, followed by a girl with black and pink hair. You glance at her briefly, curiosity flickering, but you don’t ask. You don’t need to.

“She came to apologize,” Si-eun explains simply.

The girl gives something that almost looks like a smile “She doesn’t look very sorry,” Su-ho comments flatly. The girl quickly mumbles a quiet, “Sorry,” as if just to get it over with.

The conversation shifts naturally after that, moving to what happened, what would happen next. Si-eun explains things calmly, how Gil-su was arrested, how Beom-seok’s family is already handling everything, and you listen, your attention split between the words and the boy lying just inches away from you.

“Is his family some kind of huge business empire or something?” Su-ho asks with a faint chuckle. “Someone came in offering to cover all my hospital bills. I said no… maybe I shouldn’t have.”

You shake your head immediately, sitting up straighter. “No way. You’re not going to worry about that right now,” you say firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to rest. I’ll take care of the expenses.”

His head snaps slightly toward you, eyes widening like you’ve just said something completely unreasonable. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“I’m not asking,” you reply just as quickly, your voice soft but stubborn. “You’re not going back to deliveries right now. You’ll help your grandmother, you’ll recover, and that’s it.”

From the other bed, the girl hums lightly. “You should listen to your girlfriend… it’s sweet.”

“I’m not his—”

But Su-ho cuts you off before you can finish.

The question catches you off guard for more than one reason, and for a second, you’re not even sure what surprises you more, his deflection, or the fact that he didn’t deny what she said. The moment passes quickly, though, and soon enough, Si-eun leaves, the girl settling into silence with her phone, leaving the room quieter again.

You curl slightly into the armchair beside Su-ho’s bed, your own phone in hand, though you’re not really paying attention to it. “You should go home,” he murmurs after a while.

You don’t even look up. “No.” The answer comes too quickly.

You pause, realizing how that sounded, and try to cover it up with a small sigh. “You’ll probably get up and do something stupid if I leave,” you add. “Or annoy the nurses.” He smiles at that soft, knowing.

You’re a terrible liar.

“My pillow’s uncomfortable,” he complains after a moment, his tone shifting into something lighter again.

You roll your eyes but stand anyway. “Wow, I’m your personal assistant now too?”

As you lean over him to adjust the pillow, everything happens too fast. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you off balance, and suddenly you’re sitting sideways on the bed, on his lap, your breath catching in surprise.

“Su-ho—what are you doing?” you whisper, startled.

“You’re not sleeping on that chair,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “Just stay here.”

You should say no, you probably would have, if it were anyone else...but it’s him, and despite everything, you trust him more than you want to admit.

So slowly, almost reluctantly, you nod.

He shifts slightly to make space, pulling the blanket over both of you, his arm settling behind you in a way that keeps you close without forcing it. Your head rests lightly near his shoulder, close enough to hear his breathing, steady and warm.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You shake your head against him. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” he insists softly. “You helped us, you came with me and you didn't leave. You shouldn’t have to.”

You lift your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Then pay me back by getting better,” you say, your voice softer now. “That’s all I want.”

He looks at you for a long second, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before it settles into something gentler. “…Then let me at least take you out,” he says carefully. “When this is over.”

Your lips curve slightly. “Like a date?”

His usual cocky expression doesn’t return this time. Instead, there’s something quieter, almost shy, as he nods. “We could go to my grandmother’s place to eat,” he adds. “It’s not fancy, but…”

“It sounds like the most perfect date in the entire world” you interrupt softly.

His hand lifts slowly, hesitating just for a second before resting lightly against your cheek, his touch careful, like he’s not entirely sure you won’t pull away.

“Su-ho…” you murmur, barely above a whisper, you don’t finish the sentence. You don’t need to.

He leans in just slightly, closing the small distance between you, and when his lips brush yours, it’s gentle hesitant at first, like he’s giving you time to stop himif you want to.

You don’t, instead, you stay there, letting the moment settle, letting everything that’s been building between you finally fall into place without rushing it, without turning it into one of your usual back-and-forths.

When he pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, his forehead nearly resting against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, since we first met six years ago” he admits quietly.

Your smile softens. “Took you long enough.”

It slowly turned into a make-out session. You couldn't separate, nor did you want to. Your lips intertwined with a perfect rhythm, and Suho, sometimes, slipped his tongue in, taking things to new heights.

And then a voice cuts through the moment “Am I interrupting something?” you both freeze, Si-eun stands in the doorway, a rare, subtle hint of amusement on his face.

Su-ho glances at him, then back at you, and just like that, that familiar teasing confidence slips back into place.

“Not at all,” he says easily. “I was just kissing my girlfriend.”

Your entire face burns instantly. “Oh my—Su-ho!” you hide your face against his shoulder without thinking, mortified.

That’s how long you managed to delay the inevitable. Thirty days of avoiding calls, of convincing yourself you would find a way to pay him back before it came to this. Thirty days of waking up with the same weight pressing against your ribs, knowing it wasn’t over, knowing it was only getting closer. And now it’s here, standing on the other side of your door, patient and unyielding.

When you open it, the moment stretches just long enough for you to recognize them before they move. Two men well-dressed, composed, their expressions empty in a way that feels practiced. One of them steps forward, his grip closing around your arm with controlled strength.

“Let go,” you snap, instinctively pulling back, your voice sharper than the tremor that tries to creep into it.

He doesn’t react beyond tightening his hold just slightly. “No need to make this difficult.”

A humorless laugh escapes you, quick and brittle. “I think we passed that point a while ago.”

They don’t answer. They don’t need to. Within seconds, you’re being guided (forced) out of your apartment, down the hallway, and into the waiting car as if this outcome had been decided long before tonight.

The drive is quiet, suffocatingly so. The city outside the window blurs past in streaks of light and shadow, familiar streets fading into unfamiliar ones until you stop trying to keep track.

You’ve only crossed paths with Baek Jeong a handful of times, but that was more than enough to understand him. Everything about him is controlled, as if the world itself moves according to decisions he’s already made. Men like him don’t forget, and they don’t forgive.

You’re led inside his building, through quiet hallways that echo faintly with each step, until you reach his apartment. The door opens, and you’re ushered in without ceremony before it closes behind you with a soft, final click.

The silence that follows feels intentional.

“You’re late.”

His voice comes from behind you, smooth and calm, cutting through the silence with quiet authority.

You turn slowly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a startled reaction, and find him exactly where you expected him to be, composed, watching, as if he’s been observing you longer than you realized. His posture is relaxed, but there’s nothing casual about him. Every movement, every glance, feels measured.

You lift your chin slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. “Traffic,” you reply dryly.

He pushes himself away from where he had been standing and begins to walk toward you, his steps unhurried, controlled. There’s no rush in the way he closes the distance between you, no wasted movement. It makes it worse somehow, the certainty of it, the way he approaches like he already knows you won’t move.

"You don't have a single penny to pay me, but now..." his voice lowering slightly as he stops in front of you, “I will collect my debt.”

Your breath catches, but you force a smile anyway, something sharp and hollow that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. If he expects fear, you won’t give it to him so easily.

“What do you want?” you ask, letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. “A quickie?”

He doesn’t react the way most men would, not with offense, not with anger. Instead, he watches you, his gaze sharpening just slightly, as if reassessing something.

Then he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the shift in the air between you, the subtle weight of his presence pressing in.

“This isn’t about one night,” he murmurs.

His hand comes up without warning, fingers closing around your chin with firm precision, forcing your face upward until your eyes meet his fully. The grip isn’t careless; it’s controlled, deliberate, as if he’s already calculated exactly how much pressure to use.

“You belong to me now.”

The words settle heavily between you, and for a split second, something in your chest tightens in a way you can’t quite control. But you refuse to look away, refuse to let him see anything more than defiance.

“You always did,” he adds.

Anger flares, sharp and immediate, pushing back against the unease curling in your stomach. You swallow it down and meet his gaze with equal intensity.

“I’m not going to spend a second with you,” you say, your voice edged with disgust. “Not one.”

For a moment, he simply looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then his grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly how little control you actually have in this situation.

“Then run,” he says softly, the calmness in his tone making the words far more threatening than any shout could. “Try to escape.”

Your heart pounds harder, but you don’t break eye contact.

“There is no corner on earth where you can hide from me,” he continues, his gaze moving slowly over your face, as if committing every detail to memory despite already knowing it. His thumb shifts just slightly against your jaw, tilting your face as he studies you with quiet intensity.

“I will chase you until you get tired of running.”

The promise settles into the space between you, heavy and inescapable, and the way he says it leaves no room for doubt. He isn’t exaggerating. He isn’t trying to scare you.

He’s simply telling you the truth as he sees it.

His eyes linger on your lips for a brief moment before returning to yours, his grip tightening once more in a final, deliberate gesture that feels less like a threat and more like a claim.

He slowly approaches you, so close that your bodies brush against each other, breaking the barrier that's supposed to exist. "I want you naked in bed in five minutes," he whispers near your lips. "Every minute you take is another minute of your punishment." His Machiavellian smile appears, excited, as if he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Kim Geon-woo isn’t loud about the way he feels. He doesn’t announce it, doesn’t corner you with confessions or grand gestures that demand to be seen or answered. With him, there’s no spectacle, no dramatic declarations that leave you breathless in the obvious way. You don’t notice it right away. Not until you step back one day and realize it’s always been there, woven into every moment you share with him.

It starts with small things.

The way he remembers how you take your drink without asking, down to the exact amount of sugar, the way you hesitate before your first sip when it’s too hot. The way he hands it to you already adjusted, like it’s second nature, like it matters.

The way his eyes find you in a room without even trying. You’ll look up mid-conversation, mid-laugh, mid-thought, and there he is. Already looking. Already aware.

The way he stands just a little too close when someone else is talking to you. Not enough to be obvious. Not enough for anyone else to question it. But enough that you feel it...the quiet presence at your side, steady and unyielding.

At first, you think it’s just him being nice, protective maybe. A little attentive. It doesn’t seem like something to question.

But then—

“You didn’t text me.”

His voice cuts through the quiet, low and careful. There’s no raised tone, no sharp edge meant to start a fight. Not angry. Not quite. Just… tight. Controlled in a way that makes you look up anyway.

You blink, pulled out of your thoughts, your phone still in your hand. “I was out for, like, two hours.”

Geon-woo is leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, but there’s nothing relaxed about him. His posture is stiff beneath the surface, like something coiled tight inside him. His gaze doesn’t leave you, not for a second. It feels heavier than usual. More focused.

“I know,” he says.

A beat.

“I counted.”

There’s a pause that stretches just a little too long.

You let out a small laugh, awkward and unsure, because it has to be a joke. It sounds like one. It should be one.

He doesn’t laugh back.

Your smile falters, fading at the edges as the silence lingers.

“…You counted?”

His jaw shifts slightly, tension flickering across his face like he realizes how that sounded. Like maybe he shouldn’t have said it out loud.

But he doesn’t take it back.

He never takes anything back with you.

“I just—” he exhales through his nose, pushing himself off the wall. The movement is slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to ground himself as he steps closer. “You didn’t answer. I didn’t know where you were.”

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten.

It isn’t anger.

It’s worry, too much worry.

The kind that feels like it’s been sitting with him longer than it should have.

“I told you I was meeting a friend,” you say softly, searching his face.

“I know,” he replies immediately. Too quickly. The words come out like they’ve been waiting at the front of his mind. “You said 3:10. You left at 3:07. You wore that sweater.” His eyes flicker over you now, softer but still intense, still taking everything in. “The white one.”

Your breath catches before you can stop it. He did remember, not just the important parts.

Everything.

“…Geon-woo.”

Your voice comes out gentler now, careful, like you’re stepping into something fragile.

He’s close. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, the quiet tension in the way he holds himself back like there’s an instinct there, something pulling him toward you, but he’s restraining it. Waiting. Unsure if he’s allowed.

“I don’t like not knowing,” he says.

There it is.

Honest. Bare. A little rough around the edges, like it’s something he doesn’t say often, if ever.

You study his face more carefully now. The slight furrow in his brows, the way his eyes keep moving over you, scanning, checking. Like he’s reassuring himself. Like he needs proof.

Proof that you’re okay.

Proof that you’re still here.

“…I’m okay,” you whisper.

His lips press together, the tension in them not easing.

“I know,” he says. “But I need to see it.”

Your heart stumbles at that.

There’s something about the way he says it like it’s not just a preference. Not just something he wants. It sounds like something deeper. Something instinctive. Something he can’t turn off, no matter how much he might try.

You press your hand a little firmer against him.

Not enough to push, just enough to anchor him, to remind him of something solid, something real. You can feel the tension under your palm, the way his muscles are still wound tight, like he hasn’t fully come down from whatever storm was running through him moments ago. So he stops.

“I’m okay. Nothing happened. You don’t have to worry like that.”

The words are gentle, but deliberate. You don’t rush them, don’t soften them into something dismissible. You let them sit between you, steady and real, something you’re offering him to lean on, if he lets himself. Something solid enough to counter the restless storm that always seems to live just beneath his skin.

For a moment, it almost feels like he might take it.

But then he shakes his head slightly, the movement small but firm, a quiet refusal. A hint of frustration slips through the cracks of his composure, subtle but unmistakable. You feel it in the way his shoulders stay tense, in the way his gaze doesn’t quite settle, like your reassurance doesn’t fit into whatever logic he’s built for himself.

Like it isn’t enough.

“I do.”

The words come out low, certain. Not argued, stated.

“…Why?”

The question leaves you before you can stop it.

It isn’t sharp. It isn’t defensive. If anything, it’s softer than you expect, shaped more by curiosity than anything else. By the need to understand. Because this (him, like this) goes beyond simple worry. It’s deeper, heavier, threaded with something you can’t quite name yet.

You just want to know what it is.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Not in that scanning, restless way he does when he’s checking you over, searching for something wrong.

But fully.

Like everything in him has narrowed down to this one moment. To you.

Like all that intensity, all that focus, has finally found a place to land, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

There’s something quieter in his expression now. Not softer exactly, but more… exposed. Like he’s standing at the edge of saying something he doesn’t usually say. Something he doesn’t fully understand himself.

Like he’s deciding how much to give you.

How much you’ll take without pulling away.

“…Because it’s you,” he answers.

-

You open your eyes slowly, still caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking, and for a moment, everything feels too quiet. Then you notice him.

Geon-woo is standing in the doorway.

He isn’t doing anything in particular, just leaning slightly against the frame, arms relaxed at his sides, but his presence fills the room in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. His gaze is already on you, steady and attentive, as if he’s been waiting for the exact moment you would wake up.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at him, your voice still soft with sleep. “How long have you been there?”

He straightens slightly, like he’s been caught doing something he hadn’t meant to make obvious. “Not long,” he says, though the brief hesitation before the answer makes it hard to believe him completely. “Just a few seconds.”

You don’t argue, even if you suspect it’s not true. Instead, you sit up a little more, brushing your hair out of your face as you try to orient yourself. “What time is it?”

“Just after eight.”

“You woke up before me again?” you ask, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“I always do,” he replies simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. There’s no pride in it, no teasing..just a quiet certainty that makes it sound less like a habit and more like something intentional.

Before you can respond, he adds, “I made breakfast.”

Of course he did.

Something in your chest softens at that, even as a small part of you wonders how early he must have woken up to do it. “You didn’t have to,” you say, though the words come out gentler than they might have otherwise.

“I wanted to.”

He says it the same way he always does, like that alone is enough reason.

You nod, letting out a quiet breath as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. “Okay… give me a minute.”

He doesn’t leave.

You notice it almost immediately, the way his presence lingers even as you stand and move toward your dresser. When you glance back at him, he’s still there, watching in that calm, focused way that has become so familiar to you.

There’s nothing aggressive about it. Nothing openly intrusive.

And yet, it feels… close.

Too close, sometimes.

“You’re just going to stand there?” you ask, a hint of amusement in your voice as you reach for a hoodie.

He blinks, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Can I not?”

Your smile softens despite yourself. “You can.”

That’s all the permission he needs.

He stays exactly where he is while you change, his attention following you without shame or hesitation. It isn’t the kind of gaze that feels casual or distracted; it’s deliberate, careful, as though he’s cataloging every small detail without even realizing he’s doing it.

“How many hours?”

You pause, glancing back at him. “I don’t know. Enough, I think.”

His brows draw together slightly, a faint crease forming between them. “You should know.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, running a hand through your hair to fix it. “Why?”

“So you can tell if it’s enough,” he says, his tone still even, still calm..but there’s something underneath it, something that suggests this isn’t just casual curiosity.

“I feel fine,” you reply, a little more gently this time.

He studies you for a second, his gaze moving across your face as if searching for something you might have missed. “You look tired,” he says finally.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always look like you need more rest.”

There’s no judgment in his voice, only quiet concern, but the way he says it makes it feel heavier than it should.

Before you can respond, he steps closer.

The movement is unhurried, natural, like it’s something he doesn’t even think about anymore. His hands lift to your shoulders, adjusting the fabric of your hoodie where it sits unevenly, smoothing it down with careful, practiced motions.

“You didn’t fix this properly,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You go still for a moment, watching him.

It’s such a small thing.

Unnecessary, even.

But the way he focuses on it (the way he touches you like it matters) makes something in your chest tighten in a way you can’t quite explain.

“Okay,” you say softly.

His fingers linger for just a second longer than needed before he lets his hands fall back to his sides.

“…Come eat,” he says.

-

The kitchen feels warm the moment you step into it, the kind of warmth that settles gently against your skin and makes the space feel lived-in, safe.

His mom looks up first, offering you a quiet, knowing smile that carries a kind of softness you’re still getting used to, while Woojin barely lifts his head from his phone, muttering something that passes for a greeting before disappearing back into whatever has his attention. It all feels normal, almost domestic in a way that should be easy to settle into.

And yet...

Geon-woo is already moving.

He steps ahead of you without hesitation, like he’s done this a hundred times before, reaching for the chair at the table and pulling it out just as you approach. The gesture is smooth, automatic, so natural it almost blends into the routine of the house itself.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him softly, your voice light, almost absent-minded.

“I know,” he answers just as quietly.

You sit, letting the moment pass, and he takes the seat beside you immediately after, not across from you, not leaving space between you, but close enough that the warmth of him is unmistakable, your shoulders nearly brushing every time either of you shifts. There’s already a plate waiting for you, the food arranged neatly, almost carefully, like he paid attention to how it looked as much as how it would taste.

For a moment, you just look at it.

Then at him.

“You made all this?” you ask, a hint of surprise slipping into your voice despite yourself.

He nods, but his attention doesn’t drift to his own place setting or the rest of the table. It stays on you, steady and focused, as though your reaction matters more than anything else in the room.

“Eat while it’s warm,” he says.

There’s something about the way he says it (not commanding, not forceful, but certain) that makes you pick up your fork without thinking too much about it. You take a bite, the food still warm, still fresh, and you barely have time to register the taste before you feel it.

His gaze.

Under the table, you feel his hand rest against your leg.

It’s light at first, almost tentative, but it doesn’t leave. Instead, his thumb begins to move slowly, tracing absent circles that feel more instinctive than intentional, as though the contact itself is something he needs to maintain without thinking about why.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You glance at him, your heart catching slightly at the contradiction. The way he’s already touching you, already there, and still asks.

“…Yeah,” you answer.

He relaxes, just barely, but his hand stays where it is.

“Do you feel okay?” he asks after a moment.

“I’m fine.”

“No headaches? No dizziness?”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping you. “No, Geon-woo.”

He studies you again, more carefully this time, his gaze tracing over your face with quiet focus, as if he’s searching for something you might not even notice in yourself. Only when he seems satisfied does he nod, a small, almost imperceptible motion.

“Okay.”

For a brief moment, the conversation fades, leaving a quiet space between you, but with him, it never lasts.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“I’m not cold.”

“You look cold.”

You smile faintly, shaking your head. “I promise I’m not.”

He watches you for another second, like he’s weighing your answer, deciding whether to accept it. Eventually, he does, but not fully. Just enough to move on.

By the time you finish eating, he’s already standing, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he moves before you’ve even had a chance to think about getting up.

“I’ll get your bag,” he says.

“I can get it,” you reply, though there’s no real resistance behind it.

“I know.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

You remain seated for a moment longer, your fingers resting lightly against the edge of the table as your gaze drifts toward the hallway where he disappeared. There’s a strange feeling settling in your chest, something you can’t quite name, because everything about this is kind, attentive, undeniably caring.

And yet... it feels like a lot.

Like something constant.

Something that doesn’t quite give you space to exist without being noticed.

When he returns, he places your bag gently beside you, his movements careful, deliberate. As he does, his hand brushes against your shoulder in a fleeting, almost absent gesture—but it lingers in a way that feels anything but accidental.

That quiet, steady awareness of you that never seems to fade.

“Ready?” he asks.

You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and it’s the same as always, focused, immediate, like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His hand finds yours without hesitation, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease, and as he leads you out, his voice picks up again, soft but constant...asking small questions, simple things, things that don’t really need to be asked at all.

But he asks anyway.

Because it keeps you talking.

Keeps you answering.

Keeps you with him.

And as you walk beside him, listening, responding, feeling the steady presence of his hand wrapped around yours.

you begin to understand something you hadn’t quite been able to put into words before.

“Baek Jeong,” you called, your voice carrying a hint of irritation as you stopped in front of him, hands smoothing down the sides of your dress as if you could fix your mood along with the fabric. “I don’t like this dress. It looks terrible on me.”

He barely reacted at first, lounging on the sofa like he owned not just the room, but everything inside it. One arm rested lazily over the backrest as his gaze moved over you in that slow, deliberate way of his, taking his time as if there was nowhere else he needed to be.

You were too focused on him, on the way he looked at you and how little urgency he seemed to have about your complaint, to notice the other presence on the couc, at least not until the feeling settled in.

It wasn’t a sound or a movement, but something subtler. A gaze. Heavy, persistent, and very much aware of you. The kind of attention that tried to stay hidden but failed simply because of how intense it was.

Your head tilted slightly, curiosity replacing irritation as you followed the feeling... and that’s when you saw him.

Green hair catching the light, posture just a little too stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to exist comfortably in the same space as you. The moment your eyes met his, your expression shifted almost instantly, frustration melting into something softer, more playful, the corner of your lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“Hey, Allen,” you greeted, lifting your hand in a light wave, your voice dipping just enough to make the greeting feel more personal than it needed to be.

His reaction was immediate and impossible to miss. He swallowed, his throat moving visibly as his eyes locked onto yours for a brief moment before betraying him, flickering downward in a way that was quick but not quick enough to go unnoticed.

“H—hey,” he replied, his voice quieter than usual, rougher too, as if it had caught somewhere on the way out.

Baek noticed the shift in the room long before anything needed to be said about it.

“Babydoll,” he cut in, his tone smooth and grounded, carrying that quiet possessiveness he never really tried to hide. “That dress looks great on you.”

His hands found your waist with ease, pulling you closer without hesitation, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was firm, fingers pressing into your hips in a way that felt both familiar and intentional, like a reminder meant for more than just you.

“Besides,” he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing near your ear, “don’t worry about it. I’ll take it off later.”

You let out a soft breath in response, leaning into him just enough to match his tone, allowing yourself to be guided as he pulled you down onto his lap.

“I can’t wait,” you murmured, your lips close enough to his that your words felt shared rather than spoken.

His attention shifted to your neck, warm and unhurried, his lips trailing there in a way that was more claiming than affectionate, and your body reacted naturally, your mouth parting slightly as a quiet sigh slipped past your lips.

But your focus didn’t stay on him.

Instead, your gaze drifted intentionally, deliberately, back to Allen. He hadn’t moved.

If anything, he looked worse than before, like he didn’t know where to look anymore but couldn’t bring himself to look away either. His posture was tense, his hands loosely clenched in his lap, and there was something unmistakable in his expression, something caught between nervousness and something far more dangerous.

You bit your lip lightly as you held his gaze, letting the moment stretch just enough before you lifted your hand and blew him a kiss. The effect was immediate.

His composure faltered, just slightly, but enough for you to see it clearly. His shoulders tensed, his breath hitching in a way he probably hadn’t meant for anyone to notice, and for a second he looked completely unsure of what to do with himself.

“Don’t you think the dress looks good on me, Allen?” you asked, your tone light, almost curious, though your eyes carried something much more deliberate.

Baek didn’t interrupt. If anything, the faint curve of his lips suggested he was aware of exactly what you were doing and had no interest in stopping you.

Allen, on the other hand, seemed caught somewhere between answering and not daring to. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to speak, but nothing came out, his thoughts clearly running faster than he could keep up with.

You let your expression shift into a small pout.

“What? You don’t like it?” you pressed, tilting your head as if genuinely disappointed. “Maybe you need to look more closely.”

Before either of them could respond, you moved.

Sliding off Baek’s lap with unhurried confidence, you closed the distance between you and Allen, each step measured, intentional. When you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. You climbed onto his lap as if it were the most natural decision in the world, positioning yourself comfortably with one leg on either side of him.

Up close, he was even more affected. You could feel it, the tension in his body, the way his breath changed, the subtle tremor he couldn’t quite control.

Your arms settled loosely around his neck, your body close enough that there was no space left for doubt.

“You shouldn’t…” he began quietly, his voice strained, uncertain, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he didn’t know where they were allowed to be.

You leaned in just slightly, your presence steady, overwhelming in the quietest way.

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him softly, your tone calm but carrying a quiet authority. “He asked you what you think of the dress…”

There was a faint edge of complaint in your voice now, like he was the one making things difficult.

“Feel it,” you continued, reaching for his hands and guiding them to your hips yourself. “Then tell me.”

The moment your hands left his, he froze, the contact clearly doing more to him than he knew how to process. His fingers rested there uncertainly at first, as if he expected to be stopped at any second.

“Don’t make me ask you again, baby.”

The word lingered between you, heavier than it should have been.

“It… it looks beautiful on you,” he managed finally, his voice uneven, his eyes struggling to stay focused before settling on yours again. “I love it.”

Baek remained where he was, seemingly occupied with his phone, though the lack of interruption felt more intentional than distracted.

A slow smile spread across your lips.

“I have a lot of things that look better on me than this dress,” you said, your voice lowering slightly as your gaze locked onto his, the air between you tightening in a way that felt impossible to ignore. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you?”

You leaned in just enough for your lips to hover dangerously close to his.

“I might need help with the zipper…”

For a brief moment, it felt like the world narrowed down to that single point of contact, like he might actually give in and close the distance.

Then Baek stood.

The movement was sudden enough to break the moment instantly, the shift in energy immediate.

Allen reacted before he could stop himself, flinching slightly, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, even though he hadn’t actually done anything at all.

“Enough,” Baek said, his voice firm, cutting cleanly through whatever had been building. “You can blow him later. Right now, I need him on the computer.”

The tension didn’t disappear, but it shifted, settling into something quieter, something unfinished.

You leaned back slowly, taking your time as you pulled away from Allen, your fingers brushing lightly along his jaw in a touch that lingered just a second longer than necessary.

“What a spoilsport,” you whispered, just for him.

And the way he looked at you after that still dazed, still caught somewhere between hesitation and something much deeper, made it clear that whatever had started between you wasn’t going to end there.

-

Hours had slipped by almost unnoticed, the quiet hum of machines filling the apartment in a way that made time feel slower than it really was. Allen hadn’t moved much from his spot in front of the computer, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the screen as lines of code reflected faintly against his glasses. What should have been routine, something almost second nature to him, had turned into something frustratingly resistant, like every attempt he made only led to another wall.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers still moving quickly across the keyboard, though there was a stiffness to them now that hadn’t been there before.

“Wow.”

Your voice cut through the room so suddenly that he nearly jumped, his head snapping toward the doorway with wide eyes before he even processed who it was. When he saw you leaning casually against the frame, a small smile playing on your lips, the tension in his body didn’t ease, it just shifted into something else entirely.

“Those are fast fingers you have,” you continued, your tone light, teasing in a way that immediately made his focus slip. As you pushed yourself off the doorframe and stepped inside, your heels clicked softly against the floor, slower now, more deliberate than before.

Your gaze drifted around the room, taking in the mess without judgment, the cables, the monitors, the scattered controllers, the empty cans that had been forgotten hours ago.

“You’re such a nerd,” you added with a quiet chuckle, though there was no real bite to it.

Allen swallowed, turning slightly back toward the screen like he could anchor himself there, even as he felt your presence getting closer. The cursor blinked expectantly, but his thoughts weren’t keeping up anymore.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice softer now as you leaned in just enough to glance at the screen, though it was clear your interest wasn’t really in the code.

Before he could answer, before he could even think of a way to respond properly, you moved again.

And this time, you didn’t stop beside him.

You sat on his lap.

The reaction was instant.

His entire body went rigid beneath you, eyes widening as if his brain had simply refused to process what had just happened. The chair shifted slightly with the added weight, but he didn’t dare move, didn’t dare react too quickly in case he did something wrong.

Not that he wanted you to move.

Not even a little.

His hands stayed exactly where they were, gripping the armrests like they were the only safe place left for them, his breath catching before settling into something faster, uneven.

“I—um…” He struggled to find his voice, his thoughts stumbling over each other. “I’m trying to create a virus so I can break into the police database…”

The words came out rushed, slightly shaky, like he was forcing himself to focus on something (anything) that wasn’t the fact that you were sitting on him.

You shifted slightly, turning sideways in his lap as if getting comfortable, one arm draping over his shoulders with an ease that only made everything worse for him. The closeness was overwhelming in the quietest way, your presence impossible to ignore as you leaned just a little closr.

“And why are you having so much trouble?” you asked, your tone curious, but still threaded with that same teasing warmth. “You’ve done this thousands of times.”

It was a fair question.

Allen was good, incredibly talented at what he did. This kind of task should have been done hours ago.

“Something changed,” he admitted after a second, forcing himself to look back at the screen, though his focus kept slipping. “Maybe they realized someone was getting in and tightened security… I don’t know. It’s just—” He exhaled, frustrated. “It’s taking longer than it should.”

The tension in his voice was real, but it didn’t quite hide the nerves underneath.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmured softly, your hand lifting to his face, your touch light but deliberate as your fingers brushed along his cheek.

The contact made him pause completely.

“Maybe you just need to relax a little.”

Before he could react, you took his hands, gently but firmly guiding them away from the armrests, placing them against your hips instead. The movement was slow, intentional, giving him just enough time to realize what was happening without giving him the chance to stop it.

His breath caught sharply.

For a moment, he didn’t move at all, like his body had forgotten how to function under your touch. Then his fingers flexed slightly, hesitant, uncertain, but not pulling away.

His eyes flickered, unsure where to settle, his tongue brushing absently against his piercing in a nervous habit he didn’t seem to notice himself.

“I—I can’t,” he said quietly, his voice lower now, strained in a different way. “I have to finish this before Baek gets back or—”

You didn’t let him finish.

“Then keep working,” you whispered, leaning closer, your voice brushing near his mouth, close enough to make the space between you feel almost nonexistent. “I’ll help you relax.”

The words lingered there, soft but loaded, settling into him in a way that made it even harder to think clearly.

“You shouldn’t…” he tried again, though there was less conviction in it this time, more uncertainty than refusal.

You smiled faintly, your gaze steady on his.

“We shouldn’t be doing a lot of things, Allen,” you murmured, your tone quieter now, almost thoughtful, but there was something underneath it, something that made it impossible to mistake your meaning. “But right now going down on my knees and suck your dick feels perfect.”

The green-haired man's heart finally stopped completely; it all seemed like a joke orchestrated to make him look ridiculous. How could a woman of your caliber be coming on to him like that? What did you see in him?

"I can't keep pretending I don't get wet every time I see you, Allen, that I don't imagine those quick fingers inside me, and how much it turns me on that you're such a freak and a loser." He should feel offended, she knew it, but how could he? He was analyzing her lips, no longer trying to hide it. His eyes were roaming over your body on top of him, something igniting within him, and all his fear disappearing completely, forgotten. This time, unconsciously, his hands squeezed your legs, making you smile slightly. "Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

"You can fuck me right here if you want," you replied, looking him straight in the eyes. You couldn't hold back any longer and lunged at his lips, intertwining them in perfect sync. It was a wet, noisy, sensual, and intense kiss. You were devouring each other. Allen didn't have much experience, and while you noticed it, somehow that only fueled your desire. Your hands circled his neck and your hips began to rub slowly against him. You both broke apart, breathless. "Can I please suck your cock? Please, baby," you begged breathlessly, continuing to rub against him, growing more and more desperate. He, speechless, simply nodded rapidly, breathless, too weak to speak aloud. All of this intensified as he watched you slowly lower yourself from him and kneel under the desk between his legs, your gaze locked on his eyes. A small, mischievous smile spread across your lips, and you bit your lip as if you wanted to provoke him even more.

"Get back to work, Allen," you say, "and enjoy it." Your hands lightly trace his pants, reaching the button and undoing it without a second thought. Allen had returned to his computer, but he seemed to be typing automatically; he couldn't connect two neurons while you were kneeling before him, begging him to touch him.

But everything went to hell when he felt it: your juicy lips kissing the tip, your tongue tracing its length, and your hands helping you find those places your mouth couldn't reach.

-

P2? I haven’t written actual smt in a long time....want me to try?

years ago...

They had met long before the world knew his name.

Zayn Malik had been the quiet boy who sat a few desks away from her, all dark lashes and sketchbooks, someone who spoke little but noticed everything. Kyra had been the girl who filled the silence without trying, whose laugh bounced off lockers and made teachers sigh but smile anyway.

They became best friends without announcing it. It just… happened.

Shared lunches. Walks home. Homework done side by side, even when neither of them was actually studying. Kyra learned the way Zayn hummed absentmindedly when he was nervous, how he avoided eye contact when he cared too much, how he smiled slowly, like it surprised even him. Zayn learned that she hated being called Ky by anyone else, but from him, it sounded like something soft, something earned.

When the sparks came, they didn’t explode, they settled.

Zayn looked at Kyra like she was something precious he couldn’t quite believe was his, and Kyra loved him like she had all the time in the world.

When he told her about The X Factor, his voice shook.

“I’m thinking about auditioning,” he’d said, eyes fixed on the pavement as they walked. “I know it sounds stupid—”

Kyra stopped walking. “Zayn.”

He looked at her then.

“You have to,” she said immediately, eyes bright. “You’d regret it forever if you didn’t.”

That was Kyra. Always forward. Always believing.

From that moment on, she was his biggest supporter. No doubts. No hesitation. When London came calling, she answered too. Quitting her job, studying in the car, living out of bags and borrowed couches, learning how to make herself smaller so his dream could be bigger. She never complained. Not once.

When One Direction happened, happiness felt unreal.

Zayn was everywhere all at once, and somehow Kyra managed to be there too. She found a remote job, learned the rhythm of airports and tour buses, built a life that fit around his. The boys became family. Harry, especially; loud, warm, endlessly alive, slid effortlessly into her world, making her laugh on days when Zayn was too tired to talk.

For a while, everything was still golden.

But gold dulls if you don’t protect it.

The cigarettes came first. Then the nights got later. The drinking stopped being social and started being necessary. Zayn didn’t change overnight, he faded, little by little, like a photograph left too long in the sun. Fame didn’t make him arrogant; it made him lost.

Kyra noticed before anyone else.

She noticed when conversations turned into monologues. When laughter became background noise. When his eyes stopped finding hers in rooms full of people. She loved him fiercely, stubbornly, but loving someone doesn’t mean you can always reach them.

One night, the apartment was too quiet.

“Zayn?” Kyra asked, hearing the bedroom door open.

Footsteps echoed, uneven, careless, before a heavy thud hit the floor.

“Zayn?!”

She rushed out of the room, her heart pounding as she reached the living room. Zayn was lying on the floor, barely conscious, the smell of marijuana and something stronger clinging to the air.

“I’m fine,” he barely murmured, slurring the words, his eyes closed and unable to get up.

Kyra swallowed her panic and did what she always did. She helped him to his feet as best she could, guiding him to the bedroom and sitting him down on the bed. Her hands were gentle as she took off his jacket, even though her chest felt tight.

“You can’t keep doing this, Zayn,” Kyra tried to say as she took off his jacket, her voice calm.

“You always say the same thing,” he mumbled, still struggling to speak.

“Well, maybe you should start listening to me,” she replied.

“Bullshit, don’t tell me what to do, mind your own business,” Zayn abruptly turned away from her and lay down on the bed, passing out completely asleep.

Kyra stood there, frozen. Something inside her fractured quietly, painfully. She didn’t cry. She just felt hollow.

Morning came too soon.

Kyra leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping a cup of coffee she barely tasted, waiting for Zayn to wake up. She couldn’t ignore it anymore. She wouldn’t.

As if summoned, he appeared, smiling, refreshed enough to pretend nothing had happened. He walked toward her, arms reaching for her waist, familiar and automatic—but she pulled back, not letting him touch her.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, frowning, genuinely worried.

“I can’t, Zayn,” she whispered.

“What do you mean, love?” He tried to approach her again, only to be rejected once more. “Hey, what do you mean?”

“I’m tired, Zayn. I can’t keep waiting for you every night to come home passed out so I can help you to bed, reeking of alcohol and drugs, like it’s normal...” Kyra begins. “Damn, even thinking that this has become a habit doesn’t make sense. Passed out, Zayn... you come home passed out every night, and I’m the only one here, sleepless all night, worried about you, and on top of that, I have to put up with you treating me like garbage just because I want to help you.”

Zayn stood there in silence, processing her words. For months she had begged him to seek help, to slow down, to care. He hadn’t thought it was that serious. Somewhere along the way, he had lost control without realizing it.

“It’s not every night...” Zayn begins, somewhat annoyed. “I just need a distraction, okay? I’m with the band all the time, without a single second of peace. All I see and hear is chaos and mayhem. I just want to have some fun.”

“That’s not a distraction! You don’t talk to your family, you don’t talk to me!” Kyra pauses briefly. “You don’t see me, you don’t hear me, you’re not interested. I don’t want to sound selfish or like I’m demanding anything from you, but I gave up everything, Zayn. I did everything I could to follow your dreams, to help you, and to be there to be the first to congratulate and support you.”

“The only moments we share are these: the mornings when you’re hungover, you come to hug me, you have a coffee, you shower, and you leave. Then I just see you passed out in the living room.”

Zayn remained serious, but inside, everything hurt.

“I didn’t think you’d notice, you’ve been spending a lot of time with Harry lately,” he couldn’t help but blurt out, giving in to his jealousy.

Kyra froze, stunned, hurt beyond words.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she commented sarcastically. “Maybe because I’m in a city where I don’t know anyone, in an apartment all day alone because my boyfriend can’t even be bothered to ask how I am.”

Silence.

“I don’t recognize you, Zayn,” she began, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know who you are, I don’t know when you became a complete stranger. I was always here, I’m still here, and I don’t remember when you slipped through my fingers. I’m sorry, Zayn, I’m so sorry, but I can’t keep doing this to myself. I’m drained. I really tried.”

She placed her cup down gently and walked past him.

Zayn reacted on instinct, grabbing her arm.

“What do you mean? What you doing?” His voice trembled slightly.

“I’m leaving, Zayn. We... I can’t do this anymore. You’re not the Zayn I fell in love with.”

He froze.

Kyra pulled away, not just from his grip, but from everything they had been.

Kyra started a new life.

But Zayn never forgave himself.

-

present day...

Time passed. Not gently, not mercifully—but it passed.

Kyra moved forward the only way she knew how: by building something of her own. She never felt whole again, not completely, because some loves don’t disappear—they linger, quiet and permanent, like scars you stop noticing but never lose. Still, she studied, worked, pushed herself harder than she ever had before, until effort turned into success.

KY was born almost accidentally.

It wasn’t a clever name. It wasn’t meant to be. It was intimate, heavy with meaning. Only one person had ever called her that. Only one person had ever believed in her designs before she believed in them herself. Zayn, before fame... before everything broke, had always been the loudest voice telling her she was capable, that she was talented, that she should never settle for less.

Only Zayn called her Ky.

And now the world did too, without knowing why it mattered.

She lived in a large apartment in the United States, surrounded by clean lines, light-filled rooms, and the quiet satisfaction of having made it on her own. She was well-known, financially stable, and doing exactly what she loved. From the outside, she had everything.

From the inside, there was still a small, aching absence.

“I already told you, idiot, of course you’re invited!” Kyra said via FaceTime to the long-haired man on her screen.

“Well, I had to find out through Instagram! If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t have known!” he said, annoyed, although he wasn’t really annoyed… maybe a little.

“Harry, please, I posted the announcement 14 minutes ago! Of course I was going to invite you all myself, but you didn’t even give me 20 minutes!” Kyra laughed.

“Anyway, you’re already starting to hate us,” he said dramatically.

“Oh, please, you’re one of the best coincidences of my life,” Kyra said sweetly.

“Oh, please! Stop it! You’re making me blush!” Niall joined the FaceTime call.

Everyone laughed, the familiar warmth filling her chest.

“Anyway, next week, the grand opening of one of my biggest stores is going to be a big deal, so please don’t be late,” Kyra pleaded.

“NEVER, MA’AM!” Louis struck a military pose.

She laughed so hard her stomach hurt, and for a moment, everything felt easy again.

“Where’s Liam?” Kyra asked when she stopped laughing, noticing his absence. The three boys exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them.

“Um, Liam went to meet up with… Zayn.” Louis glanced at Harry sadly before turning back to Kyra.

“Liam is really the only one he’s been talking to since he left.” Louis finished.

The name hit her like a memory she hadn’t invited back.

Zayn left the band not long after she left him.

Not immediately. In fact, the months that followed were the worst of his life. If he used to come home in the early hours before, now he didn’t come home at all. The apartment felt unbearable without her, too quiet, too empty, stripped of warmth. There was no point in going back to a place that no longer held her voice, her presence, her love.

He disappeared. Pushed people away. Lost patience with everything.

Eventually, he sought help. And help asked questions he had avoided his entire life. Questions about identity, purpose, and self-destruction. Questions that hurt to answer but hurt more to ignore.

For sure leaving One Direction wasn’t easy, wasn’t clean. But it was necessary...and through it all, Liam stayed, he'd always had a stronger friendship with him anyways.

“But don’t worry, I’ll text him right now and let him know. He wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Harry said, already typing.

Kyra blinked rapidly, forcing the memories back.

“Sure,” she said quickly. “I’ll be waiting for you guys. I love you!”

She hung up and stared at her reflection in the black screen.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Get over it.”

The week passed faster than she expected, and suddenly she was standing in the center of her newest store, dressed elegantly, surrounded by light, music, people, cameras. Her biggest opening yet. Family, friends, press, fans...everyone celebrating what she had built.

“I hope I get a discount,” a familiar voice teased behind her.

Kyra turned instantly, her eyes widening as she threw herself into Harry’s arms. “HARRY!”, he lifted her off the ground, spinning her effortlessly as they both laughed.

“We’ll get one too, right? I just saw a jacket that was fire,” Niall added, with Louis nodding enthusiastically.

Kyra hugged all of them at once, Niall, Louis, Liam, holding on a second longer than necessary.

“I can’t even tell you how much I missed you guys!”

“We missed you too! Our little bee has become a queen bee and owner of her own hive,” Niall said dramatically.

“Kyra, I…need to tell you something...” Liam started, guilt written all over his face. “I’m sorry, but maybe I—”

Kyra stopped breathing, something very much familiar was approaching.

A buzz cut. More tattoos. Broader shoulders. Melting eyes.

“Zayn?” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Liam murmured, before the boys gently pulled him away, leaving her alone with the one person she had never truly left behind.

“Hey, Ky,” Zayn said softly.

That damn nickname.

“Hey,” she managed.

“Congratulations,” he said. Seconds that felt like days passed, making his heart ache.

“Hey, I’m so sorry for showing up here uninvited, at such an important event for you. But that’s precisely why I had to come. Liam got the message while he was with me, and Ky—”

“Can we just…” Kyra interrupted, forcing a polite smile. “Can we just not do it here?… not now. Maybe we can talk more calmly later.”

She walked away before her walls collapsed. Didn’t cry. She smiled. She drank white wine,champagne. She talked to people as if everything was just right as it was supposed to be, of course she also avoided the boys entirely.

As the hours passed, the crowd thinned, the lights dimmed, and the music stopped completely. Until she was completely alone in her new store, well…almost alone.

“Yes, of course, I'm sorry for how I acted before… it's just that…” Kyra tried to explain, her voice low, careful, as if one wrong word could shatter whatever fragile truce existed between them in that moment. The noise of the event still hummed faintly around them, distant laughter and clinking glasses bleeding through the walls, but it all felt muted now, like the world had stepped back to give them space.

“No, no, I'm sorry. I should have realized that the middle of the event wasn't the place. I just… I really need to talk to you.”

Zayn moved closer to her then, slowly, deliberately, as if giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. He stopped just a few centimeters from her, not too close, not too far...just close enough that Kyra could feel the warmth of him, the familiarity that her body recognized before her mind could catch up. Her heart began to race despite herself.

“Go ahead,” she whispers, barely trusting her voice not to crack.

Zayn exhales, a deep, unsteady sigh that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with fear. It was the kind of breath someone takes before stepping into something terrifying, like he was finally sitting down to take the exam he’d been studying for his entire life, praying that all the effort, all the pain, would somehow be worth it.

“There's nothing I can say to make you forgive me, I can't expect you to. The day you left… that day I felt like I died. All the shit that was going on, all the anxiety, the fear, the exhaustion—the only thing that kept me going was you, Ky.”

His voice wavered, and Kyra felt it hit her straight in the chest, knocking the air out of her lungs.

“You made me happy, you always did. From the first day we met at school, I knew you were the one for me. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry with all my heart because I lost myself. Everything I was disappeared, I was consumed, and you were there to support me through everything. I didn't see it, and I hate myself for it.”

His eyes glistened under the soft lights, and his voice trembled despite his effort to stay composed. Kyra felt her own eyes burn almost immediately, that familiar sting she’d learned to fear because once it started, it never stopped gently. She swallowed hard, her chest tight.

“Zayn…” she sighed, his name leaving her lips like a quiet ache rather than a word.

“Please,” he continues quickly, like he’s afraid she’ll stop him if he pauses. “That night I wanted to follow you, I wanted to run after you and do anything to make you stay, but I couldn't allow myself to, Ky. I couldn't allow myself to keep hurting you, to keep seeing you like this because of me. I needed to fix myself first… but just because I didn't follow you that night doesn't mean I let you go, Ky. Letting you go forever was never an option.”

Kyra’s tears finally spilled over, tracing slow paths down her cheeks as she listened. Every word felt like reopening old wounds and healing them at the same time.

“And I'm so sorry it took me that long to realize,” Zayn goes on, his voice breaking now, “but I couldn't follow you. Ky, I couldn't follow you. I couldn't go looking for you because I couldn't allow myself to keep hurting you—the person I love most, the person I've always loved, the only person who made me feel understood and supported.”

By this point, Kyra was crying openly, her shoulders trembling as she struggled to breathe through the emotion crashing over her. Zayn stepped closer, unable to resist anymore, gently cupping her cheeks in his hands like she was something precious, something fragile he was terrified of breaking again. His thumbs brushed away her tears with aching tenderness.

“I looked for help, I found it and I found myself again.”

He lifts her chin just enough for her to look at him, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were red now, rimmed with emotion, but clear in a way she hadn’t seen in so long.

“And I know it sounds selfish like shit, but I looked for you, and I found you. I can't let myself lose you again, Ky. I won't.”

The last words came out as a whisper, raw and desperate, like a promise he was making not just to her, but to himself.

Silence falls between them for a few seconds, heavy and sacred. Kyra needed the time—to breathe, to process, to let the years of pain and longing settle into something she could finally understand. She had dreamed of this moment more times than she could count, and now it was here, real and imperfect and overwhelming.

“I couldn't keep letting myself be destroyed the way I was, Zayn,” she finally says, her voice trembling but steady enough to be honest. “I couldn't keep seeing you like that. I tried everything to help you, but I just couldn't let myself watch you destroy yourself like that.”

She exhales shakily, her forehead falling briefly against his chest before she looks back up at him.

“I just wanted my Zayn back,” she whispers.

“I love you, Ky… I loved you, I love you, and I always will… Please, I'm sorry.”

He presses his forehead to hers, their noses almost brushing, his breath uneven against her skin.

“I love you, Ky… I loved you, I love you, and I always will… Please, I'm sorry.”

“I love you, Zy,” she replies through tears, her hands gripping his jacket like she’s afraid he might disappear if she lets go. “I always have, I do now… and I think I always will.”

That was all they needed.

They had always known, felt it in the quiet moments, in the pain, in the absence, in the way no one else had ever quite fit the empty spaces inside them. Problems existed everywhere, life was never simple, but what they shared had always been stronger than fear, stronger than mistakes. And the fact that he had owned his failures, that he had healed and come back with honesty in his eyes, meant everything to her.

He was back—truly back—and she wasn’t about to push him away for anything in the world.

Scoops Ahoy was louder than usual, the mall humming with that constant summer buzz that never really seemed to die down. Neon lights bounced off the glossy tiled floors, laughter echoed from somewhere near the arcade, and the smell of sugar and waffle cones clung stubbornly to the air. The bell above the door chimed every few seconds as another family wandered in, sunburnt and smiling, ready for ice cream.

Steve stood behind the counter, carefully handing a vanilla cone to a little girl who couldn’t have been older than six. He crouched slightly to be at her level, his sailor hat tilted just a bit too far back on his head, his voice soft and patient as he warned her (again) not to let it drip on her dress. She nodded solemnly, eyes wide, clutching the cone like it was the most important thing in the world before running back to her mother.

You leaned against the counter a few feet away, half-listening to the transaction while Robin spoke quietly beside you. Her arms were crossed tight over her Scoops Ahoy uniform, shoulders tense in a way you’d seen too many times lately.

“I had nightmares last night,” she said suddenly, her voice low but strained. “Again.”

You turned fully toward her, concern instantly sharpening your focus. “About… everything?”

Robin nodded, jaw tight. “The Russians. The room. Being drugged.” She let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking toward the entrance as if expecting someone to burst through at any second. “It still doesn’t make sense. None of it does. Monsters under Hawkins, secret elevators in a mall, and Russian soldiers just… hanging out?”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Tell me about it.”

Robin looked at you, waiting.

“Imagine my face,” you continued dryly, “when I saw a faceless humanoid monster trying to eat Steve Harrington… and a bald girl with superpowers saving us all.” You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Crazy shit.”

For a few seconds, Robin just stared at you, like her brain was rebooting. Then she snorted. A quiet laugh escaped her, followed by another, until she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop herself.

“All that,” she said between breaths, “and I still think the craziest thing is that Steve won a fight.”

You huffed out a small laugh despite yourself, the corner of your mouth lifting. Before you could fire back with a comment of your own, a familiar voice cut through the moment.

“Shut your mouth and get to work.”

Steve had abandoned the counter and dropped down onto the bench beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. His tone was sharp, but there was something forced about it, the sarcasm stretched thin. Robin rolled her eyes dramatically, already turning away.

“Yes, your majesty,” she muttered, grabbing a scoop and heading toward the other end of the shop.

Steve watched her go, jaw tight, then glanced back at you with an irritated smirk. “She’s stupid,” he said, his voice low, like he didn’t want her to hear.

You leaned closer, lowering your voice in return. “She’s right, though.”

He shot you a look, half-offended, half-resigned. Then he sighed, shaking his head and choosing, very deliberately, not to argue. He never argued with you. Not really.

Instead, he shifted on the bench, knees angling toward yours, elbows resting on his thighs. “So,” he said casually, like his heart wasn’t suddenly picking up speed, “do you have plans later?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall, then down at your bag. “Actually, yeah. I’m going to the library for a bit. I have a paper I need to finish before classes start again.” You groaned softly. “I’ve been putting it off forever.”

Steve nodded slowly, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to memorize your face. “Okay. I’ll pick you up as soon as I get off work, then. We can go to the movies or something.”

The smile he gave you wasn’t his usual cocky grin. It was softer, genuine, like it slipped out before he could stop it. The kind of smile that made something warm twist in your chest.

“I WANT TO GO!”

Robin’s voice echoed from across the shop, way too loud for the small space.

Steve didn’t even hesitate. “NO WAY!”

“OF COURSE YOU CAN!” you shouted back, grinning, already knowing how this would go.

Robin whooped in victory while Steve let out an exaggerated groan, dragging a hand down his face. He shot you a look—mock-annoyed, but there was something else underneath it. Disappointment. Not at Robin. At the idea of not having you to himself.

He didn’t mind Robin tagging along. Not really. But he’d been craving time alone with you for so long it physically ached. Something quiet. Intimate. Something where he could sit beside you without an audience, without distractions, without pretending he didn’t want more.

Steve Harrington had been in love with you for years.

He’d never said it out loud, never even let himself think it too hard, because what was the point? Back when he was King Steve, surrounded by people like Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, you’d looked at him like you barely recognized who he was becoming. You were part of the group, sure, but you never hid your dislike for them, or for him when he acted just like them.

You deserved better. Someone smarter. Someone who didn’t peak in high school. Someone who was going to college, who had a plan. Not a guy in a ridiculous sailor uniform, scooping ice cream in a mall.

The whole Nancy thing had been a poor excuse, really. A way to try and forget you. The fights with Jonathan? Ego. Nothing more.

When you distanced yourself from him, you’d said it was to avoid making Nancy uncomfortable, to avoid causing problems. Steve had hated that distance more than anything. So when Nancy cheated on him, it didn’t even hurt the way it should have.

Because you were back.

You were there when he came home bruised and bleeding, cleaning his wounds with careful hands. You were there congratulating him when he finally stood up to Tommy. You didn’t leave his side, not once, because you knew he needed you.

And since everything started, the monsters, Russians, near-death experiences and more, you’d never really had a moment alone.

“I have to go,” you said softly, standing and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Steve looked up at you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes.

“You look nice in your uniform,” you added, winking.

Before he could respond, you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. It was innocent. Friendly.

It wrecked him.

“See you later, Rob!” you called, already turning toward the door.

Robin blew you a kiss, and you disappeared into the noise of the mall, leaving Steve sitting there, heart pounding, cheek warm where your lips had been, wondering how much longer he could survive pretending you were just his best friend.

-

The Hawkins Public Library was quiet in the way only libraries ever were—too quiet, almost. Not silent, but hushed, like the building itself was holding its breath. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, casting a soft yellow glow over the rows of shelves, and the air smelled like dust, paper, and something vaguely comforting. It wasn’t completely dark, but it wasn’t bright either, shadows pooling between aisles and corners.

There were other kids from school scattered around the place, hunched over tables with notebooks and textbooks, summer projects spread out in varying states of panic. You recognized a few faces and felt an unexpected sense of relief settle in your chest. After everything that had happened—the mall, the monsters, the Russians—you didn’t like being alone anymore. Not really.

You’d been there for a couple of hours by the time your hand started cramping from writing. You stretched your fingers, blinking down at your notes, scanning what you had left to do. One more source. Just one more book.

Grabbing your pen, you stood and headed toward the taller shelves near the back, shoes echoing softly against the floor. The aisle was long and narrow, packed tight with spines of books you barely glanced at as you searched, your focus locked in.

“Can I help you look?”

The voice came from right beside you.

You jumped so hard your heart nearly stopped. “Oh my god, Billy,” you squealed, spinning toward him and letting out a shaky sigh.

Billy Hargrove stood there like he’d always stood everywhere—too close, too confident, leaning casually with that infuriating smirk already pulling at his mouth. His blue eyes lingered on you shamelessly.

“I could get used to hearing you call my name like that, sweetheart.”

Your expression hardened instantly. “What do you want?”

He frowned, genuinely confused. “Why do you assume I want something?”

You made a face, exhaustion written all over you. “I’m not in the mood to be bothered, so if you want something, just say so.”

Billy’s gaze dragged slowly over you. “I just saw you looking for something, very focused, beautiful…” He paused deliberately. “And I came to help you.”

“I don’t even understand what the hell you’re doing in the library,” you shot back, ignoring the way his words crawled under your skin.

“Okay, I admit it,” he said, smirk deepening. “I might have seen you come in, and you’re incredibly hot, so I thought I’d watch you for a bit and come closer…”

Before he could finish, another voice cut through the aisle—sharp, unmistakable.

“That’s called being a creep.”

You felt a body behind you, close enough that your back pressed into a solid chest. The familiar warmth, the protective closeness, sent a jolt through you before you even turned.

“But I think we all know that by now.”

Billy scoffed. “I’m not hurt by the words of a loser, Harrington.”

You couldn’t see Steve’s face, but you knew it—jaw tight, shoulders squared, both hands probably planted on his hips as he fought the urge to do something reckless.

“Steve,” you said quickly, turning around and placing a hand on his chest, trying to ground him. “Billy was just leaving.”

“No,” Billy interrupted, stepping closer. “Actually, I just got here. I was thinking of helping her…”

“She doesn’t need your help,” Steve snapped.

Billy laughed, irritation seeping into his voice. “Oh, what’s wrong, Steve? Are you afraid she’ll like me? That she’ll realize what a real man is?”

Steve took a step forward, anger flashing in his eyes, but you pressed your hand firmly against his chest and leaned in to whisper for him to calm down.

Billy’s attention shifted back to you. “Don’t you want to do it again, beautiful?” he said lazily. “You have no idea how good this little angel kisses.”

Steve went still, he froze.

“One make-out session,” Billy continued cruelly, “and I was already thinking about fucking her—”

He never finished the sentence.

Steve’s fist collided with Billy’s face in one swift, brutal motion.

“Steve!” you whispered urgently, immediately stepping between them, pushing him back with your body. His chest was heaving, breath coming fast and uneven, his eyes locked on Billy like he was already imagining a thousand ways to hurt him.

Billy laughed, wiping his mouth. Somehow, no one else noticed. Somehow, the library remained quiet.

“I smashed your face in once,” Billy sneered. “I can do it again. Be grateful she’s saving you.” His gaze flicked to you. “You don’t want to humiliate yourself in front of her again.”

Something snapped in you.

“Actually,” you said coldly, glaring at him, “I’m saving you.”

Billy paused.

“Steve kicked a Russian soldier’s ass and then endured torture to save me,” you continued firmly. “And he never hesitated to fight anyone to keep me safe. So shut your stupid mouth, because if there’s a man here, it’s Steve.” Your voice didn’t shake. “You’re just a little brat.”

Steve stared at you, stunned, as Billy scoffed and walked away.

You didn’t wait. You grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him back to your table, quickly packing your things before leading him out to his BMW. The drive was silent until, suddenly, he slammed on the brakes in the middle of the woods.

“Are you going to kill me… or…?” you joked weakly.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, turning toward you, worry etched across his face. “I should have told him off a long time ago. I shouldn’t have let him say that about you.”

You studied him for a moment, heart aching. “Don’t you dare apologize again. You don’t have to. I should be thanking you for defending me like that. You don’t have to put up with it, but you helped me.” You swallowed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Better, probably,” he murmured. “You wouldn’t be missing much—”

“Steve, God, please shut up.” You leaned in and kissed him.

But you pull away after a super quick kiss, more of a breath than a moment, both of you freezing as soon as it ends. Your foreheads stay close, noses almost brushing, lips still warm and hovering a heartbeat apart. The air inside the car feels charged, heavy, like the space itself is holding its breath along with you. Steve’s eyes search your face, wide and stunned, like his mind is racing to catch up with what his heart has already decided. For a split second he looks almost afraid—afraid this will disappear if he moves too fast—but then something settles in him. Resolve. Certainty.

He isn’t stupid enough to let it go.

Steve leans in again, slow at first, like he’s giving you every chance to stop him, before kissing you properly this time. It’s passionate and unguarded, years of unsaid things pouring into a single moment. One of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin, while the other slides up to smooth through your hair, holding you like you’re something fragile and precious all at once. The kiss deepens, grows warmer, more insistent, and you melt into him without hesitation.

You shift closer, instinctively, your body drawn to his like it’s always known where it belongs. The space between you disappears completely as you straddle him in the driver’s seat, your hands resting on his shoulders, feeling the way his breath stutters under you.

“I like you, too much. I never wanted to say it and ruin what we have,” you say between kisses, your voice soft but honest, every word pulled straight from your chest. You barely give him time to respond before continuing, fingertips sliding up to frame his face. “You’re thoughtful, you’re kind, you’re honest, you’re romantic, you’re funny, you’re caring, you always look out for others even if it puts you at risk.” You smile against his lips, emotion swelling until it almost hurts. “I love everything about you, how brave you are…”

Steve’s hands move to your waist, firm and steady, grounding you, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. Yours cradle his face as you keep talking between hotter, deeper kisses now, your words tumbling out faster, bolder. “And how hot you are when you get serious or bossy,” you add with a breathless laugh, swaying your hips slightly without even realizing it. “I love everything about you, how brave you are…”

Steve lets out a shaky breath and pulls back just a little, just enough to look at you properly. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, lips swollen from kissing you, and he looks almost overwhelmed by everything he’s feeling.

“I love you,” he says, voice low but unwavering. “I’ve always loved you, and every day I fall more in love with you. I just couldn’t take it anymore.” His jaw tightens briefly as he admits the truth. “Hearing Billy talk to you, or even seeing him near you, made me want to kill him slowly and painfully.”

He leans in to kiss you again, softer this time but no less intense. “I love the person I am when I’m with you,” he continues against your lips, one hand sliding up your back. “The person you make me want to be, and how incredible you are in every way. I love you.”

You both pull back just enough to look at each other, smiling like you’ve never smiled before—wide, unguarded, almost disbelieving that this is real. Then you’re kissing again, deeper, slower, like there’s no rush anymore, like you finally have all the time in the world.

“I couldn’t stand seeing you in those skirts while you kissed my cheek and called me ‘friend,’” Steve murmurs between kisses, his voice teasing now, breath warm against your skin. “The things I thought about you weren’t very friendly.”

You laugh softly, the sound muffled by his mouth as you kiss him again, both of you smiling into it, the tension finally breaking into something lighter, happier. The kisses keep coming, each one more sure, more affectionate, more full of everything you’ve been holding back for years.